It was a silent night in a lonely passage as Mina walked toward the car park with Adams, her mind crowded with a whirlwind of thoughts.
The time was a few minutes to 9:00 PM. Outside, the air was chill, carrying a sharp nip. At the hospital gateway, people continued to drift in and out in a restless tide.
Mina remained somber throughout the quiet walk. Adams seemed hesitant to inquire about her change in mood following the buzz of her phone, but the tension was undeniable.
As he was about to step into his car, he paused for a moment and turned toward her. "Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," she responded dully.
"Are you sure? Your mood shifted the moment your phone buzzed. What is it?" he insisted.
"It was... someone," she answered calmly, offering nothing more.
"I see," he replied. He entered his car, opened the dashboard compartment, and took out some money. Stretching his hand across the window, he held it out to Mina.
She recoiled slightly, declining the gesture. "I can't take this," she said groggily. "Not after everything you've already done for us."
He insisted, refusing to take no for an answer. After a brief back-and-forth, she finally accepted the money and thanked him once more. With a final farewell, he drove off into the night.
It was a night overflowing with emotion for Mina.
Hospitals have a way of distorting reality. One second, life is measured in the agonizing crawl of minutes; the next, it is defined by the rotation of nursing shifts and the mechanical thud of a vending machine dispensing the same stale cookies.
Mina had lost her confidence long ago, yet in this place, she had found a strange solace amidst a new hope. Her life was now measured by the rhythmic squeak of rubber soles on linoleum and the muffled frustration of someone losing a battle with a coffee maker at 3:00 AM. Truthfully, she had become better acquainted with the snacks in that vending machine than with her own kitchen.
But it was alright. Dry biscuits and watery tea had become a peculiar comfort—the only constants she could rely on since her life had been pulled off its axis. Her spine had long since resigned itself to the discomfort of crashing in those plastic bedside chairs. Her dreams were a disordered blur of beeping monitors, whispering nurses, and that gnawing feeling of helplessness.
Yet, regardless of the gray, sleepless madness, Adams was everywhere in her mind.
Initially, she told herself it was simple kindness—a generous man with nothing else on his agenda. That was the lie she used to keep things tidy. But the truth refused to be ignored as Adams continued to show up.
He called every morning at the same time, his voice as constant and grounding as a rock during a storm. He cared more than he had to, bringing real food and sitting with them in the silence, never blinking, never wavering.
She felt herself tripping. She could no longer fight the growing connection. In his absence, the air felt stifling, and she found herself preoccupied with thoughts of him until he became an obsession.
He called one evening with his usual coordinated grace, never missing a beat.
"Let me bring dinner tonight. Real food," he said with a hint of humor. "Not the biscuits and snacks you've been surviving on."
She managed a half-hearted laugh. "And what will you bring this time, Mr. Adams?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them.
He laughed softly, his tone full of warmth. "Don't worry about that. I suppose I'll bring a decent human being who believes a good woman is in need of a meal—perhaps with a few lessons in patience on the side."
Mina's laughter was genuine this time. She hadn't sounded like that in a while. It was as if he had reached into a deep, buried place within her—a place she hadn't realized still existed.
When the call ended, Adams didn't move. He stood there, gazing at his own weary reflection in the scratched metal of the payphone. Her laughter echoed in his head, obstinately refusing to fade.
This hadn't been the plan. Her sister's surgery was supposed to be a simple favor—nothing more. However, he found himself melting, watching his phone in hopes of seeing her name. He was learning the subtle shifts in her voice—the specific tone she used when she was scared versus when she wasn't.
Adams felt reckless, perhaps even a bit foolish. He didn't feel like himself; he felt possessed. Whenever he thought of her smile—the natural, unforced kind—everything else within him seemed to dissolve.
That night, he arrived at the hospital with a spread of food that transformed the entire ward. The sterile scent of antiseptic couldn't compete with the aroma of spicy jollof rice and chunky pepper soup.
Mina opened the containers as if she were uncovering treasure. The billowing steam filled the room, making the air feel less stagnant. Even the nurses sniffed the air as they passed, their smiles becoming less artificial.
"This wasn't my plan, but thank you for everything," Mina said. "I still haven't figured out how to properly appreciate you. I truly haven't."
"I know," he said, dragging his chair closer. "That's why I brought it. I believe the best remedy for the soul is a good meal. You deserve better than what you've been having."
It had been a day without a proper meal, and as she took the first bite, a thrill ran through her. The flavors and the warmth of his nature combined to break her wide open. She nearly shed tears of joy. The embarrassment of almost crying over soup made her pause, catching her breath.
Adams relaxed his elbows on his knees, watching her intently as she drank from a water bottle.
For a moment, the world simply stopped. The silent, lingering tension was only broken when Mina's sister stirred in bed. Mina turned toward her, her face flushing.
"Safiya, are you okay?" Mina asked.
"Yes, I am," Safiya whispered.
Adams remained silent, observing them. Since there had been no formal introduction between him and Safiya yet, he kept his demeanor professional.
Later, Mina and Adams stepped outside. The night air felt sharp and honest. The city lights were a smudge in the distance; the hospital remained a world unto itself.
"It's cold out here. You'll catch a chill," Adams said, his gaze fixed elsewhere. He shrugged off his jacket and, before Mina could protest, draped it around her shoulders.
She froze. The jacket was warm, carrying his scent—not just a fragrance, but something natural and down-to-earth. It was such a small gesture, yet it felt like a monumental blow to her defenses.
"You shouldn't be this kind to me," Mina emphasized. "You shouldn't keep yourself in the cold just to save me from it."
Adams looked directly into her eyes, his voice rough and natural. "Everyone deserves care, Mina. It is a man's duty to protect. When a man is on duty, doing what he must for those he cares for, you should accept that kindness without hesitation."
He laughed softly, almost indignant with himself. "It's too late for protests, Mina. Enjoy whatever I offer while it lasts."
"Pushing a good man away out of shyness or pride... that was never my way," she said, finally looking back at him. She didn't find pity in his gaze, nor any of that patronizing trash she feared. Instead, she saw the same torment she had been carrying in her own heart.
It clicked then. They were two souls groping through mishaps, somehow finding each other in the dark.
"Why me, Adams?" she whispered. "Why do you care so much?"
He drew a long breath, like someone tearing off a bandage. "Sometimes," he said quietly, "fate doesn't provide a reason. It simply throws a person in your path who gets into your bones, and you realize you aren't meant to lose them."
Her heart performed a series of frantic gymnastics. What existed between them now wasn't just gratitude or regret. It was alive. Delicate. Unavoidable.
As Adams left and Mina turned to head back inside, a nurse rushed toward her, looking anxious.
"Mina, hurry! You're needed inside immediately!"
Mina's heart pounded against her ribs. "What is it?" she asked, gripped by a sudden, sharp terror.
But the nurse was already running back toward the unit. With fear clouding her vision, Mina followed.