The air in the sterile hospital corridor felt heavy, pregnant with anticipation. My palms, cold and clammy, clutched onto the plastic armrests of the bench, the indented pattern imprinting itself onto my skin. A symphony of muffled voices, metallic trolley wheels, and the relentless ticking of the hallway clock filled the room, amplifying the drumming of my heart. And then, in an abrupt and jolting moment, it ceased. The door creaked open.
Dr. Williams appeared, his face masked in its usual stoic expression, inscrutable. The air seemed to tighten around me, an oppressive vice grip, as I braced myself for the words I feared would come. But then his lips twitched into a smile – small, restrained, but unmistakably present. “It’s benign,” he declared, his voice echoing off the stark hospital walls.
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