He lay there silently, his fingers tightly clasped on his chest as if gathering all his strength. I was reading his favorite notes aloud, but he wasn’t listening — he was staring at me without looking away. And when I asked:

— Are you feeling unwell? Do you want some water?

He shook his head.

— Water… no. I need you to… listen.

His voice was hoarse, almost unearthly, as if his last strength had been poured into those words. I leaned closer, feeling a strange, sticky anxiety rising inside me. He had never started a conversation like this before.

— I should have warned you long ago — he whispered. — But I kept putting it off. I thought it would never come to this.

He looked at me with terrified eyes.