Angel Harbor Hospital, top floor, intensive care unit.
White ceiling, white walls, white bed sheets.
The abundance of white mirrors the paleness of the man's heart.
He lies on the bed, eyes vacant.
Terminal pancreatic cancer, his days are numbered.
The door creaks open, his sister walks in with a steaming dish, a sweet smile on her face.
Without those traces of tears, her smile would be truly sincere.
"Come, have a taste, see if my cooking has improved."
He sits up, holds the lunchbox and eats vigorously.
The lunchbox contains only millet porridge.
Severe pancreatic patients must fast, the man hasn't eaten for a week before the surgery, nor drunk a drop of water post-surgery.
Today, the doctor bestowed the grace to let him have some millet porridge.
However, his future diet consists solely of millet porridge.
After finishing his meal, the man smiles gently:
"Thank you."
His sister tidies up the dishes and casually suggests:
"How about trying the special medicine?"
