He knew which nurse was smiling.
He knew which rooms were off limits.
Room 701 was a restricted area.
But Malik had seen the man through the glass so many times.
Tube.
Silence.
Silence.
To Malik, it didn’t feel like sleep.
It felt like they were trapped.
In the afternoon, after a storm had flooded half the neighborhood, Malik entered, soaked to the skin.
Mud covered his hands, knees, and face.
The security guards were distracted.
Door 701 was not open.
He went inside.
The billionaire lay there unchanged – pale skin, dry lips, eyes closed, as if time itself had sealed them.
Malik stood silent for a moment.
“My grandmother was like that too,” she whispered, even though no one asked.
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