The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, laying soft streaks of gold across Alliah’s bedroom wall. It was a new day, and though her body still carried the heaviness of treatment, her spirit felt strangely lighter. There was something in the air—a sense of anticipation, of quiet hope that had not visited her in a long time. Today, she and Jamiro would visit the hospital again for another round of tests, the kind that would reveal whether her body was truly responding to the therapy that had become the rhythm of her weeks.
Alliah sat on the edge of the bed, her hand pressed gently to her stomach, feeling the faint ache that had become familiar. It was not unbearable, and perhaps that was already a small victory. Jamiro entered the room carrying a cup of warm ginger tea. His eyes,
