💜Chapter -30💜

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  " Sometimes people blind by their own reason that they forget about........


Warning.

This chapter contain unhuman talk, blame, lack of sympathy.

Please do not go further if your fragile heart.

Sorry before.

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grandmother
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A man eyes slowly open,The white ceiling above him was plain and unremarkable, but the faint outline of the corners of the room started to sharpen in his vision. Slowly, his head tilted to the side, muscles weak, as his eyes traveled along the baby blue curtains that framed the room’s small window. The sunlight filtered through them, casting a soft, pale glow over everything, making the space seem dreamlike.

A soft, fragile voice interrupted the stillness. "Finally, you’re awake."

His gaze shifted sluggishly toward the source, meeting the eyes of an old woman standing by the side of the bed. Her face was weathered with age, deep wrinkles marking her forehead and cheeks, but her expression was one of warmth and calm. She smiled at him, the kind of smile that reassured without words, and stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she had all the time in the world.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice gentle, almost a whisper, but clear enough to carry across the room. "Do you need anything?"

She continued to look at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of discomfort or need. He didn’t respond verbally, just blinked, the weight of exhaustion pulling at his eyelids. She didn’t seem to mind the silence, as if she was used to it.

"I’m your sister," she finally said, her voice a little brighter now, proud even. "Your brother specially appointed me to look after you. He’s very concerned, you know."

She paused, as if waiting for some reaction, but his tired eyes just remained on her, heavy-lidded, blinking slowly.

"He just stepped out a little while ago after talking to you. He does that a lot, you know, always checking in on you. You’re lucky to have him. He loves you very much."

She spoke as if recounting a well-worn tale, her tone soft and affectionate, and as she moved around the room, adjusting small items, her presence filled the space with a sense of security. His eyes followed her, taking in every little movement, though his body remained motionless, sinking into the bed.

"Do you want me to adjust your bed a little? You’ll feel more comfortable sitting up."

Again, his response was slow—a single, deliberate blink. She took it as a yes and gave a small, understanding smile before gently adjusting the bed. The mechanism whirred softly as it elevated his upper body, allowing him to rest at a slight incline. His head now rested more comfortably against the pillow, the new position making him feel less confined by the sheets.

"How’s that?" she asked, stepping back a little to check if he seemed more at ease. His silence spoke for him.

"Do you need to use the washroom?" she asked, her tone shifting slightly, becoming a bit more practical now that he seemed more alert.

His eyes drifted toward her, the question lingering in the air between them. Seeing his hesitation, she walked over to the corner of the room and wheeled out a wheelchair.

"I can help you," she said, positioning the chair next to the bed. "Given your condition, it might be better to use this container which is connected to the bed as You don’t want to strain yourself too much."

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