The night air outside St. Joseph's Hospital was heavy with the sharp bite of antiseptic and the faint hum of generators. Fluorescent lights flickered above the gates, casting pale shadows across the courtyard. Adam adjusted the strap of his worn leather bag, rolling his shoulders after a long day.
He came here for one reason—to see his old friend, Dr. Hassan—but the sound that reached him halted his steps.
Crying.
Not the discreet sob of someone trying to hide, but the unrestrained kind that cut through silence like glass splintering.
His gaze swept the courtyard. Then he saw her.
A young woman sat slumped on the edge of a cold cement bench. Her scarf clung to her damp cheeks, shoulders trembling as she buried her face in her hands. The way her body shook, as if every breath fractured her from the inside, made Adam's chest tighten.
He could have walked past. Should have. Hospitals were full of grief. But something rooted him to the spot. Something in her brokenness was too familiar, too raw.
Adam found himself moving toward her.
"Excuse me," his voice was low, careful. "Are you alright?"
The woman jerked her head up. Her eyes were swollen, red, ringed with dark lashes that stuck together with tears. For a moment, she only stared at him—like he was an interruption she hadn't asked for.
"Do I look alright to you?" Her voice cracked between defiance and despair.
Adam blinked. Fair enough. He crouched slightly so he wouldn't tower over her. "I didn't mean to intrude. I just thought maybe… maybe you shouldn't be alone right now."
She gave a broken laugh, hollow and sharp. "Alone is all I've been since morning." Her voice dropped. "My sister's in there. She hasn't opened her eyes since they brought her in. And the doctors… they said…"
Her throat closed around the words. Tears spilled again, rolling down without shame.
Adam felt his stomach knot. He knew that kind of fear—the helplessness of watching someone you love drift further from you.
"What's her name?" he asked softly.
"Mariam." The whisper trembled. "She's only seventeen. She collapsed this morning, and now… now they don't know if she'll…"
She covered her mouth, sobbing into her palms.
Adam hesitated, fighting the impulse to put a hand on her shoulder. She was a stranger. But his instinct won. He placed his hand lightly on the bench between them. "Listen. My friend works here—Dr. Hassan. He's good. If you let me take you to him, maybe he can explain better. At least give you clarity."
She shook her head, voice cracking. "It's not clarity I need. It's money. They said she needs treatment immediately, and—" Her chest rose and fell sharply. "I can't afford it. I can't even pay for the bed she's lying on."
Adam's heart clenched. For a second, silence stretched between them. Then, before his brain caught up with his mouth, the words came out:
"I'll cover it."
Her tear-swollen eyes shot to his face. "What?"
"The bills," he said, more firmly this time. "I'll take care of them."
The courtyard went still. A car passed outside the gates, its headlights briefly illuminating her stunned expression.
"You don't even know me," she whispered.
Adam swallowed, pulse racing. He didn't know her, true. But he knew pain. He knew what it meant to carry it alone. "I don't need to know you to know this isn't something anyone should bear by themselves."
For a heartbeat, she just stared, lips parted, as if searching his face for the catch, the lie. Instead, she found quiet sincerity staring back.
The sob that came out of her next wasn't violent—it was softer, like the moment the storm breaks. She wiped her eyes with her scarf, trembling. "Why are you doing this?"
Adam gave a small shrug, forcing a calm he didn't entirely feel. "Maybe because if it were me, I'd pray someone would do the same."
Her lips quivered. She looked down, hands clutching each other tightly as though holding herself together. Then, finally, a whisper:
"My name is Mina."
Adam nodded. "Adam."
Their eyes met for a fleeting moment that felt longer than it should. Something passed between them—not love, not yet, but the quiet recognition of two souls crossing at the exact moment one of them was drowning.
"Come on," Adam said gently, rising to his feet. He extended his hand. "Let me take you to Hassan. We'll figure this out."
Mina hesitated. She looked at his hand, then at his face. The weight of fear still pressed on her shoulders, but slowly, with trembling fingers, she placed her hand in his.
For the first time since morning, she let someone else carry a little of the burden.
Inside the hospital, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above their heads as Adam led her down the corridor. Mina's grip on his hand was tight, almost desperate, as if letting go would mean collapsing again.
Every nurse they passed reminded Adam of how thin the line was between hope and despair. Every wail from a nearby ward seemed to echo Mina's grief.
When they reached Dr. Hassan's office, Adam knocked softly.
"Come in."
The doctor looked up from his desk, adjusting his glasses. His brows furrowed when he saw Adam. "Adam? What are you doing here at this hour?"
"I came to see you," Adam said, then tilted his head toward Mina. "But first—this is Mina. Her sister's admitted. Can you…?"
Hassan's sharp eyes softened. "Bring her in."
Mina's voice trembled as she spoke for the first time since the courtyard. "Please, doctor. Tell me the truth. Will my sister… will she survive?"
Hassan leaned back, sighing. "She's stable for now, but her condition is delicate. With proper treatment, she has a strong chance. Without it…" He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
Mina's knees weakened. Adam quickly caught her by the arm before she fell.
Hassan glanced at him. "The treatment is costly. You know how it is."
Adam straightened, his voice steady. "Send me the bill. Whatever it is, I'll handle it."
Mina's head snapped toward him again, eyes wide. "You don't—"
"Shh." Adam's voice was calm but firm. "Let me do this."
For a moment, she could only stare at him, overwhelmed by the weight of a stranger's promise.
Dr. Hassan studied Adam carefully, then nodded. "Very well. I'll start the process immediately."
Later, as Mina sat silently by her sister's bedside, Adam lingered near the doorway. He watched her shoulders rise and fall with each uneven breath.
He knew he should leave. He had already done more than enough for someone he'd just met. But something inside him told him this was only the beginning.
That somehow, tonight wasn't coincidence—it was the start of a story neither of them could walk away from.
Adam exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
What have you gotten yourself into, Adam?
And in that sterile hospital room, under buzzing lights and quiet sobs, destiny planted its first seed.