In that critical care unit, Mina met her sister's gaze, all while anxiously awaiting Adams's arrival. Safiya's breath was raspy and labored, filling the small space, but somehow, the sound offered a new anchor for Mina's hope.
Mina was already tangled in conflicting emotions, a tension so visible that Safiya noticed it. "Mina, don't cry," Safiya whispered. "I'm still here."
Those words echoed in Mina's mind every time her sister repeated them. They felt like a beam of light—piercing, yet tragically beautiful. She watched her sister's eyes; they were bright and sharp despite the haze of medication.
She felt the marginal, grounding pressure of Safiya's hand against hers. By all rights, Mina should have felt as light as a feather, drifting on a cloud of relief knowing her sister would survive. Instead, she simply collapsed into the unforgiving plastic chair by the bedside, utterly spent.
The adrenaline that had been sustaining her through the long hours had finally evaporated, leaving her with desperation and a refined shivering—the physical toll of fear and exhaustion.
A few moments later, Adams approached the bed. His bulky, sturdy frame looked almost comical in the narrow, cramped confines of the ward. He entered quietly, arms folded loosely over his chest, only dropping them once he stood behind Mina. He gazed down at Safiya, who looked back at the unfamiliar face with quiet curiosity.
An uncomfortable silence settled over them. Sensing the shift, Mina turned and saw Adams standing firmly behind her.
A stranger with gentle words. "Peace be upon you. How are you feeling?" Adams asked softly.
Safiya responded with an exhausted breath, "Hello. I'm fine, thank you."
Adams nodded, allowing a comfortable silence to follow—a stillness that seemed to lift the immediate pressure from the room.
Mina rubbed her damp, cold palms together, searching for words to bridge the gap. Finally, she turned to him. "I thought you were right behind us when I came in with the nurse. Where did you go?"
"I had to take a call," Adams replied.
"I don't know how to thank you," Mina began, her voice thick. "Whether with honesty, through actions, or with these tears. I truly appreciate your kindness."
"You've thanked me enough, dear," he said in a low, warm tone. "There's no need to keep repeating it."
"But I do," she insisted, looking deep into his eyes. "And I will. You saved my sister's life today. Without you, I... I would have lost her. There wouldn't be anyone left to thank." She blinked back fresh tears.
His expression softened; the stern lines around his mouth relaxed. "You don't owe me a thing, Mina. Not gratitude, and certainly not a debt." He hesitated, his gaze seemingly searching her tired soul. "Just let her heal. Focus on that. That is thanks enough."
A lump formed in Mina's throat. He is so certain, she thought. He had nothing to lose by giving so much to a stranger, stepping into someone else's chaos to set it right. It contradicted every bit of logic she knew. Who was this man?
Summoning her courage, she asked the question that had been weighing on her more than any expression of gratitude. "But, Sir... why are you still here?"
Adams arched a dark eyebrow, looking genuinely surprised. "Should I have left you here alone? After paying the bills and seeing the state you were in? With no one else to help you? Should I have walked away?"
"You don't even know me," she whispered. "You didn't even try to know me before you helped. You could have just paid and left," she continued. "Your part was done. But you stayed. You're still here, waiting to see if we're okay. This kindness... even if it comes with a price, it's worth it."
A shadow flickered across his face, a sudden darkness in his eyes. Her question seemed to have struck a hidden chord. He turned his head away for a moment before responding. "I didn't do this for a price, Mina."
He took a deep breath. "I would never forgive myself. Because sometimes..." his voice grew rough, "the one thing you can never live with is leaving when you could have helped."
Mina didn't fully understand the history behind his words, but the raw vibration in his voice silenced any further questions. There was a story there—an old wound—and she felt it wasn't her place to pry. Not yet.
The ensuing silence was long, but no longer heavy. It felt warm. For the first time, it felt right.
Finally, Adams cleared his throat, returning to practicalities. "Let me give you my number." He pulled his phone from his pocket. "In case anything happens, or if the hospital needs a quick authorization for payment. Let me know."
Mina's heart hammered against her ribs. His number. It wasn't just a string of digits; it was a bridge between their worlds, a connection that would outlast this crisis. She pulled out her own phone, feeling a pang of self-consciousness at the sight of its cracked screen.
He recited the numbers in that steady, low voice. She keyed them in carefully, saving the contact as Adams Dared.
The gesture felt monumental. Something shifted inside her—a subtle change in spirit, the beginning of a bond. As she handed her phone to him to check the number, their fingers brushed. It was only a fleeting touch, skin against skin, but a jolt of awareness raced up her arm.
Her phone began to vibrate as he placed a missed call to her. "Now you can reach me," he said. "Day or night. For anything."
Mina felt tongue-tied, clutching the phone like a protective charm. "That's... more than I could ask for."
He offered a faint, fleeting smile. "Trust isn't built in a day. I know that. But today, you trusted me with your sister's life. That means something to me."
His words settled in her chest, providing a strange comfort. Trust, she reflected. A dangerous word I was always taught to fear.
"You need to sleep now," he said, his voice firm, breaking the stillness. "You've been through too much today. Your body needs to rest."
She shook her head, a flash of stubbornness in her jaw. "I can't. Not until you do. You've been here all day, too. Besides, I can't look away from Safiya yet. Not until she's truly stable."
Her smile was weary and knowing, and it seemed to catch him off guard. The distance between them had vanished, replaced by something quiet and pure—perhaps the very root of a beginning.
Just as he prepared to leave, a sudden vibration shattered the peace. Her phone buzzed against her leg, making her jump. She looked down at the screen, and the color drained from her face.
Her hands began to shake. She immediately declined the call, her eyes wide with a primal terror—the look of someone who realized they were no longer safe.