The hospital was quiet. Neon light across the floor, washing everything in pale exhaustion. The walls were practical, the furniture indifferent

I walked the halls, my steps heavy on the tired linoleum. Every door held a different story – whispers, hands reaching for comfort.

A nurse adjusted the blanket with good eyes beyond duty. A stranger offered me a hand. People keep to themselves. A quiet smile escaped, like a small act of rebellion against the weight of it all.

Hospitals are heavy. But in their quiet, in their plain, sad rooms, humanity shines its brightest.