Not Time Yet

Between Two Worlds

The hospital never truly slept. Even at dawn, when Amara stepped in for her shift, the ward was alive. The monitors humming, oxygen hissing softly, footsteps echoing down tiled corridors. Patients stirred, some groaning, others already awake and waiting for the day to begin.

Amara inhaled deeply, centering herself. This ward had become more than a training ground. It was a world of its own, with its own rhythms, its own voices, and its own fragile hopes.

She passed Mandla first. He was already up, his bed neatly made as if he owned the place. His wide grin broke across his face.

“Sunshine Sister!” he boomed. “Finally, someone decent to look at. You should see the nurse on the night shift stern as a prison guard. Nearly gave me a heart attack before breakfast.”

Amara chuckled, shaking her head. “Maybe she just doesn’t appreciate your singing at 3 a.m.”

“Ah, but you do?” Mandla winked. “Say the word, and I’ll sing you love songs till visiting hours.”

Joseph groaned from the next bed. “Lord, save us. If Mandla sings, I’ll need to double the pain meds.” He turned to Amara with mock seriousness. “You know, back in my day, nurses were queens. Not just pretty faces, they ruled the ward like generals. If you crossed them, you’d find yourself stitched up with more thread than necessary.”

“Careful, Joseph,” Amara teased. “I could still arrange that.”

The laughter that rippled through the ward was warm, grounding.

Peter leaned forward, voice smooth. “Ignore these fools, Amara. You brighten this ward more than the morning sun. If I weren’t chained to this bed, I’d take you dancing.”

Amara raised an eyebrow. “If you can survive a week without flirting, maybe I’ll consider it.”

The men groaned in unison, and she left them bickering, her smile lingering.

But when she reached David’s bed, the smile faded. He didn’t join the banter. He sat in silence, eyes distant, hands clenched. The air around him felt heavier, as though laughter couldn’t reach him.

Amara gave him a gentle nod. “I’ll check on you in a bit.”

He didn’t answer, but his gaze flickered briefly to hers before drifting away again.

The day unfolded as always; ward rounds, medication checks, patients’ needs met in endless cycles. Yet what made each day unique were the small dramas of the ward.

That afternoon, Mandla staged a “protest” over the tasteless hospital food. “Sister Sunshine,” he declared loudly, waving his fork, “this rice is a human rights violation!” He had Joseph and Peter join in, banging their spoons like drums.

Even the nurses passing by had to hide their smiles.

Amara folded her arms. “Fine. Tomorrow you can all cook for yourselves.”

The men immediately fell silent, grumbling into their trays.

“Thought so,” she said with a smirk.

When her shift ended, Amara changed quickly and left the ward behind. Outside, the sun was sinking, painting the sky in golds and pinks. She spotted Daniel waiting near the hospital gates.

Her heart lifted. No matter how long the day, seeing him grounded her.

Daniel leaned against his car, his posture casual but his smile warm. He was tall, athletic, always immaculately dressed, his shirt crisp, his shoes shining. To anyone watching, they looked like the perfect couple.

He kissed her cheek lightly as she approached. “Long day?”

“The longest,” she sighed, slipping into the passenger seat.

As they drove, he asked about her shift. Amara spoke of Mandla’s antics, Joseph’s stories, Peter’s flirtations. She left David’s name out. Not intentionally, just instinctively. Something about him didn’t belong in the same space as Daniel.

Daniel laughed at her stories, shaking his head. “You deal with too much. I don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s part of the job,” she said softly.

When they stopped at a small café, Daniel ordered for both of them before she even looked at the menu. He always did that, taking charge. She admired his confidence, but sometimes it made her feel invisible.

Over coffee, he launched into talking about his business plans, his meetings, his ambitions. Amara listened, nodding, smiling when expected. She loved him, she knew that. Yet lately, she felt the quiet ache of distance. He never asked how she felt when a patient cried, or how she carried the weight of others’ pain.

She sipped her coffee and forced the thought away. Relationships weren’t fairy tales. They were compromise, patience, and loyalty. And Daniel had given her plenty of stability, security, devotion.

When he dropped her off later, he kissed her forehead. “Sleep well, Amara. Tomorrow’s another long day.”

She nodded, smiling faintly as he drove off.

But as she turned toward her apartment, her mind drifted back not to his smile, but to the silence in David’s eyes.

Back at the ward the next morning, the cycle began again. Mandla was planning a “prison break,” roping Joseph and Peter into his nonsense. Peter wrote a “petition” demanding better dessert options, which he tried to hand to Amara with a flourish.

“You’re all impossible,” she muttered, though her laughter gave her away.

David, however, remained in his solitude. He never joined the petitions, never joked. He lived in another world, one made of shadows and memory.

And though Amara returned each night to Daniel’s arms, the echoes of that silence followed her.