บท 127: #PrayforJune

In the sterile hospital room, the atmosphere was heavy with a somber stillness. The soft beeping of machines and the distant sound of footsteps in the corridor were the only signs of life.

Minjun sat by the bedside, tears welling up in his eyes.

Beside Minjun stood Grandma, hunched over, and her gnarled hands clutching a tissue. Her eyes were red from crying. 

The hospital bed was shrouded in a white cloth, its surface eerily still. June laid beneath it. 

Minjun reached out and grasped Grandma's hand, their fingers intertwining in a silent gesture of shared grief. Their eyes met, and in that moment, their pain increased a thousandfold. No words were spoken; none were needed. 

Grandma's voice trembled as she broke the silence, "He's like a grandson to me, Minjun. I've seen him grow from a dead-eyed child to the talented young man he is today."

"Big brother," Minjun sniffed, holding onto June's hand. As expected, it was already so cold.