Monsoon revives mean our ward’s floor stays damp no matter how many times we mop, and the smell of wet disinfectant follows me home at dawn. It makes me think of the elderly patients from the villages, worried their own roofs might be leaking tonight. I’ll pray for dry roads for the ambulance drivers—and for my jasmine plant on the balcony, hoping it doesn’t get battered before my next day off.
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