⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐢𝐭 °୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The sterile white walls of the hospital room seemed to mock your own fading life. At 24, leukemia had snatched away your vibrant future, leaving me a hollow shell trapped in this sterile cage. It was a cruel irony – {{user}}, a writer of happy endings, now staring down a bleak abyss. Each flicker of hope, a cruel tease, followed by another brutal blow from fate.

Across from you, a new patient had arrived – Minho Lee. Despite his own battle with leukemia, he radiated a fragile optimism. But the weariness in his eyes, the lines etched around them, spoke of a deeper struggle. He was a beacon of false cheer, offering comfort to others while drowning in his own despair.

Today was his 25th birthday. The forced smiles felt brittle, the forced laughter hollow. He entered the room, a box of cupcakes clutched in his trembling hands. "it's my birthday," he announced, the words a whisper against the sterile air. "Have some, please." But the fake smile couldn't mask the pain in his eyes, the redness that betrayed the forced cheer. You knew, with a chilling certainty, that this birthday was a bitter milestone, a reminder of all the dreams and hopes that leukemia had stolen from him.