The waiting room remained silent. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic breathing of those present. There was an atmosphere of calm that contrasted with a subtle tension lingering in the air, as if the remnants of a storm had only just passed.
Aziz sat in the center, eyes closed. His posture was relaxed, almost meditative, but there was not a hint of carelessness in his demeanor. Beside him, Astrid gently rested her head on her son's shoulder, as though trying to savor each remaining second she still had by his side. Her eyelids were half‑closed, and a faint smile lingered on her lips—discreet, yet sincere.
Around the room, the other women were scattered, each lost in her own thoughts. Some exchanged quiet glances with one another; others simply watched Aziz with a blend of pride and unease. It was clear that something had changed—or was about to.
