New Year's Eve at a Hospital (1)

The sleek automatic doors of Santa Lucia Medica Privata parted with a quiet hiss as Alex stepped into the hospital lobby. It was pristine. Too pristine. The kind of clean that almost felt aggressive, like it was trying too hard to convince you everything inside was safe, controlled, untouched by the chaos of the world outside.

White-tiled floors gleamed like polished glass under the overhead lights, reflecting the soft glow back up into Alex's face, making him squint for a moment. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air like humidity in August, so sharp it almost stung the inside of his nose, mixing with the faint, stale tang of air conditioning that had been running for too many hours straight.

The occasional squeak of rubber soles echoed off the sterile white walls, lonely sounds that felt like whispers in a library, reminding him that people came here for things that were too heavy to say out loud. People came here because they were desperate, or dying, or both.