The days following Alliah’s decision to begin the aggressive treatment unfolded like a fragile tapestry—threads of hope and fear interwoven so tightly that none could be pulled free without unraveling the whole. The hospital walls seemed whiter, colder, as though they carried the memory of every patient who had walked this path before her. Machines hummed with clinical detachment, IV lines dripped steadily, and Alliah lay quietly on her bed, her strength ebbing and surging like the tide.
Jamiro never left her side. His hand was a constant presence on hers, warm and grounding, even when exhaustion pulled at his eyelids and weariness bent his shoulders. He tried to hide his fatigue, but the shadow beneath his eyes betrayed him. Still, whenever Alliah looked his way, he straightened, forcing
