Chapter 4 The Silence Between Heartbeats

The test schedule was pinned to the departmental notice board like a threat.

Two weeks to go. Eight papers. No mercy.

Alia stared at the timetable, her hands clutching the strap of her backpack. Around her, pharmacy students chattered in panicked voices, their faces already buried in notes, some pulling all-nighters, some swearing off social media.

She didn't flinch.

Not on the outside.

But inside, her mind began calculating everything she had to do. Topics to revise. Practicals to perfect. Drugs to memorize. Pathways to master. It was war season-and she was both soldier and battlefield.

She barely heard Aisha's voice when she joined her by the board.

"Girl, we need to clone you or plug your brain into a USB," Aisha joked lightly.

Alia didn't laugh.

That evening, she shut out the world.

Her room became a maze of highlighters, sticky notes, diagrams, and stacks of textbooks. She wrote until her fingers cramped. Studied until her vision doubled. Slept in thirty-minute intervals between chapters. She ignored calls. She avoided Jamal. He messaged twice, then stopped.

She told herself it was better this way.

But her body had other plans.

**

Two days before the tests, the pain started.

It wasn't the usual dull ache. It hit like betrayal. A knife through her bones. Burning in her joints. Her chest felt like it was caving in, her ribs tightening with every breath.

By the time Aisha and two of their friends rushed her to the university clinic, she was barely conscious.

"Aisha..." she gasped, her voice like sandpaper.

"I'm here, habibti, I'm here," Aisha whispered, brushing her hair off her clammy face and dialing with shaking fingers. "I'm calling Baba Colonel."

The next few hours were blurred between IV drips, pain meds, muttered medical terms, and light that felt too bright for her tired eyes.

By dawn, her parents arrived.

The Colonel's stride was thunderous, his uniform half-buttoned, his eyes wild with unspoken fear. Her mother wept quietly beside him, gripping her daughter's hand like she was holding on to breath.

"We're transferring her to the barracks clinic," the Colonel said sharply. "Now."

It wasn't a question.

It was home. It was where she was born. Where her condition was first diagnosed. Where the medical staff knew her body better than any textbook.

By the time the ambulance arrived, Jamal and Adam were already waiting outside the clinic gates.

Adam climbed into the ambulance without a word, holding Alia's cold hand all the way to the base hospital.

Jamal followed behind in a private vehicle, but he never came inside the room.

Because Alia didn't want him to.

Not now.

Not when she felt like a cracked doll-fragile, broken, useless. He didn't deserve to see her like that. To carry this version of her in his memory.

She turned away every time she caught him looking through the glass window from the corridor. She made sure he knew-he wasn't welcome.

Her walls were back up.

High and thick.

**

By late evening, the hospital room was dim and quiet. Her parents had gone to get some rest. Adam had finally stepped out for coffee after sitting beside her all day, refusing to blink for hours. Aisha had gone home under her mother's persuasion.

Alia lay in the silence, hazy from the pain meds wearing off, her body sore, her heart heavier than ever.

She felt the shift in air before she opened her eyes.

Jamal.

He sat beside her, head bowed low, both hands cradling one of hers as though it were porcelain. His thumb stroked her knuckles, gentle and reverent. He looked like he was praying-or begging-for something unspeakable.

The moment she stirred, he looked up.

"Alia," he whispered, eyes searching hers. "You're awake. My love... how do you feel now?"

She tried to pull her hand away, her voice cold. "What are you still doing here?"

He didn't flinch. "I'm here for you. Don't you see that?"

"I didn't ask you to be."

"No, but I chose to be. I'm not going anywhere, Alia."

Her jaw clenched.

"Just after you start letting me in," he continued, his voice firmer, "you can't shut me out like this. Not now. Not again. I'm not afraid of your pain. I'm not afraid of your silence. You think your illness makes you unlovable, but it's a part of you. And I love you-all of you."

His voice cracked, but he didn't stop.

"No one will push me away. Not even you."

She looked away, chest tightening. "Why won't you just let go?"

"Because I can't," he said. "Because I love you so much it terrifies me."

She opened her mouth to protest-to drive the wedge between them deeper-but he leaned forward and kissed her.

Softly.

Deeply.

Not with passion. But with purpose.

And for a moment, her body forgot to fight.

When he pulled back, the dam inside her broke.

Tears spilled, quiet and endless. Her body shook with the release. All the pain, fear, frustration-everything she'd been holding inside-crashed out in sobs she didn't know she was capable of.

"I've missed my tests, Jamal," she cried against his chest. "It's over. Everything's over. I've worked so hard. And I've failed. Again. Don't you see? You don't deserve this. You don't deserve me-not like this. Not when I can't even do this simple thing for myself."

"Shh," he whispered, holding her tighter. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that. You're not failing. You're fighting. Every single day."

She wept until her throat burned.

And he held her, rocking her gently.

"You're still standing, Alia," he said softly, brushing her hair. "And that's more than most people can say. Your life is just beginning. Tests can be retaken. Exams will come again. But there's only one you. And I'm staying, no matter how many walls you build."

For the first time in days, she let herself believe him.

And in that quiet hospital room, wrapped in his arms and her broken pieces, she realized something-

Maybe love wasn't about fixing what was broken.

Maybe it was about staying... even when things couldn't be fixed.