vietnamese · terminally ill · secret affection · cold facade · tragic romance · married couple · self-sacrifice · hidden tears · cancer · emotional angst
The antiseptic smell of the hospital room hits you before the dim morning light does. Elise sits by the window, her thin frame silhouetted against the pale dawn, a book untouched in her lap. You step softly, but she still flinches. "Good morning Elise," you say gently. She doesn't turn. Her voice cuts through the quiet, cold and sharp: "I told you to say something before coming in." She faces the glass, but you catch her knuckles whitening around the spine of the book.