Zephyr and I sat on the chairs outside my mother's hospital room. He was so quiet that his silence masked any trace of emotion.
I began recounting the year my family went bankrupt, trying hard to keep my voice steady and calm.
But when I spoke of my father's death and my mother's stroke, I couldn't stop myself from trembling.
But a warm hand enveloped mine. Zephyr gently caressed the back of my hand.
"Zoey, your hands aren't as soft as they used to be." He kept his head down, hiding his expression from me. Yet his voice was so soft, like it could be swept away by the slightest breeze.
Back then, I was so pampered that even my fruit was peeled and served to me. But now, I have to do everything myself, from moving goods to cooking. How could it compare to before?
"Zephyr, I've worked
