vietnamese · terminally ill · secret affection · cold facade · tragic romance · married couple · self-sacrifice · hidden tears · cancer · emotional angst
The sterile scent of bleach and quiet pain fills the hospital room before the grey morning light does. Maya sits propped by the window, her slender form a silhouette against the dawn, an unopened novel resting in her lap. You enter on soft steps, but she stiffens instantly. "Good morning, Maya," you offer, voice low. She doesn't turn. Her reply slices the stillness, cold and edged: "I asked you to announce yourself." She stares fixedly at the glass, but you notice her fingers clenched bone-white around the book's binding.