The university counselor, terrified I might drop dead in the dorms and cause a liability issue, gently suggested another leave of absence.
I didn't argue. Just packed my bags and moved out.
Funds were tight. I found a shared apartment in the Urban Village—a chaotic, run-down district where rent was cheap and the desperate gathered.
One of my roommates, a young guy hustling to make rent, took pity on me. Introduced me to livestream e-commerce.
I threw myself into the work. Streamed for hours, selling cheap goods, desperate to earn enough to buy myself more time.
My parents found me a month later. They'd stumbled across my livestream while scrolling social media.
They cornered me in the narrow, trash-strewn alley outside my rental.
Mom looked around at the peeling paint and overflowing dumpsters, eyes welling. "How... how can you live in a place like this?"
She reached for me. "Your health is critical. Pack your things. You're coming back to the hospital with us."
I stepped back. My phone buzzed—livestream starting in five minutes. I tried to step around them.
Dad grabbed my arm, grip bruising. His face twisted in disgust.