You, the Whisper Across Lifetime

Chapter 19 – Circles and Certainty

I knew I needed to get vaccinated soon.

But the more I read, the more complicated it became. Different countries had different requirements. Some only accepted certain vaccine brands. Others demanded additional documentation, specific timeframes, or booster confirmations. And since my company handled international projects, it mattered more than I wanted it to.

It wasn't just about getting a shot anymore. It was about choosing the right one—whatever that meant.

I spent nights scrolling through articles, comparing side effects, effectiveness rates, global approvals. Half of me wanted to just get it over with. The other half didn't want to make the wrong choice and regret it later.

Still, in the middle of all that mess—newsfeeds, charts, Reddit threads—one quiet thought kept circling at the back of my mind:

What if this is the next step?

Not just for work. Not just for health.

But for… us.

Not that Kaelen ever said anything outright. He never pressured me. But there was something in the way he kept asking:

"How's the rollout there?"

or

"Any update on your batch yet?"

Simple check-ins. Casual enough. But I could hear the hope underneath.

And I couldn't lie—part of me hoped too.

I finally found a private foundation offering vaccinations. Not a government-run clinic, but a reputable health foundation working with licensed professionals. And the best part? They had several vaccine brands available—including the one approved for international travel.

Of course, there was a catch. They only offered a limited number of doses each day, and registration had to be done fast. But they provided a full package—first and second doses scheduled from the start. That alone gave me peace of mind.

The clinic was in the suburbs, not far from my parents' house. Small, neat, and quietly efficient. The AC worked. The staff were firm but polite. Health protocols were tight—temperature checks at the entrance, digital forms, masks worn at all times.

So that morning, I herded my sons into the car and brought them along. They were half-asleep and mildly grumpy, but followed directions without complaint.

They went through the usual checks: body temperature, blood pressure, a brief health screening. I handled the admin for my youngest, especially since he had a known medical condition. Thankfully, the staff were kind and attentive.

Then came the funny part.

The front security officer looked at us and made a bold decision. "You three look like international travelers," he said. "Better go with the vaccine accepted worldwide."

I face-palmed internally.

Still, he wasn't wrong—it was the one I'd been aiming for. And thanks to his unsolicited profiling, we got fast-tracked to my vaccine of choice.

So, I went along with it. Why argue with fate?

It felt like progress. Like the fog was starting to lift.

Even just a little.

But the after-effects were real.

I got knocked down by fever and flu-like symptoms for two straight days. It wasn't unbearable, but it drained every bit of energy I had. My body ached in strange places, and even thinking felt heavy.

My sons, on the other hand, handled it like champs. Aside from swollen upper arms and a dramatic 18-hour nap right after the shot, they bounced back faster than I did. I half-joked they must've secretly leveled up in their sleep.

Still, we all made it through the first dose.

It wasn't just a health milestone—it felt like a turning point. A marker in time that whispered, You're on your way. Keep going.

Kaelen, of course, got his vaccine earlier—and without much fuss.

"Just needed a solid 12 hours of sleep," he said, like it was no big deal.

Then he started sending me videos. Not of himself—he was too composed for that—but of others at his vaccination site. I don't know who recorded them, but they were hilarious.

One girl made up as a ghost lady, another dressed to the nines.

One clip showed a guy built like a Greek god—seriously, Hulk-level arms—clutching the nurse's sleeve and crying like a toddler. Another had people doing dramatic slow-motion falls after the jab, complete with background music edits. It was chaos. Entertaining chaos.

I laughed so hard I had to pause the videos halfway just to breathe.

"Only you," I messaged him. "You got vaccinated and came out with a comedy reel."

He replied with a smug emoji and a voice note:

"See, babe? You got fever, I got entertainment. Balance."

I rolled my eyes, smiling.

Even from a distance, he had a way of making everything lighter.

And somehow… that mattered more than I could say.

But underneath all the jokes and memes, I could feel his concern.

He insisted on a video call the night after my shot.

Not a message. Not even a voice note. A full-on video call.

"I just want to see you," he said.

Honestly, I wasn't in shape to text back, let alone smile on camera. My fever hadn't broken, and my nose was stuffy from the flu-like symptoms. I looked like someone who'd barely made it out of battle. But I answered anyway.

The moment the screen lit up, he exhaled like he'd been holding his breath all day.

"You okay, sayang?" he asked, eyes scanning me gently. "You don't look dead, so that's a good start."

I tried to glare. Failed. "Feel half-dead though."

He gave me a small smile. That kind that didn't reach the lips but softened the eyes.

"You should've told me earlier. I was… kinda worried."

That surprised me. Not because he didn't care—he did, in his own quiet way—but because he rarely admitted it out loud.

Turns out, we had unknowingly gotten the same vaccine brand—the one known for its 'knock-you-down' after effects.

"Match made in immune response," I joked.

"Means we'll survive the apocalypse together," he said with a wink.

I chuckled, then winced from the headache.

He didn't talk much after that. Just stayed on the screen while I lay back, occasionally murmuring soft things. A quiet "Drink more water," or "Close your eyes if it hurts."

So I did.

The call wasn't long. There were no deep confessions or grand gestures. Just his voice in the background, and the comfort of knowing someone was there—even through a screen.

And strangely, I didn't feel quite as miserable anymore.

For the second shot, we came as scheduled and got it done in a jiffy. Even the vaccination certificate was ready to download by the time we got home.

This time, the two rascals—having learned from the first dose—quietly went to bed without complaint. No fuss, just a long nap coming their way.

Kaelen checked on me from time to time. The fever was there, but not too bad. Mostly, I just felt incredibly sleepy. I replied to him once or twice, then drifted off early.

I even missed his usual ritual—his good morning and good night texts—because I woke up at noon. My phone showed both, waiting patiently like clockwork.

I thought to myself, One down, two to go.

Then realized… that phase had passed. The shots were done. The waiting game had shifted again.

No more scheduling around vaccines, no more drowsy evenings or sore arms. Just that odd quiet that comes after a long-looming storm finally moves on—leaving behind damp ground, pale skies, and the silence of recovery.

Kaelen kept checking in. Sometimes his messages felt a little too cheesy, but I couldn't deny they lifted my mood.

They kept coming:

"Still sleepy, babe?"

"You okay today?"

"Tell your sons I said they're warriors."

I almost rolled my eyes at that last one. Because, up until now, I hadn't told my sons anything about Kaelen.

And maybe that's because I still didn't know what this was. How I felt. Or what I was waiting for.

It wasn't a vision. Not yet. Just a tension in the air. A feeling that something was moving again.

Like the story wasn't done with me.

And I started to wonder—

Was this the quiet before another return?

Not from the world.

But from myself.