Not Time Yet

The First Cracks

The ward had finally quieted. It was late afternoon, that soft, drowsy time between the bustle of visiting hours and the rush of evening rounds. The sun spilled slanting gold across the floor, filtering through half-drawn curtains. A few patients dozed in their beds, the soft hum of a fan and the occasional clatter of a trolley the only sounds that broke the stillness.

Amara had just finished checking charts and was sitting at David’s bedside, a notebook tucked into the crook of her arm. She was supposed to be reviewing her study notes, but her eyes kept lifting, drawn to the man before her.

David was staring out the window again. He often did. His body looked strong enough, but his eyes carried the weight of something she couldn’t name.

“You look far away,” she said softly, breaking the silence.

He didn’t answer right away. His lips curved in a faint, sad smile. “Far doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Amara leaned a little closer. “Want to talk about it?”

David’s gaze shifted from the fading sky to her face. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate as if balancing on a cliff, deciding whether to step forward or retreat.

“I had someone,” he finally said. His voice was low, almost swallowed by the stillness of the ward. “Her name was Lila. She… she was supposed to be my future.”

Amara folded her notebook shut, giving him her full attention. She didn’t press with questions. She knew better that sometimes silence was the safest space you could give someone.

David’s fingers twisted at the bedsheets. “She laughed like… like sunlight. You know those people who can walk into a room and make it feel alive? That was her. And now” his voice caught. He shook his head. “Now she’s just gone.”

Amara’s chest tightened. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“She was more than my fiancée,” David continued, his voice growing rougher. “She was my compass. Everything I did was with her in mind. When she died…” He paused, eyes clouding. “… I lost the map. And I don’t think I ever found it again.”

The ward’s rhythm seemed to pause for him, even the fan’s whir felt muted, like the world itself wanted to listen.

Amara reached out, resting her hand lightly on the rail of his bed. Not too close, not crossing lines, but close enough to show she was present. “That must’ve been unbearable.”

David let out a brittle laugh. “Unbearable is waking up and realizing I’m still here, when she isn’t.”

Silence stretched between them. She wanted to say something that would lift him, something wise and bright. But in her training, she had learned not every wound needed words. Sometimes, it just needed space to bleed safely.

After a long while, he looked at her again. His eyes were damp, but not weak. There was something raw, stripped bare. “There’s more to it,” he said quietly, almost a confession. “Something I’ve never told anyone.”

Amara straightened, her heartbeat quickened. She could feel it the edge of something heavy, something that mattered. But she didn’t rush him.

“Take your time,” she murmured. “I’m here.”

David’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked away, back toward the window where the last of the sun painted the horizon orange. He exhaled sharply. “Not today. Not yet.”

She didn’t push. Instead, she stood, adjusted the blanket at his waist, and gave him a small, steady smile. “Then I’ll wait. Whenever you’re ready.”

For the first time that day, his eyes softened. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. A c***k in the wall he had built, a tiny fracture where light could one day seep in.

As the evening shift buzz began, nurses were checking vitals, trolleys rattling past Amara noted the time. Her shift was nearly over. She gathered her things, gave him one last glance, and saw that he was no longer staring out the window. He was watching her walk away.