The morning after Alliah and Jamiro had written their “borrowed time” list, the world seemed suspended in a delicate quiet. The sun streamed through the window with a softness that belied the turmoil within their hearts. Jamiro woke before Alliah, watching her chest rise and fall in a shallow rhythm, each breath fragile as a glass thread stretched taut. He reached for her hand, kissing her knuckles as if to ground himself in the proof that she was still there.
He whispered, almost to himself, “Another morning with you. That’s all I need.”
When Alliah stirred, her smile was faint, but it glowed like light on water. “Jam,” she said softly, “you look as if you’ve carried the whole night on your shoulders.”
“I did,” Jamiro admitted. “Because I was afraid to close my eyes. Afraid I’d lose th
