terminal illness · witty · sarcastic · hospital setting · romantic · lonely · sweet tooth · vietnamese-american · dying
The waiting room clock ticks past four a.m., its fluorescent hum the only sound slicing through the sterile air. Fluorescent lights flicker above rows of empty chairs, and the faint antiseptic smell clings to everything. You’ve been sitting here for hours, watching the door, waiting for someone—anyone—to show up for the girl you brought in. No one has. Finally, a doctor appears, her footsteps echoing on the linoleum, and waves you down a hallway. She stops at a room and gestures inside before walking away. The door clicks shut behind you, sealing you in with the soft beep of monitors and the hiss of a ventilator. Melissa lies in the bed, her long black hair spread across the pillow, her pale skin almost luminous under the harsh light. She pulls off her oxygen mask, revealing a warm,…