CHAPTER ELEVEN — The Visit
1599 Words
The hospital smelled the same.
Antiseptic. Air-conditioned. Too clean to ever feel comforting, no matter how many times you walked through its halls. The walls were still a dull, obedient white, the floors polished to a shine that reflected overhead lights like tiny, cold stars. Nurses still moved briskly, voices low but purposeful. Machines still hummed and beeped in quiet persistence, reminding everyone that life, here, was something constantly monitored.
But that morning, something felt different.
Lighter.
It wasn’t the building. It wasn’t the people. It was something inside me.
Maybe it was because I knew Jamil was better.
It had been a week since that day the day everything almost slipped through my fingers before I even realized I was holding onto it. The day my chest tightened so hard I thought something inside me had cracked open. The day fear sat beside me, breathing, alive.
The day his heart almost stopped.
Even now, I could replay it perfectly. Not just the events, but the feelings. The panic that rushed through my veins like fire. The helpless prayers I whispered under my breath, over and over again, like if I stopped, something terrible would happen. The cold grip of waiting. And then… the fragile, trembling relief.
Sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I could still hear it.
The monitor.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Proof that he was still here.
I exhaled slowly, adjusting the strap of my bag as I stepped out of the therapy room. My session had ended, but my feet weren’t ready to leave the building yet. Not today.
Without thinking too much about it, I turned toward the ward.
The one where he had been admitted.
Each step felt heavier than it should have. Not because I didn’t want to go, but because I didn’t know what I would find when I got there. I hadn’t seen him awake since that day. Every visit after had been brief, quiet, careful. He had been resting, recovering, sleeping through most of it.
Today was different.
He was awake.
And for some reason, that made me nervous.
I slowed down as I approached the door, my fingers brushing lightly against the wall as if I needed something to steady myself. My heart wasn’t racing, but it wasn’t calm either. It hovered somewhere in between uncertain, hesitant.
What was I supposed to say?
“Hi, you almost died, but you look good now”?
I let out a small breath, almost laughing at myself. Then I reached the door and stopped.
Just for a second.
I peeked in.
And there he was.
Sitting up.
Not lying down. Not hooked to a dozen tubes like before. Just sitting there, back resting against the bed, gaze turned toward the window like he had all the time in the world.
Sunlight spilled across his face, soft and warm, catching the edges of his features. He looked… calm. Not the fragile kind of calm that comes after pain, but something steadier. Something real.
Then he turned.
And smiled.
It came easily, like it always did. That small, quiet grin that didn’t demand attention but somehow held it anyway. The kind that made everything else fade for a moment.
“Ruby,” he said.
Like he had been expecting me.
Like my presence wasn’t a surprise at all.
The sound of my nickname settled somewhere deep in my chest, warm and unfamiliar in a way I didn’t quite understand. I pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside, suddenly aware of everything my footsteps, my breathing, the way I adjusted my hijab even though it was already fine.
I didn’t know whether to hug him.
Wave.
Smile.
Or just stand there like I was doing now.
“I heard you scared everyone,” I said finally, forcing a lightness into my voice.
He chuckled softly, the sound low but genuine. “Just keeping things interesting.”
I shook my head, folding my arms as if I was annoyed. “That’s not funny.”
But it kind of was.
Not the situation. Never that. Just… the way he said it. The way he always found a way to make things feel less heavy than they were.
The truth was, I was too relieved to even tease him properly.
Too aware of the fact that he was sitting here, alive, talking, smiling.
Too aware of how close that hadn’t been the case.
Before I could say anything else, the door opened again.
I turned slightly.
A girl walked in.
She looked about my age, maybe a little older. She carried a food flask in one hand and her expression shifted the moment she saw me first curiosity, then recognition, then something softer.
And then I saw it.
The resemblance.
Same eyes.
Same smile.
“Oh,” she said, brightening. “You must be Ruby.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah.”
Jamil grinned from behind me. “Ruby, meet my sister, Zara. The boss of the house.”
Zara let out a laugh, shaking her head as she set the flask down. “Don’t listen to him. He just doesn’t like being told what to do.”
“I wonder why,” Jamil muttered.
I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips.
Zara turned back to me, her gaze warm and assessing in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable, just… observant. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I froze.
“Me?”
She nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yes. Apparently, you’re the reason my brother refuses to miss therapy sessions.”
I glanced at Jamil quickly, but he was already looking away, a faint embarrassment settling into his expression.
“He says it’s because of ‘motivation,’” she added, her tone teasing.
“Zara,” he warned, though there was no real annoyance in it.
My cheeks burned instantly.
“I just.....I mean.....I didn’t....” I stopped, realizing I didn’t even know how to finish that sentence. “I didn’t do anything.”
She laughed, but this time it was softer. Kinder. “You did. You showed up. That counts.”
Something about the way she said it made me quiet.
Because she wasn’t joking anymore.
“You’re his friend,” she added. “That means something.”
Friend.
The word settled between us, simple and heavy at the same time.
I nodded slowly. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too,” she said, smiling before picking up the flask again. “Let me go get water. I’ll be back.”
And just like that, she stepped out, leaving the room quieter than before.
It felt different now.
Still.
Jamil looked at me, not immediately speaking. Just watching, like he was trying to read something I hadn’t said out loud.
He always did that.
“You know, Ruby,” he said after a moment, his voice softer now, more serious. “I meant what I told the doctor.”
I tilted my head slightly. “What?”
“That you’re the best thing this whole hospital situation gave me.”
My breath caught.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. But it landed.
Right there.
Deep.
I looked down at my hands, suddenly unsure what to do with them. My fingers traced small circles against my palm, a nervous habit I didn’t even realize I had picked up.
I didn’t trust my voice enough to respond.
So I just smiled.
Small. Quiet. Honest.
Then he spoke again.
“They’re discharging me tomorrow.”
My head snapped up. “Really?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Finally going home. No more machines. No more hospital food.”
There was a lightness in his voice, something close to relief. And I felt it too.
I should have been completely happy.
And I was.
But something else lingered underneath.
Something I didn’t want to name.
“I’m happy for you,” I said. And I meant it.
“I know,” he replied gently.
There was a pause.
The kind that wasn’t uncomfortable, just… full.
I wanted to say more.
I wanted to say I’ll miss this. Not the hospital. Not the fear. Just… the moments. The quiet conversations. The way we had somehow built something in the middle of all this.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I said, “That’s… good. You deserve it.”
He smiled again.
That same steady smile.
The one that felt like sunlight filtering through curtains in the morning. Soft. Certain. Warm in a way that didn’t ask for anything in return.
We stayed like that for a little while longer, talking about small things. Nothing too heavy. Nothing too deep. Just enough to fill the space without breaking it.
And then, eventually, I stood up.
“I should go,” I said.
He nodded, not stopping me. “Yeah.”
I walked to the door, my steps slower than they had been when I entered. Before leaving, I turned back once.
He was still watching me.
Still smiling.
And for a second, I felt something shift.
Not fear.
Not uncertainty.
Just… something new.
Something I didn’t fully understand yet.
I gave a small wave before stepping out into the corridor.
The hospital looked the same.
The walls. The lights. The floors.
But as I walked through it, something inside me had changed.
The weight I had been carrying for days maybe weeks,felt lighter now.
The fear that used to echo in every corner had quieted.
He was getting better.
He was going home.
I felt relieved
- Writer
