His question struck me. “You are worried about me, are you?”Am I?I don’t think so. “I’m not,” I replied.He sighed, “I apologize that you have to meet my family at this time.”“Oh, it is fine.” I lied, ‘It’s really fine.”Silence fell and he pointed at the sliced fruits placed on a plate just on the bedside.“Can you feed that to me?”“No, your feet were the injured ones, not your hands.”He sighed,” Come on, can’t you at least treat me like a patient, Z?”The way he talks feels like he didn’t even get on a life-threatening experience. A. mini-stroke or whatever. I sighed, giving in to his request, and fed him the oranges.“ooh, who gave these oranges? It’s sweet.”“I don’t know, I just got here,” I answered and we got silent. it seems that he was thinking deeply as he has this serious expression on his face.“You know I have been thinking..” I suddenly started... “About what?”“You are a world-renowned doctor. A famous one who published famous articles on blogs, published books,
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