Questions started.
How?
Why?
Hours later—
the woman from the coffin finally spoke.
Weak voice.
Only one sentence.
“Where’s my sister?”
Everyone looked at the woman in orange.
The sisters looked at each other.
Long silence.
Then the woman in the coffin smiled weakly.
And whispered—
“You still listen with your left ear.”
The sister laughed.
Cried.
Held her hand.
Then quietly asked—
“How did you know?”
The woman looked at her.
Smiled.
“Because when we were kids…”
A small breath.
“…you always said hearts sound different when they’re trying to stay.”
Silence.
Then everyone left them alone.
Later that night—
the woman in orange stood outside the hospital.
Ready to return.
But a nurse ran after her.
Holding papers.
Confused.
“Excuse me…”
The woman turned.
The nurse looked down.
Then quietly said—
“There’s something strange.”
She handed her the admission file.
Official time of death.
Signed.
Stamped.
Approved.
Eight hours before the funeral.
The sister slowly looked up.
And realized—
someone had wanted everyone to believe she was already gone.
