Experimental Story with 95% dialogue and minimum beats (I trust a true reader would visualize the rest). Please bear with the slow narrative.

'That'll be three-ninety-nine.'

The girl placed a bill over the counter.

'Change?' Nick checked the cash tray. 'Got change, lady?'

'S... sorry.'

'Hey, you okay?'

'Uh, huh.'

'Sure? Here, your change.'

She turned, walked toward the exit, counting the coins.

'Hey, wait. Your book, young lady. Hey, hey!' Oh, c'mon. 'Sir, give me a moment.' Nick jogged toward the door, turned right. Where's she gone? He scanned the parking, scratched his beard, gathered his breath, and returned to the counter. Maybe she'll be back for this.

She didn't. He closed the cash counter, picked up the book, fluttered through. Diary. Looks personal. Maybe she'll come tomorrow. He placed it below the table and left.

*

'Good morning, old man.'

'Hey, Anna. Morning.' He hung his lunch under the table, twitched his shoulders, and powered the computer. His eyes fell on the diary. 'Any girl came for this? Red hair, freckles, with specs. Around this height,' he held his palm flat at shoulder height.

'Nopes. What's it?'

'Diary, I guess.' He sat, touched the diary to his forehead, shook his head and placed the diary in the drawer.

*

'Wanna join for lunch, old man?'

'Yeah, alright.' He grabbed his lunch and closed the counter. His eyes fell on the diary. 'Anyone came?' He shook the diary in air.

She nodded, and he followed her to the café.

'What's with the diary, Nick? You look... concerned.'

'She looked a little flustered, that's all. She'll be back, I guess.'

'Teens. You checked? The diary?'

'No. Looks personal.'

'C'mon, old man. Always serious.' Anna elbowed him. 'You should smile sometime. May be there's a name and address.'

'May be.'

He returned to the counter, pondered, and finally decided to check the diary. The first page had a name: Maya. That's a start.

He flipped, read. His finger kept moving under the words, left to right, top to bottom. He flipped, read, flipped.

He closed the diary, touched it to his forehead, and placed it in the drawer. He gulped large sips of water, sank into his chair, elbows on his knees, head between his palms, eyes pinched.

*

'You okay, Nick.' Anna nudged him. 'Closing time.'

He looked at her, picked up his bag, and slid out of the counter.

'Hey, hey. What's going on? Why you... your eyes are red, man. You okay?'

'Yes, thanks, Anna.'

He couldn't sleep that night.

*

'Thank you.' Nick ironed the bill on his thigh and placed it in the counter. 'Next.'

'I might've left something here.' The red-haired girl with specs said, her voice low.

'Yes, Maya. Here.'

'Thank you.' She grabbed the diary and turned. She looked at him. 'My name. How?'

'I read.'

'Everything?'

He nodded.

'You've no right to—' she said with a gargle and jogged out, wiping her eyes.

'Wait.' Nick dashed after her. 'Wait, Maya. Wait.' He bent, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. 'I shouldn't have. Sorry. S... orr...'

She looked at him, her expression changed from anger to panic. 'HELP! Someone help.' She kneeled next to him, shook him, 'Wake up, wake— Someone call 911!'

Nick squinted at the bright light in his right eye. The light shifted to his left eye. 'How you feeling, Mr. Nick?'

He felt the soft mattress, turned his eyes away from the brightness. The clatter of Walmart trolleys was replaced by a steady beep, beep, beep and inhaled the chilled air heavy with a smell of floor cleaner and soap. He half-opened his eyes, and through the blur, he saw her. Maya. He shook his head, 'Where am I?'

'You're fine. Emergency room. All good. Rest. I'll see you tomorrow.' He felt a light squeeze on his palm. Eyelids dropped, and he slept.

*

'How you feeling, old man?'

'Fine. Thanks. They told me you called 911.'

'Someone's too old to run.'

'Sixty-seven. Still young.'

'Only some five decades younger than me.' Maya smiled.

'Sorry, kid. Didn't mean to read your diary. It's just—'

'What's done is done. Your turn.'

'What?'

'You know my past and... present. You tell me your story. Quid pro quo.'

Nick smiled. He hadn't smiled like that for years. 'What do you want to know, kiddo?'

'That tattoo — on your forearm — Who's the girl?'

'That's Kristina.'

'Wife?'

'Daughter.'

'Oops. Where's she?'

'She—'

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.'

'Twenty years back. She must've been your age.'

'How?'

'I rather not...'

'Quid pro quo, old man.'

'Same as you.'

'Kidneys?'

Nick shook his head, wiped his tears.

'Sucks.'

'You aren't scared?'

'I am.'

'Diary said you have—'

'Six months, maybe eight.'

'I am sorry, kiddo.'

'What for?'

'Can't you do something?'

'No money. No insurance.'

'Your folks?'

She jerked her shoulders up, protruded her lower lip.

'I'm sorry, kiddo.'

'You say Sorry a lot.'

'I do. Sorry.'

'Again. Tell me about her.'

'Kris?'

She nodded.

He talked. Cried. Told her things he wished he could tell his daughter, things he shouldn't have said.

She listened, tears in her eyes, sometime smiling. Laughing.

He laughed till a bout of cough seized him.

'You better rest.' She rose.

'Here.'

'Hey, you bribing me?' She threw a fake punch. 'I don't need your money.'

He ducked, smiled. 'I know. Get me coffee when you come tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow? Smart, eh. Alright.'

'One for you, as well. Consider it my payment for getting coffee all the way from the 2nd floor.'

She offered a fist punch and left. He stared at the ceiling, picked up the clipboard hanging by the bed — Cardiomyopathy it said with something more he couldn't understand. He rubbed his chest, kissed the tattoo on his forearm, slept, and dreamed of Kristina.

*

'Thank you.' Maya smiled at the café owner and climbed the stairs, humming a long-forgotten tune.

'What's up old—' where'd he go? Sister, Mr. Nick was here. Has he been shifted?

'He passed away last night.'

'WHAT?' The coffee cups slipped, splashed, the steam scalded her. She didn't move.

'You are a relative?' The nurse nudged at her. 'Ma'am.? Ma'am?'

She turned toward the voice, 'How?'

'Cardiac arrest. You a relative?'

'N... no. Just a...'

'Are you Maya?'

She nodded.

'He left a note.'

Her hand shivered, fingers left sweat-prints on the folded paper. She walked to the corridor, leaned against the wall, and opened the paper.

Hey Kiddo,

I'm heading out to meet Kris. You are quite something. Get back to your folks, forgive them. Parents try, but sometimes they just can't do more. They need you.

Left something for you. I know, I know. Not bribing you. Have something I won't need. Keep it. Remember: It's not your fault.

- Nick (Oldie)

She slid along the wall, sank to the floor, and buried her head between her knees. Cried like a little girl. Like kiddo.

'Miss Maya.'

She looked up at the nurse.

'We need you to sign some papers.'

She rose, her knees cracked. 'I... I'm not a relative.'

'We need you to sign a consent form.'

'Consent?'

'Mr. Nick left his kidneys for you. We better hurry.'

Thank you for your valuable time and for giving my story a chance. 

- Aahna