After the event, Naosa and Alex visited Maggie’s hospital room.
Her mother sat at her bedside, gently stroking her daughter’s hair with infinite tenderness.
Around the bed were fresh photographs and autographs—precious gifts from her idol, taken just hours earlier in what still felt like a dream.
When Naosa stepped inside, Maggie looked up with a radiant smile that lit the entire room.
“Thank you for helping me today! How did I do?”
“It was absolutely wonderful,” Naosa replied with a warm smile. “You made my entire day.”
Maggie seemed thoroughly exhausted—but profoundly content.
After a few soft-spoken laughs and one final moment of shared joy, she drifted into sleep, her face peaceful with the deep satisfaction of having achieved something truly precious.
Naosa and Alex quietly thanked Maggie’s mother and slipped from the room on quiet feet.
Out in the corridor, Naosa’s smile faded. Reality came crashing back—heavy, sharp, and unforgiving.
Alex wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her close in silent support.
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Maggie woke late that night, still drifting in the warm glow of music, love, and hundreds of smiling faces.
She lay still, replaying it all in her mind: the scent of someone she adored most, the sound of voices singing with her, the strength she’d found to finish her song.
The happiest day of her brief, brave life.
“Thank you, God,” she whispered into the dark.
Then she closed her eyes again, utterly at peace.
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As the days passed, Maggie’s condition worsened.
Within weeks, she could no longer make the journey to the playroom she had once loved so much.
Naosa began visiting her more often, breaking the rhythm of just Mondays and Wednesdays.
She came after work, on weekends—whenever the hospital would allow it.
Then one day, Naosa arrived to find Maggie had been moved to a sterile isolation room.
From that moment on, she could no longer hold her hand or offer even a comforting hug.
When Maggie saw her through the glass, she still managed a small smile and wave.
Naosa always waved back with every ounce of brightness she could summon—trying to hide the tears constantly threatening her composure.
For a time, they continued to talk through the intercom system, trying desperately to make it feel like nothing had changed.
They never said goodbye. Neither of them dared to say thank you—afraid those words might make the ending feel too real. Too final.
Later, Naosa would think with quiet heartbreak:
There was something important I needed to say. I never thanked her properly for everything she gave me.
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One afternoon, Maggie received a bouquet from her favorite idol.
Standing outside the glass, Naosa pressed the intercom button gently.
“Look, Maggie,” she said, her voice full of quiet joy. “He sent these for you—your singer. The one you love so much.”
Maggie’s eyes lit up like stars.
Naosa held the bouquet of yellow freesias up to the glass. “They smell so beautiful,” she said softly, smiling through her tears.
Maggie mouthed the words Thank you, and leaned toward the glass.
With a mischievous glint in her eyes—and a strange, heartbreaking calm—she whispered through the intercom:
“When I’m gone… will you bring them to my grave? That way… maybe I can finally smell them too.”
Naosa tried to laugh—to keep it light—but the tears came anyway.
Maggie smiled too—bright, brave, radiant.
Their eyes met and held across the barrier.
And with that silent look, they made a promise. A real one.
That was the last time they ever spoke.
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On a crisp autumn day, with golden light bathing the trees outside, Maggie was gently released from her pain.
Those she left behind would never be quite the same.
But over time, grief gave way to something quieter. Something enduring.
Love transformed, but never lost.
At the funeral, held in a small chapel filled with music and flowers, Naosa stood beside Alex.
He held her shoulder with steady, silent strength.
I’ll keep my promise to you, Maggie, he vowed silently.
Naosa stepped forward with a single yellow freesia. She placed it gently on the grave.
“Hey,” she whispered, barely audible. “Doesn’t it smell lovely?”
A breeze brushed her tear-stained cheek, warm as a sigh.
It smells so beautiful. Thank you…
And just like that, something in her heart settled into clarity.
We understand each other perfectly. No words are needed. You’re with me, always.
She cried—really cried—and smiled with peace.
Alex held her close while she wept and healed all at once.
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Later that week, with the hospital’s permission, Naosa planted a small yellow freesia in the memorial garden.
It would bloom every spring—for Maggie.
I love you so much, my dearest friend. My brave little angel.
The flowers would return each year, carrying their sweet scent and a promise—
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