The afternoon sun filters through the pale hospital curtains, casting soft golden shadows across the room. The quiet is almost sacred—except for the soft creak of the door opening.
Elias steps in without a word, as he always does. His eyes move immediately to Leila, still sitting up against the pillows, her scarf loosely draped around her shoulders, a half-read book resting on her lap.
She lifts her gaze, surprised but not startled. Something in his presence has stopped feeling foreign.
"Feeling better?" His voice is low, quiet enough to respect the hush around her.
She nods politely. "Yes. Thank you… for everything."
He doesn't respond right away, just walks toward the side table and places a small box there. "Some protein biscuits. No sugar. And mineral water. The doctor mentioned your blood sugar was low."
Leila blinks. "You didn't have to—"
"I know," he interrupts gently. "But I wanted to."
Just then, her phone buzzes insistently on the tray beside her.
Mom 💖 calling…
Leila's breath catches.
She hesitates for a second, then picks up and answers in a soft, affectionate voice. "Hi, Mama."
"Leila! Thank God you picked up. I couldn't breathe, I've been so anxious. Did something happen?"
Leila's chest tightens. She meets Elias's eyes for a moment, then quietly turns her head away as if shielding something sacred.
"No, Mama, everything's fine. Why are you so worried?"
"I just had a feeling something happened. My heart's been uneasy since yesterday. For God's sake, Leila—tell me the truth. Are you really okay?"
"I promise," she says softly, voice steady despite the weight pressing down on her chest. "I'm okay. Just tired from assignments and classes. I'm resting now."
There's a pause. Then she hears her father's voice faintly in the background, low and strained: "Ask her again… something feels off in her voice."
Leila bites the inside of her cheek, forcing her voice to stay light.
"Where's Daim? I want to talk to him."
Her younger brother comes on the line, voice casual but warm. "Hey, Monkey! You alive?"
She chuckles, her eyes stinging. "Don't call me that, you ungrateful bean."
They banter for a moment—quick, affectionate jabs like usual. But her heart isn't fully in the words. She's listening for the weight behind every voice, every breath from home.
She ends the call after a few more reassurances, and when the phone falls silent again, she doesn't move.
Elias is still there—standing quietly by the window, watching her with a kind of stillness she can feel even with her eyes closed.
She lets out a slow breath.
"I hate lying to them," she says suddenly, voice barely above a whisper. "But I'd hate it more to be the reason they worry."
Elias doesn't respond for a long moment.
But when he finally speaks, his voice is gentler than she's ever heard.
"You carry a lot on your own."
She opens her eyes, just in time to see him turn and leave with silent footsteps that don't quite match the storm he leaves behind in her chest.