In the midst of the tension, he seemed almost out of place—perhaps too composed and too self-contained. His dark suit remained immaculate and his posture disciplined, untouched by the long, grueling hours.
Adams was the sort of man who could sit with silence without being consumed by it. He belonged in a high-stakes boardroom, not in these worn and overcrowded refuges of grief.
Yet, he did not leave. He remained there, steady and unmoving, acting as a quiet anchor that kept Mina from slipping into a complete collapse.
When the doors finally creaked open again, the sound cut through the room like a blade. Dr. Sadiq stepped out, this time with fatigue etched into his features, though his professional composure remained intact.
Mina was on her feet before he could speak.
"How is she?" Her voice was thin, stretched to a breaking point.
The doctor adjusted his glasses and offered a weary but reassuring smile. "The surgery was successful. She's stable for now. That is the good news; she's a fighter."
Relief surged through Mina so sharply that her knees nearly gave way. But the feeling froze the moment she noticed the shift in his expression.
"However," he continued gently, his tone darkening, "the scans revealed something we hadn't anticipated. She has a congenital heart condition—mitral valve prolapse. It's possible she never knew. The trauma from the accident aggravated it significantly."
Mina's breath hitched.
"She'll require specialized treatment, long-term medication, constant monitoring, and very likely another surgery in the future," he said carefully. "She could live a healthy and long life if she follows the regimen, but without it—" He didn't finish.
The room tilted. Mina swayed.
Adams moved instantly, his hand firm on her arm as he guided her back to her seat. "Breathe," he said softly, his voice grounding and unyielding. "Just breathe, Mina."
His hand closed over hers—warm, steady, and unmistakably real.
"She'll be fine," he murmured. "You need to rest."
Mina looked at him through blurred tears. His expression was grave, his gaze unwavering.
"I'll take care of it," he said.
Her mind struggled to keep up. "What do you mean?" she whispered. "You've already done so much."
He spoke with a finality that allowed no argument. "The medication. The specialists. Whatever it takes—even if she has to be treated overseas. Don't worry about the cost. I will handle everything."
Mina stared at him, words failing her. This man—a stranger who had stepped out of nowhere—was offering a lifeline so vast she could barely comprehend it.
"Why?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why would you do this? You don't even know us."
Adams was silent for a long moment. His gaze dropped, his jaw tightening. When he finally looked up, his voice was stripped bare. "Because I've been where you are," he said quietly. "I know what it's like to lose someone when you believe you could have saved them—and didn't."
The pain in his voice startled her. His polished mask had slipped, revealing a sorrow that had clearly lived within him for years.
"I won't let that happen again," he whispered. "Not if I can stop it."
Mina's chest constricted. Disbelief and gratitude collided until she broke, sobbing into her hands. These were no longer tears of despair; they carried something fragile, something miraculous.
"Thank you," she choked, though the words felt painfully small.
He squeezed her hand gently. "Don't thank me. Give that gratitude to God."
Across the room, Dr. Sadiq cleared his throat. "Adams," he said carefully, "do you realize the commitment you're making? This won't be inexpensive. We're talking tens of thousands—especially if international specialists are involved. It could take months. Years."
"I know," Adams replied without hesitation. "I'm prepared."
Sadiq studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well. I'll prepare the reports and contact my colleagues abroad."
As he walked away, the chaos of the hospital continued—but something between Mina and Adams had shifted.
"I'll find a way to repay you," Mina said softly. "I don't know how, but I will."
Adams leaned back, releasing a tired breath. "You owe me nothing, Mina. Hold on to your faith. Let that be enough." A faint, weary smile touched his lips.
For a brief moment, the buzzing lights and antiseptic air faded. It was just the two of them—bound together by a moment neither of them had foreseen.
Then the doors burst open. "Ibrahim family?" a nurse called, slightly breathless.
Mina jumped up. "Yes! Is something wrong?"
The nurse smiled. "She's awake—and asking for you."
Relief flooded Mina so completely she pressed a hand to her mouth. Without hesitation, she followed the nurse into the ICU.
Adams remained behind, watching her disappear through the doors, a strange tightness settling in his chest.
The stakes had shifted. It was no longer just about saving a life; it was about Mina. When she paused at the ICU entrance and turned back, searching for him—the seat was empty. Adams Dared was gone.
A new, sharp unease settled over her as she wondered where—and why—he had vanished.