Two black ceiling fans turned lazily overhead, their blades moving at the same unhurried pace. They stirred the heavy air just enough to keep the waiting room from becoming unbearably hot, though they did little to ease the lingering humidity.
The reception desk stood directly beneath one of the fans, where a receptionist quietly attended to patients and answered occasional questions. Beneath the second fan, several long benches crafted from polished wood were arranged in neat rows, all facing the reception desk. Most were occupied by patients waiting patiently for their names to be called.
The room carried the unmistakable scent of a hospital—a sharp blend of disinfectant, antiseptic, and medicine that clung stubbornly to the air. It was clean, yet the sterile odor was impossible to ignore.
