The hospital corridor hummed with the quiet mechanical rhythm of machines, an orchestra of beeping monitors, the low hiss of oxygen tanks, and the faint shuffle of nurses’ shoes against polished linoleum. It was almost dawn, but inside the ward, time did not follow the cycle of day and night—it stretched, heavy and uncertain, tethered to Alliah’s fragile breath.
Jamiro sat beside her bed, fingers curled protectively around hers, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Every inhale felt like a promise; every exhale, a prayer. He had not slept, though his body begged him to. His eyes burned, his back ached, yet he dared not close his eyes—not when her life balanced so precariously.
Alliah stirred faintly, her eyelids fluttering as though dreams fought to keep her. Jamiro leaned closer. “I
