Not Time Yet

Not Time Yet

The morning always began the same. By 07h00, the ward came alive with the restless hum of a small world waking, the squeak of trolley wheels, the low chatter of nurses exchanging handover notes, the rattle of pill bottles, and the groans of patients stirred too early. Amara slipped into her crocks and tied her braids back neatly, determined as always to start her shift with calm focus.

She greeted the patients one by one as she helped with rounds. Mandla, the dreadlock joker, raised his hand in mock salute.

“Morning, Sister Sunshine,” he teased, winking.

Amara laughed softly and shook her head. “You’re impossible, Mandla.”

“Only before my meds kick in,” he replied with a grin.

Joseph, the talkative alcoholic, was already requesting water for his “dry throat,” though everyone knew he just craved attention. Peter, the respectful ladies’ man, gave Amara a smile and tipped his imaginary hat. “Morning, Florence Nightingale.”

It was all in good spirits, and Amara had grown used to their banter. But when she reached David’s bed, the rhythm faltered.

“Good morning, David,” she said gently.

He looked up at her, expression unreadable. His reply was short: “Morning.”

His tone was polite but clipped, as though he wanted to keep the world at arm’s length. Amara lingered for a second, checking his chart, adjusting his blanket. She felt the distance, a wall thicker today than yesterday. She decided not to push.

By mid-morning, the ward was at its busiest. Doctors came through with students trailing like ducklings, scribbling furiously in their notebooks. Amara and the other student nurses busied themselves with vitals, bed-making, and helping distribute medication. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and overbrewed tea from the staff room.

At David’s bed, Amara noticed he was quiet, answering doctors’ questions in flat monotones. He barely glanced at the students who examined him. The others, Mandla cracking jokes, Joseph begging for more attention. Peter, eyeing the nurses, filled the room with chatter. Yet David sat in stillness, a shadow among noise.

Amara’s instincts stirred. Something weighed on him.

During her break, she considered sitting with the other students, but instead her feet carried her back to David’s bedside. He was fiddling with the edge of his blanket, gaze fixed on nothing.

“You’re quieter today,” she said softly.

“Maybe I don’t have anything worth saying,” he muttered.

“That doesn’t sound like the man who kept Mandla laughing yesterday,” she teased lightly.

For a moment, the corner of his mouth lifted, but it didn’t last. “Some days, memories don’t let me laugh.”

Amara didn’t pry. She had learned to let silence stretch it often gave people permission to fill it. But today, David didn’t. He turned his face away, clearly retreating.

Amara left him, respecting the boundary, but her heart remained restless.

By late afternoon, the ward slipped into its quieter rhythm. After lunch and medications, patients dozed or stared at muted television screens. The sunlight softened into golden streams that slipped through half-open windows, carrying the faint smell of dust and disinfectant. The bustling noise of morning had ebbed to a calm lull.

Amara carried a small basin to Peter’s bedside to help him wash up. He cracked a playful remark about her being “too gentle to be a nurse,” earning chuckles from Mandla. Joseph chimed in with a rambling story about his youth, half-true and half dreamt. Amara laughed along, but her eyes kept drifting back to David. He wasn’t dozing. He was awake, rigid, staring out the window like he had been all morning.

When her tasks lightened, she walked quietly towards him.

“May I sit?” she asked.

He gestured faintly. “It’s your ward.”

Amara lowered herself into the chair beside him. She clasped her hands in her lap, waiting. For several minutes, only the faint cough of Joseph and Mandla’s soft humming filled the space.

Then, David spoke. His voice was low, as if he feared the words themselves. “When the accident happened, I didn’t think I would survive. Truth be told, I didn’t want to.”

Amara’s breath caught. She turned fully to him, giving him her complete attention.

He stared at the sunlight streaking the floor. “I was on the table, bleeding, broken. I remember the chaos voices shouting, machines beeping. I remember slipping. Everything started fading, and I thought, finally… I can see her again.”

His throat tightened. His fingers gripped the blanket like an anchor.

Amara whispered, “Lila?”

He nodded once, eyes glassy. “But then… she was there. Clearer than I’d ever seen her, brighter than the lights above me. She leaned close and said, ‘Not time yet.’ Just that. Not time yet. And then she was gone.”

The words hung between them, fragile and powerful.

Amara’s heart ached. She tried to picture the weight of such a moment caught between life and death, seeing the one you loved, only to be denied reunion. “And you believed her?” she asked gently.

David’s laugh was broken. “I didn’t want to. I wanted to follow her. But something in her voice… it wasn’t pleading. It was commanding. Like she knew something I didn’t. And then I woke up in this life I never asked for.”

Tears brimmed at the edge of his eyes, but he blinked them back.

Amara reached across, resting her hand lightly on the bed rail. “Maybe she gave you a gift, David. Maybe she gave you purpose to keep going, even when you couldn’t see it yourself.”

He shook his head, jaw clenched. “Purpose? For what? I lost the only future that mattered. Everything since then… it’s just surviving. Existing. And for what?”

Amara’s chest tightened. She wanted to tell him he still mattered, that life still had beauty waiting. But she saw in his eyes that easy platitudes would only wound. Instead, she said softly, “Maybe the answer hasn’t shown itself yet. But if she said ‘not time yet’… maybe there’s something only you can do. Something you haven’t discovered.”

David swallowed hard. His gaze flickered toward her, almost searching. “You sound so sure.”

“I’m not sure,” Amara admitted honestly. “But I believe voices of love don’t lie. If she said it wasn’t your time, then I believe it wasn’t.”

The surrounding ward was hushed, their little corner cocooned in golden light. David leaned back into his pillow, finally allowing a single tear to slip free.

“You know…” he whispered, “I’ve never told anyone that. Not even the doctors. They’d just call it a hallucination.”

Amara’s voice was steady. “Sometimes the deepest truths can’t be measured with machines.”

He looked at her then, truly looked, as if searching for judgment and finding none. Something shifted in his eyes, not healing, not yet, but a loosening, like the first c***k in a long frozen river.

Before Amara could say more, the clatter of a trolley signaled the approach of the evening shift. The spell of stillness broke. She checked her watch 18h45. Almost time to hand over.

She rose slowly. “I should finish my notes.”

David’s voice stopped her. “Thank you… for listening.”

Amara smiled gently. “Thank you for trusting me.”

As she walked away, she felt his gaze on her back. He wasn’t staring out the window anymore. He was watching her.