In a small room, dimly lit by the rays of a late sunset, I look at my trembling hands. The doctors told me that the time I have left is measured in months, not years. I no longer feel anger, only a burning desire: to see Egypt, the land I had read about since childhood, within the dusty pages of books about pyramids, pharaohs, and gods.

With my last savings and the help of friends, I managed to book a short trip. When the plane descended over the desert, and the Nile appeared like a green ribbon through the golden sands, my eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t believe that my dream was coming true.

The next day, at sunset, I stood before the Pyramids of Giza. The wind carried the scent of sand and history. I sat down, leaning my back against a stone thousands of years old. Around me, tourists were taking pictures, but I simply closed my eyes, feeling time stretch. I was there, standing before eternity, and for a moment the illness no longer mattered.

In the warm silence of the desert, I whispered: “Now I can leave in peace.” And I smiled, because my dream had been fulfilled.