Alliah sat quietly in the hospital’s small garden, the scent of freshly watered plants surrounding her like a gentle balm. The roses, chrysanthemums, and lilies swayed lightly with the wind, almost as though they were breathing in rhythm with her. She closed her eyes, letting the rustle of leaves carry her thoughts far from the sterile rooms, the steady beeps of machines, and the faint smell of alcohol and disinfectant.
It had been months since her first series of tests. Months of blood work, scans, therapies, consultations, and waiting rooms. Each stage carried its own weight—hope tangled with fear, courage tested by uncertainty. And yet, despite all the trials, here she was: still standing, still breathing, still holding onto life with both hands.
Jamiro approached quietly from behind,
