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... when he opened his eyes, hers were always the first he saw?
The answer was simple. Astonishingly simple.
Every time Xu Xi drifts into sleep, Krisha sits silently at his bedside. On a small wooden chair, she waits through the passage of time—through the sun’s rise and fall, through the world’s changing seasons.
She waits.
She watches.
She remains, unmoving, while time marches on.
Painful? Boring?
Krisha does not think so.
For her, th ...
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