The Health Syndrome

You are worth the quiet moment.

— Morgan Harper Nichols

In an age where pain is cured with likes and loneliness with the noise of parties, Mallen Blake felt perfectly healthy.

I bet you know a few people just like him.

This time they met near an old hospital and sat down on a worn bench to talk. The wind stirred the faded posters: “Health is a choice.”

Mallen — the younger of the two — smirked.

“Funny,” he said. “Once, treatment used to hurt. Now it’s comfortable. But we’ve gone even further — why bother with treatment at all if you can just declare yourself healthy?”

He rarely slept enough — parties, fun with girlfriends, endless scrolling through other people’s smiles that seemed to invite him into their happiness.

“Life’s too short to sleep!” he liked to say.

Blake knew everything about health. He always carried pills for headaches and colds — for pretty much anything.

When tired, he reached for an energy drink; when doubts came, they dissolved easily in a glass of good wine.

“The main thing,” he laughed, “is not to feel — and you’re already healthy! That’s real progress.”

Kiran looked at him calmly. He seemed about the same age, though he claimed to be a lifetime older.

There was something strange in his eyes. Or not?

“Progress,” Kiran echoed softly. “Yes, we’ve learned to dull pain.

But what’s the point of life if we lose the depth of feeling?

When a person evens out everything — joy, fear, hope — he becomes flat, like a mirror: reflecting others, but losing himself.

Depth only appears when you dare to grow.”

“You’ve always said people need to change. Why?” Mallen snorted.

“The world is beautiful — let everyone just accept themselves as they are.”

“Beautiful…” — Kiran’s voice held no agreement. “These days even beauty can exist without health. But ignore nature long enough, and it always answers back.”

“Who decides what’s natural?” Mallen interrupted. “Being dependent — that’s a way to live. Being angry — just a style. Being sick — another condition.

Now people even change their sex — total freedom!”

Kiran’s gaze deepened.

“The body, the talents, even the feelings — none of these were given by accident,” he said, his voice warm and steady.

“When we forget that, we stop valuing and loving ourselves.

And that inability to value yourself — it’s a kind of illness.

There’s a difference between someone who seeks healing and someone who turns their illness into an identity.”

“So you’re saying I’m sick? Come on. People dream of a life like mine — every day’s a pleasure!”

“We’re all a bit sick,” said Kiran calmly. “I’m no exception.

But the difference between us is that I know it — and you don’t.

Any illness is an invitation to a higher level of health — physical or spiritual.”

“Don’t agree,” Mallen shook his head.

“Healing, my friend,” Kiran continued, “begins the moment you stop being proud of your weaknesses and stop treating them as normal. You’re capable of so much more — if only you wake up and start believing in yourself.

He paused.

“The world has learned to love its wounds…

But it’s forgotten that to love them doesn’t mean to keep them from healing.”

Mallen looked away, lost in thought for the first time.

“Maybe seeing you,” he said quietly, “is just part of my illness.”

“Or maybe,” Kiran smiled, “it’s the beginning of life.”

Blake tossed his cigarette into the bin and rubbed his tired eyes.

When he opened them again — Kiran was gone.

He didn’t seem surprised — it had happened before.

On the bench lay a single, dazzling white feather.

He turned it between his fingers.

“Maybe you’re right… maybe I am sick.”

The leaves rustled.

“Remember who you really are…” — a thought flickered. Or was it just the wind whispering?

For the first time in his life, Mallen thought of canceling a party and simply — getting some real sleep.

He stood up slowly, shaking his head as if driving away a dream.

“No,” he said, a spark of excitement in his eyes. “Not tonight.”

Hands in his pockets, Blake headed off toward the buzz of the city — where new adventures were waiting.

Unseen, Kiran smiled sadly.

“Well then… goodbye. I suppose we won’t meet again — not here.”

He stepped into the twilight air with quiet hope, searching for those still ready to believe in themselves.

— Erian Lin Grant, October 2025