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2 | 11 ๐—ฌ๐—˜๐—”๐—ฅ๐—ฆ ๐—Ÿ๐—”๐—ง๐—˜๐—ฅ

The scalpel felt like an extension of my hand, a delicate, weightless instrument of precision. The air in the operating room was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the low, steady hum of the machines that kept our patient tethered to life. I felt no fear, only a deep, abiding calm that was my constant companion in this world. It was a calm born not of detachment, but of absolute focus, a sanctuary I had built for myself, brick by brick, over a decade.

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