"Umma, are you feeling alright now?" I asked softly, sitting by her bedside and watching her with anxious eyes.
"Yeah, I'm feeling good, Alhamdulillah," she replied, her voice gentle but a little tired. "I hope I didn't worry you too much?"
"No, not at all," I said with a small shrug, feigning nonchalance, like I wasn't the same girl who practically drowned in her own tears just hours ago.
It was now 4 p.m. The sunlight slanted through the hospital blinds in strips of gold, but the clock seemed stuck in some cruel time warp. Everything felt like it was dragging—minutes stretching endlessly.
We chatted for a while, the room warming with our laughter and the comfort of being together. Aunty Fati had left earlier to take care of something at home. I hadn't asked what—it didn't really matter.
Eventually, I told Umma about Dr. Umar. How he helped her. And helped me, in a way I couldn't explain.
"I should thank him later when he stops by," she said with a thoughtful expression. "I didn't know people like that still existed."
"There are a few left," I murmured, his face momentarily flickering in my mind like a snapshot. His sharp gaze, calm voice…
Sigh.
By 7 p.m., the sky outside had melted into navy blue, and the hum of the hospital had quieted into a sort of night lull. He came by to check on her again, just like he said he would.
I didn't say anything. Just tracked his every movement with my eyes, watching how he moved with purpose. Calm, professional, precise. There was something oddly reassuring about the way he carried himself—as if he belonged in chaos and could tame it with a few words.
He examined Umma briefly, flipping through her chart with practiced ease.
"She's recovering remarkably well," he said, looking from Umma to me. "Insha Allah, she'll be discharged tomorrow."
I wanted to jump up and scream, Yay! But, well… dignity. So I just smiled a little and nodded, trying to contain the bubbling excitement.
Umma thanked him sincerely, and he gave his usual "just doing my job" reply. I barely caught the rest because sleep was tiptoeing in, dragging my eyelids down like curtains.
The next morning came faster than I expected.
We were finally at the reception. The white floors gleamed under the morning sun filtering through the glass entrance, and the sharp hospital smell still clung to everything. Nurses moved in and out, some laughing quietly, others wheeling patients to different wards.
Umma and Aunty Fati were already ahead of me, walking slowly toward the entrance where Malam Bukar waited outside with the car. He had to drive us home because our driver was on a month long leave.
I lingered for no reason. Or maybe… one reason.
Then, as if summoned by thought, Dr. Umar appeared from the corridor.
He walked toward me and, without a word, extended his hand.
I blinked. "What?"
"Your phone," he said, his voice calm, his face unreadable.
I pulled it out hesitantly. "Why?"
"To save my number, of course," he replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You know, in case there's an emergency."
I raised an eyebrow. Emergency my foot.
Still, I handed it over, biting back any comment that might come out too snarky. He typed in his number quickly and handed it back.
I glanced at the screen.
ER Guy.
I scoffed internally. Classic.
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't stop the small smirk tugging at my lips. Fine. That was kind of clever.
Time to go home, I told myself, turning on my heels.
"Not even a goodbye?" His voice followed me, teasing but low.
"Bye," I said over my shoulder, waving my hand in a very nonchalant, possibly dramatic way.
I hurried to catch up with Umma and Aunty Fati. Malam Bukar was already behind the wheel, and I slid into the back seat beside Umma, letting out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
The drive home was mostly quiet, filled with the low hum of the engine and the occasional bump in the road. Nothing remarkable happened… and yet, my thoughts lingered.
Not on the hospital.
Not on the fear.
But on him.
The ER Guy.