This was not happening. This could not be real. Never the less, he was navigating through a throng of Sunday afternoon drivers.
Surreal. He understood, accepted even, that family ages, health scares come and go. But his sister, his oldest sister, laying in a hospital bed—it shook him. Like the dusting of confectioner sugar on a Bundt cake, worry was sprinkled over his heart.
What would they discuss? How long should he stay? Genuine love and concern coursed through his veins, and he wanted it to be evident, but would his visit be marred, somehow discredited by awkward moments of silence?
Once in her room, he found it did not take long for a jovial conversation to spark. They discussed exactly what landed her here, then moved on to their love of British crime shows on Netflix.
He sat in awe of how things turned out, as the two did not go out of their way ordinarily to interact. There was no bad blood between the two, just a matter of years.
He wove his way home, feeling the warmth of friendship rekindled—that was what it was like speaking to his oldest sister; two friends who lost touch sit down and pick up where they left off as if time had never separated them.

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