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“Never have I imagined that you would be here,” he opened. “Not at a time like this.”
“Do I look like a ghost to you?” I laughed.
“Nah, nah. Of course not,” he replied. “But you act like one, not only to me, but also to everybody.”
He finished watering his orchids and did exactly what I imagined he would do — he fixed his thin, silver hair with only a sway of his fingers, walked through the door even if his feet were covered with mud, and pushed two heavy couches which he thought he can never move around. Usually when he does this routine, he would complain about his backaches, which would worsen after cleaning all the serious mess he has made on the floor. In the end, the job will inevitably fall into my hands.
But today, he was different. He grabbed a wet…
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