Stepping inside the Sheikh's room, a heavy silence surrounded me. The smell of antiseptic and sterility hung in the air, so different from the vibrant, rich scents I associated with him. He lay there, quiet and still, but alive. A hint of his strength peeked through the pallor of his skin. Taking a deep breath, I tried to steady myself. Picking up the newspaper from the table beside his bed, I started to read it aloud, keeping my voice steady and my eyes focused on the printed words. "In international news today, the global economic forum has announced..." I paused, watching him. There was no response, no flicker of interest in his eyes. He stared at me blankly, a look I wasn't used to from him. Feeling a lump in my throat, I carried on reading, determined to keep things as normal as possible for him. Occasionally, I'd ask him about a certain article, or joke about a funny comic strip, hoping it would jog his memory. The room filled with the sound of my voice, but the Sheikh remained
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