CHAPTER TEN — The Rush
1477 Words
I should have known something was wrong that morning.
It started with a message.
Not unusual. Jamil always texted, even if it was just a short “hey” or something random to make me smile before school. It had become part of my routine in a way I didn’t even question anymore wake up, check my phone, look for his name.
But that morning, the message felt… different.
Short.
Too short.
Ruby, I’m feeling off. Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious.
Nothing serious.
I stared at the words longer than I should have.
He always said that.
Every time something felt wrong, every time he looked tired, every time I noticed the small things he tried to hide nothing serious.
But something about this message didn’t sit right with me.
Maybe it was the way he didn’t add a joke at the end.
Or the way there was no teasing, no lightness.
Just… that.
Flat.
Heavy.
I typed back quickly.
What do you mean by off? Did you tell the doctor?
No reply.
I waited a few seconds.
Then a minute.
Then longer.
Still nothing.
I told myself he was probably resting.
Or maybe his phone battery died.
Or maybe I was overthinking again.
I always overthought.
So I forced myself to get ready for school.
The day dragged.
Every class felt longer than usual, every sound sharper, every moment stretched thin with quiet anxiety I couldn’t explain to anyone.
The teacher’s voice became background noise.
Chalk scraping against the board.
Students laughing.
Aisha nudging me at some point, whispering something about notes I had missed.
I nodded.
Pretended.
But my mind wasn’t there.
It kept returning to that message.
I’m feeling off.
I checked my phone more times than I could count.
Still nothing.
By the time the final bell rang, I didn’t wait.
I packed my bag quickly, ignoring Aisha calling my name behind me.
“Faiza! Wait where are you going?”
“I have to go,” I said, already moving.
“Is everything okay?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know.
The air outside hit me immediately.
Hot.
Heavy.
Port Harcourt’s kind of heat the kind that clung to your skin, wrapped around you, made breathing feel thicker than it should.
But I didn’t slow down.
I flagged down a cab, barely negotiating the price before entering.
“UPTH,” I said quickly.
The ride felt too long.
Every traffic stop irritated me.
Every delay stretched the tightness in my chest.
By the time we arrived, I was already out of breath not just from the ride, but from everything building inside me.
I rushed inside.
And the moment I stepped through the hospital doors...
Everything changed.
The air felt colder.
Too cold.
The kind that settled deep into your bones.
The smell of disinfectant was sharper than usual, almost suffocating.
My footsteps echoed louder in my ears as I walked faster toward the therapy room.
Please be there.
Please just be sitting there like always.
Please.
I pushed the door open.
And stopped.
His chair was empty.
The one beside mine.
The one he always took.
Empty.
The room felt wrong without him.
Too quiet.
Too still.
I looked around quickly, my heart beginning to race in a way I couldn’t control.
A nurse nearby noticed me.
Her eyes softened slightly.
“They rushed him to emergency,” she said quietly.
My world tilted.
My book slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a dull sound.
I didn’t pick it up.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t ask questions.
My body just moved.
The corridor stretched endlessly in front of me.
White walls.
Bright lights.
The sharp smell of disinfectant everywhere.
My footsteps were uneven, almost slipping as I hurried past people, past doors, past everything.
I didn’t know exactly where I was going.
I just followed instinct.
Followed urgency.
Followed fear.
And then.....
I saw him.
On a stretcher.
Being pushed quickly down the hallway.
Everything slowed and rushed at the same time.
His eyes were closed.
His lips were pale.
Too pale.
His hand lay limp against the white sheet.
Unmoving.
Doctors surrounded him, voices overlapping.
“Pulse dropping”
“Oxygen level”
“Get the monitor”
Someone pressed firmly against his chest.
Another adjusted a mask over his face.
Machines beeped rapidly.
Too fast.
Too loud.
My body froze.
I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
This wasn’t real.
It couldn’t be.
This wasn’t the same boy who called me Ruby like it meant something.
This wasn’t the one who laughed softly, who teased me, who told me not to stop running.
This couldn’t be him.
A hand gripped my shoulders suddenly.
I turned slightly.
His mother.
Her eyes were red, filled with tears she was trying so hard to hold back.
But her voiceher voice stayed steady.
“Pray for him, Faiza,” she said.
Just that.
“Just pray.”
The words hit me harder than anything else.
Because suddenly, I understood.
This wasn’t small.
This wasn’t “nothing serious.”
This was real.
My lips trembled.
My voice barely came out.
“Ya Allah… please,” I whispered. “Not him. Not now.”
They wheeled him into the ICU.
The doors closed behind them.
And just like that....
I was left outside.
Waiting.
The hallway felt colder than before.
Quieter.
Too quiet.
I sat on the metal bench, the cold seeping through my clothes.
My hands trembled in my lap.
I stared at the floor.
Then at the door.
Then at the clock.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Each second felt louder than it should.
Like a heartbeat echoing in my ears.
Time didn’t move normally.
It dragged.
Stretched.
Paused in between moments of fear.
My mind refused to stay still.
Memories came instead.
Uninvited.
The way he smiled when he first called me Miss Runner.
The way he changed it to Ruby.
The way his voice softened whenever he said my name.
The way he looked at me like I wasn’t invisible.
Like I mattered.
I thought about the garden.
The bench.
The poems.
The way he read my words like they meant something.
I thought about the day he said
“One day, I’ll run with you. Just one race. Even if I lose.”
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.
“You’re not allowed to lose,” I whispered under my breath.
Hours passed.
Or maybe minutes.
I couldn’t tell.
Nurses walked in and out of the ICU.
Their faces unreadable.
Neutral.
Professional.
None of them stopped.
None of them said anything.
I searched their expressions anyway.
For hope.
For something.
Anything.
Nothing.
Until finally.....
The door opened.
A doctor stepped out, adjusting his glasses.
I stood immediately.
My legs felt unsteady, but I forced myself forward.
“Doctor…” my voice came out barely above a whisper.
He looked at me.
Then gave a small, tired smile.
“He’s responding to treatment,” he said.
The words hit me like air after being underwater.
“We managed to stabilize him…”
He paused slightly.
“For now.”
For now.
Relief and fear, wrapped into two words.
I nodded slowly, even though my chest still felt tight.
“Can I see him?” I asked.
“For a minute,” he replied gently.
The ICU was quiet.
Machines hummed softly.
Monitors blinked.
Everything felt controlled.
Precise.
And there he was.
Lying still.
Tubes.
Wires.
A machine tracking every beat of his heart.
But.....
He was breathing.
His chest rose.
Then fell.
Slow.
Steady.
Alive.
I stepped closer, my footsteps soft against the floor.
My hands trembled slightly as I reached for his.
Warm.
Still warm.
I held it gently.
“You scared me,” I whispered.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then.....
His lips twitched.
Just slightly.
Barely there.
“Sorry… Ruby,” he murmured weakly.
My breath caught.
“Guess I needed… some attention.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
It came out mixed with tears.
“You’re not funny,” I said, shaking my head.
But I was smiling.
Because he was still him.
Even now.
Even like this.
A nurse stepped closer.
“You need to step out soon,” she said softly.
I nodded.
But I didn’t let go immediately.
I held his hand a little longer.
Just a second more.
Just enough to remind myself....
He was here.
Still here.
Finally, I let go.
And stepped back.
I turned toward the door.
But before I left, I looked back one more time.
His eyes were half-open now.
Tired.
Heavy.
But watching me.
And there it was.
That same faint smile.
Soft.
Familiar.
Unchanged.
And somehow....
That was enough.
Enough to breathe.
Enough to hope.
Enough to believe that for now…
He was still here.
- Writer
