(Mina's POV)
Hospitals possessed a strange, warping quality, blurring the lines of time until they became meaningless. Days felt like weeks, weeks stretched into an endless, grinding month. Mina had long since lost count of how many times she had paced the worn linoleum corridor between her sister's room and the humming vending machine that offered stale biscuits and overly sweet tea. She'd lost track of the nights she'd spent dozing upright in the same unforgiving plastic chair, her neck stiff, her dreams punctuated by the beep of monitors and the soft tread of night nurses.
But one constant, solid and unwavering, threaded through the endless, gray hours-Adams.
At first, she had diligently tried to rationalize his presence. He was just being kind, she told herself. A wealthy, perhaps eccentric stranger who had decided on a whim to perform an act of extraordinary charity. But strangers didn't call every single morning, his voice a low, steady rumble through her cheap phone, his first question always, "Have you eaten breakfast?" Strangers didn't show up in the middle of a hectic day, a large brown paper bag in hand, filled with hot, fragrant food from a proper restaurant, not the hospital canteen. Strangers didn't stand patiently, a formidable and silent presence by the nurse's station, while she, her voice trembling with exhaustion, tried to understand a doctor's complex prognosis.
Without any fanfare or discussion, he had simply made himself a part of her new, harrowing routine. His presence had become a cornerstone she hadn't realized she was leaning on until the idea of facing another day in this purgatory without it seemed unthinkable.
"Your voice sounds tired," he said one evening, his tone a blend of gentle observation and matter-of-fact concern, the faint static of the hospital payphone line hissing between them.
Mina leaned her forehead against the cool, painted cinderblock wall, rubbing her temples where a persistent headache had taken root. "I'm always tired, Adams. That's what hospitals do. They systematically steal your sleep, your energy, your sense of time."
"You should let me bring dinner tonight," he pressed, his voice leaving no room for the argument he knew was coming. "Real food. Something with nutrients. Not another packet of vending machine biscuits that taste like cardboard."
A reluctant, breathy laugh escaped her. It felt strange on her lips. "And what will all the nurses and busybodies think if they see a man like you carrying a food package into a public ward for a woman like me?"
She could almost hear the shrug in his voice. "They'll think I'm a decent man who knows a strong, tired woman needs proper jollof rice and stew more than another well-meaning sermon about patience and God's plan."
Her laughter came easier this time, fuller, surprising her with its own sound. It startled her-how naturally he could coax it out of her, like drawing water from a deep, long-sealed well. Laughter had been a foreigner in her mouth, a stranger she hadn't entertained, for months.
---
(Adams's POV)
He hung up the heavy receiver but didn't move from the payphone, his own dim reflection staring back at him from the polished metal surface. The ghost of Mina's laughter still rang in his ears, a bright, disarming sound that seemed to momentarily bleach the gloom from the hospital's hallway. It had been a long, long time since anyone's voice had lingered with him this way, a resonant echo that stayed long after the conversation had ended.
This wasn't supposed to happen. The mantra played in his head every night like a warning siren. Paying for her sister's surgery was one thing-a clean, finite transaction, an act of mercy he could quantify and file away. But this? This was different. Now he found himself consciously rearranging high-stakes meetings just to carve out an hour to stop by the hospital. He caught his thumb scrolling to her name in his phone contacts before his brain had even registered the impulse to call. He was memorizing the rhythms of her day, learning the specific note of worry in her voice versus the rare tone of relief.
It was utter madness. A dangerous deviation from a life built on control and calculated moves. And yet, when he walked into that ward and saw her face light up with a smile-thin and worn at the edges, but utterly, devastatingly real-it felt, paradoxically, like the only shred of sanity he'd experienced in years.
(Mina's POV)
The evening he finally brought the food, the entire ward seemed to transform. The oppressive smell of antiseptic and illness was momentarily conquered by the rich, earthy aroma of pepper soup and the savory scent of jollof rice. Mina spread the foil containers out on the small, wheeled bedside table, the steam rising like a promise. The inviting smell even drew a few nurses closer, who peeked in with curious, smiling glances.
"I didn't ask for this," she said softly, her pride warring with the primal hunger that twisted in her stomach. Her eyes, however, betrayed her, wide and fixed on the feast.
"I know," Adams replied, settling into the dreadfully uncomfortable chair beside hers as if it were a throne. He made no move to serve himself. This was entirely for her. "You'd never ask. That's precisely why I brought it anyway."
Her hands shook slightly as she lifted a spoonful of the fragrant soup. The first taste was so profoundly comforting, so packed with flavor and care, that it nearly undid her completely. It wasn't just sustenance; it was an act of pure, undiluted kindness. She had to blink back a sudden, hot press of tears. "You... you don't have to keep doing this. Any of this."
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, bringing his eyes level with hers. The proximity was suddenly intimate. "And yet here I am." His voice was low and steady, but his eyes held a different intensity, searching hers as if he were asking a much larger, more terrifying question altogether-one he didn't yet have the courage to give voice to.
The silence between them thickened, becoming charged and heavy with things unsaid, until the sound of her sister stirring restlessly on the bed broke the spell. Mina quickly looked away, her cheeks burning with a flush that had nothing to do with the spicy soup.
(Later – Outside the Ward)
Later, they stepped out together into the cool embrace of the night air, seeking a moment's respite from the recycled atmosphere of the hospital. The building's harsh fluorescent lights glared down on the entranceway, but the street beyond was softened by shadows and the distant, hazy glow of the city. Mina hugged her arms tightly around herself, a slight shiver running through her.
"You'll catch a cold," Adams observed, his voice laced with a concern that felt more intimate than any touch. In one fluid, unhesitating motion, he slipped out of his tailored jacket.
She froze as he draped it over her shoulders. The garment was impossibly large on her frame, the fine wool lining still warm from his body heat. It smelled faintly of his expensive, subtle cologne and something else underneath-something uniquely, essentially him. A wave of warmth flooded her chest, a sensation that was both foreign and terrifyingly sweet.
"You really shouldn't-" she began to protest, her instinct to refuse such care, to maintain the fragile boundary.
"-care this much?" He finished the sentence for her, a wry, almost self-deprecating half-smile tugging at his lips. His eyes held hers, unwavering. "I think it's far too late for that, Mina."
Her heart stuttered against her ribs. She wanted to protest, to push him back, to neatly re-categorize him into the safe, simple box of "kind stranger" where he logically belonged. But when she looked at him-really looked, past the expensive clothes and the imposing demeanor-she saw the subtle cracks in his carefully composed exterior. She recognized a deep, echoing loneliness that mirrored her own, a silent understanding that passed between them without a single word.
For a long, suspended moment, they simply stood there under the artificial light, the city humming its distant, indifferent lullaby beyond the hospital gates. The air between them buzzed with something potent and unspoken, fragile as a soap bubble yet undeniable in its pull.
Mina finally broke the silence, her voice barely more than a whisper, the question that had been haunting her finally given breath. "Adams... why me? Of all the people in the world, why did you stop for me?"
His answer came slow, each word weighted with a truth he seemed to be pulling from a place deep within himself. "Because sometimes, Mina... fate doesn't stop to give explanations. It doesn't offer reasons. It just... gives you someone. Someone you find you simply cannot walk away from."
Her breath caught in her throat, lodging there. And in that crystal-clear moment, standing swamped in his jacket and surrounded by the scent of him, she realized with a jolt that this bond-whatever it was rapidly becoming-was no longer just about gratitude or a debt that could be repaid.
It was the dangerous, thrilling, and terrifying beginning of something infinitely deeper.