approaching shadow

The room smelled faintly of cardamom and clove.
His head was burned bald by the chemo, but there was a fuzz of fine hair re-emerging. His hands were as dark as tree bark and as dry as parchment. Piled around him on his disheveled bed were bottles of pills, a cell phone, two TV controllers, and a bottle of water. His eyes were sunken. He could taste metal in his mouth.
Yet he offered her sweets from Bangalore.
"If this were to happen to me," she thought, "I would no more be giving someone treats from India. I would be begging for sympathy, pills, backrubs..."
He smiled up at her.
"It's not so bad," he said, "I can see you are so worried. Don't be. Please, have a sweet my dear."