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Chapter 33 - Chapter 32— Together through Chaos

The sterile hum of the hospital faded into nothing as the doctor's words reached us.

"She… she didn't make it," the voice said gently, almost unwilling to disturb the fragile air around us.

Anurak went still, his hands tightening on mine as if holding on could change what had happened. His chest heaved, small sobs escaping before he even realized.

"No… no… Mama…" His voice broke, raw and trembling, like a child lost in the night. "She's the only person I have… what will I do without her?"

I wrapped my arms around him immediately, pulling him close. He pressed his face into my chest, and I felt the weight of centuries of loss and fear all at once. Sorren nestled at our feet, sensing the grief, whining softly.

Granny arrived, quietly, her presence calm but her eyes glimmering with tears. She came to Anurak, who turned immediately to her, clutching her like a lifeline. "Waan… I… I don't know what to do… she's gone…"

"It's alright, my child," Granny whispered, rocking him gently. "It's alright. She's at peace now. And you… you are not alone."

I held Anurak from behind, feeling him tremble against Granny's chest. His sobs shook him, but slowly, with her hands on his back and mine on his shoulders, his breathing began to find a rhythm again, broken but steady.

Later, we moved to the funeral hall, quiet and respectful. The soft scent of jasmine and incense hung in the air. Monks chanted softly, their voices weaving through the room, blessing, honoring, and sending merit for her soul.

I stood beside Anurak as he placed a floral garland over the picture of his mother, his hands shaking. He whispered silent words to her, promises he wished he could keep. The warmth of Granny's hand on his back steadied him.

Candles flickered, and golden light danced across the polished floor. Family and friends bowed in reverence, offering flowers and paying their respects. Every motion was a testament to love, remembrance, and the gentle release of a soul.

Anurak's shoulders shook again, and he leaned into Granny fully this time, clinging to her as if he could draw strength from her arms alone. "I miss her so much… she was everything…" he whispered between sobs.

"She will always be with you," Granny said softly. "In your heart, in your memories… and in the love that surrounds you. You are not alone, Anurak. Not now, not ever."

I held him closer, my chest pressing against his back. Sorren nudged my leg, small and grounding. The world outside could wait. Here, in this room filled with soft chanting, fragrant flowers, and the warmth of those who loved him, I let him grieve. I let him cry.

The ceremony moved on slowly — the monks' chants, the pouring of water in blessing, the offerings laid on the ceremonial platform. Every ritual, every bow, every soft exhale was a thread weaving peace over grief.

I watched Anurak from behind, fingers entwined with mine, his head occasionally lifting to wipe tears or whisper to his mother. Granny sat nearby, silent now, letting him find the space to mourn while offering her presence like an anchor.

When it came time to leave the hall, Anurak didn't let go of Granny's hand, nor mine. He walked slowly, hesitant, carrying the ache of loss yet tethered by love and memory. The flicker of incense, the soft murmur of prayers, the glow of lanterns — it all wrapped around him like a protective cocoon.

That night, back at Granny's house, Anurak finally let himself rest. His head in my lap, my fingers tracing slow circles over his hands, Granny nearby, and Sorren curled up at our feet.

We didn't speak much. Words felt too small, too fragile. Instead, there was breathing, warmth, and the quiet promise of presence. In that silence, grief began to soften — not gone, not forgotten, but shared, held, and met with love.

And for the first time since hearing the news, I felt a sliver of hope: even when the world takes away those we love, there are still hands to hold, hearts to lean on, and love to guide us through.

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