When Adam returned to the hospital the next morning, he told himself it was only to check on Mariam. Nothing more.
But the moment he pushed open the ward door and saw Mina there, her scarf neatly tied, her tired eyes lighting up faintly when she noticed him—he knew he was lying to himself.
"You came back," she said softly.
Adam managed a small smile. "I said I would."
Mina shifted awkwardly, glancing at Mariam who lay breathing steadily, her color returning faintly. "You didn't have to."
"I know," Adam replied. "But I wanted to."
For a brief second, their eyes met and held. Mina quickly looked away, fussing with her sister's blanket as though the fabric suddenly demanded her full attention.
Mariam stirred faintly, her eyelids fluttering. Mina gasped and leaned closer. "Mariam? Can you hear me?"
Her sister's lips moved weakly, forming a faint whisper that Adam couldn't catch. Mina's face broke into a smile, tears springing to her eyes.
"She's fighting," Mina murmured, kissing Mariam's hand. "She's really fighting."
Adam felt his throat tighten at the sight. He didn't know why, but watching Mina's joy stirred something inside him—a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time.
Later, when Mina finally stepped into the corridor to get some air, Adam followed. They sat on a bench under a buzzing fluorescent light. For a while, neither spoke. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable anymore—it was fragile, almost delicate.
"Do you always keep promises to strangers?" Mina asked suddenly, turning her head toward him.
Adam gave a half-smile. "Only when they cry in hospital courtyards."
Mina blinked, then let out a quiet laugh—unexpected, light, almost musical. It caught Adam off guard. He found himself staring, not because she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but because the sound of her laughter after so many tears felt like the rarest thing in the world.
"I'm serious," she said, still smiling faintly. "You've done more than enough. Why keep coming back?"
Adam leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. He could have said many things. That he wanted to see Mariam recover. That he felt responsible now. That he didn't want Mina to face this alone.
But the words that slipped out were simpler: "Because I want to."
Mina's expression softened. She looked at him quietly, as if trying to read something hidden behind his eyes.
A nurse interrupted them, handing Mina a chart. "Doctor Hassan wants you to review this with him later. Your sister's progress is promising."
Mina nodded, thanking her. When the nurse left, Adam tilted his head. "See? She's pulling through. That's a good sign."
Mina exhaled shakily. "I've been so scared of losing her. You don't know what it feels like—" She stopped, biting her lip, realizing how selfish the words sounded. "I mean—sorry, I didn't mean—"
Adam cut her off gently. "You're right. I don't know what it feels like to lose her. But I know what it feels like to lose."
Mina turned sharply toward him. "You've lost someone?"
Adam's jaw tightened. His gaze darkened with something she couldn't name. "Yeah. And sometimes, the grief doesn't fade. It just… buries itself under the surface, waiting."
Mina's lips parted. She wanted to ask who, but the rawness in his voice stopped her. Some wounds weren't meant to be touched too soon.
So instead, she whispered, "Then maybe… maybe that's why you stayed."
Adam looked at her, and for the first time, didn't deny it.
As the hours passed, Mina found herself talking more freely with Adam—about her childhood, about Mariam, about the grandmother who raised them after their mother left. Adam listened quietly, interjecting only when she faltered.
"You carry too much alone," he said at one point.
Mina gave a bitter laugh. "I've had no choice."
"Maybe now you do."
The words lingered between them, heavy and dangerous. Mina felt her chest tighten, not in fear, but in a strange, confusing way she didn't want to name.
By evening, Adam rose reluctantly. "I should go. Work tomorrow."
Mina nodded, though something inside her clenched at the thought of him leaving. "Thank you… for today."
Adam gave a small nod. "I'll come by tomorrow."
Her lips curved faintly. "You don't know how much that means."
He turned to leave. But just as he stepped into the corridor, a man in a dark suit approached—expression grim, eyes locked on Adam.
"Adam Dared?" the man asked sharply.
Adam froze, his face hardening. "Who's asking?"
The man held out a folded envelope. "Your presence is required. Immediately."
Mina blinked in confusion, looking between them. "Adam, what's happening?"
Adam stared at the envelope in the man's hand, his jaw tightening. He didn't answer her. He couldn't—not yet.