The ICU smelled like bleach and humming machines — a cold, sterile reminder that life could be reduced to wires, beeping monitors, and prayers whispered through clenched teeth.
Zarah stood at the entrance, fingers shaking around the visitor badge. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, loud enough to swallow every other sound.
Aishah nudged her gently. "Go. He's awake."
She nodded, but her legs didn't move until she felt a hand at her back — steady, warm, grounding.
Alex.
He didn't speak. He didn't rush her. He just stood there, like a pillar she could lean on if gravity failed again.
She inhaled shakily and pushed the door open.
The room was dim, curtains drawn, machines blinking softly. And there — lying too still, too quiet — was Morgan Malik. Her father. Her superhero. Now pale, thinner, bruised, hospital gown swallowing him whole.
She felt her knees weaken.
"Daddy…" Her voice cracked, thin and breakable.
His eyes fluttered open. Recognition sparked — slow but certain — and he managed a tired smile.
"Zee…"
That was it. She crumbled.
Tears spilled instantly, rushing forward before she gave them permission. She reached his bedside, grabbed his hand, lifted it to her cheek like a lifeline.
"You scared me," she whispered, voice trembling. "You scared all of us."
He exhaled carefully, as if breathing itself cost energy. "Wasn't… my intention."
She laughed wetly, wiping her face with her sleeve. "Well, do better next time."
"I'll try."
Silence settled — but not the heavy kind. The kind where presence was enough.
After a moment, his eyes drifted past her — to Alex standing quietly near the wall, hands tucked into his pockets, gaze lowered out of respect.
Malik blinked. "Who's… that?"
Zarah froze. "Oh— um— that's—"
Alex stepped forward, voice gentle. "Alexander Sinclair, sir. I work with Zarah."
Malik raised a brow, even in weakness managing attitude. "Work with… or work over?"
Zarah covered her face. "Daddy, please—"
Alex smiled politely. "I'm her employer."
Malik's gaze sharpened — amused, curious, too observant for someone fresh out of near-death. "Employer, hm." His hand twitched, motioning Alex closer. "Come here, young man. I don't like talking to walls."
Alex obeyed — respectful, calm, not intimidated in the slightest.
Malik's eyes moved between them, slow and calculating. Then—
"So… are you my daughter's boyfriend?"
Zarah CHOKED on air.
"Daddy! No— what— absolutely not—"
Alex blinked, startled, ears turning faintly pink. "Uh— no, sir. We just—"
"Just met four days ago!" Zarah blurted. "And he's my boss and I— please don't die again, I can't do this."
Malik Morgan stared at her, then at Alex.
"So you want him to be your boyfriend."
Zarah's soul LEFT HER BODY.
"DADDY—"
Alex's mouth twitched — the beginnings of a smile he was fighting to suppress.
Malik smirked, proud. "Thought so."
She covered her face, groaning into her palms. "Can someone unplug me instead?"
"Don't tempt me," Malik Morgan muttered, then winced — a reminder that humor didn't erase pain.
Immediately, Zarah softened. "Hey, hey— don't force yourself. Just rest, okay?"
He squeezed her hand weakly. "I'm not going anywhere. Not yet."
Relief washed through her — warm, overwhelming, dangerous. She rested her forehead against his arm, breathing him in, memorizing him like she feared she'd forget.
After a few minutes, the nurse stepped in. "I'm sorry, visiting time is almost over."
Zarah nodded, swallowing disappointment. She leaned forward, kissed his forehead. "I'll be back. I promise."
Malik nodded sleepily. "Bring that boy next time."
"Oh my God."
Alex bit back a laugh. "Yes, sir."
"Boss," Malik corrected, half-asleep.
Now Alex laughed — quietly, breathy, surprised. "Yes, boss."
⸻
Outside the ICU
The hallway felt colder.
Reality waited there.
Aishah sat in a chair, arms folded tight, eyes swollen. Their mother paced aggressively, phone pressed to her ear, muttering complaints instead of gratitude.
Zarah didn't say anything — she didn't have the energy. She just sank into a chair, exhaling for what felt like the first time in hours.
Alex stayed standing, hands in pockets, observing without judgment.
Minutes passed — slow, heavy — until a doctor in navy scrubs approached, tablet in hand.
"Family of Morgan Malik?"
Everyone stood.
The doctor sighed — not rude, not rushed — just tired of delivering bad news. "The surgery was successful, but his condition remains critical. He will need close monitoring and additional procedures for full recovery."
Zarah nodded, trying to stay steady. "Okay. We'll do whatever he needs."
The doctor hesitated — and that hesitation terrified her.
"His insurance coverage is limited. Hospital policy only grants ICU stay for one week before transfer or discharge is required."
Her stomach dropped. "Discharge? He can't even walk— he can't breathe without assistance— he—"
"I know," the doctor said softly. "But without continued payment, the hospital cannot legally keep him here."
Aishah burst into quiet tears.
Their mother scoffed. "So we're supposed to dump him on the street?"
Zarah's vision blurred. "We'll figure it out. We'll— we'll find a way."
Alex stepped forward — calm, unshaken. "How much for an extended stay and continued treatment?"
The doctor gave the number.
A horrifying, impossible number.
Zarah's knees nearly buckled. "No— Alex— don't— you've already—"
He didn't look at her. "Bill me directly."
"No!" she snapped, voice cracking. "I didn't ask you— I'm not letting you drown yourself financially for my family."
He finally faced her — eyes steady, unwavering. "You didn't ask. I'm offering."
"Why?" her voice was small, raw, terrified. "Why would you do that for me?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she heard.
"Because you deserve a life where your first instinct isn't panic."
Zarah stared at him — breath gone, heart unstable, emotions too big to hide.
Before she could respond— her mother cut in sharply:
"Let him pay. You're useless anyway — jumping from job to job, acting like you've accomplished something."
Zarah blinked— stunned, humiliated, stabbed.
Aishah whispered, "Mom— stop."
But she didn't.
"When will you stop being a burden and finally contribute something meaningful?"
Silence cracked like glass.
Zarah's throat closed. Her eyes burned — not from sadness this time, but disbelief.
Alex's jaw tightened, expression shifting — protective, furious, silent but loud.
He turned to her mother slowly, voice calm and lethal. "With all due respect, your daughter just saved his life by being present. You should thank her."
Her mother scoffed and walked away.
Zarah stood there — shaking, broken, exposed.
And Alex… just stayed beside her.
Not touching.
Not speaking.
Just refusing to disappear.
She swallowed hard, voice barely a breath. "Thank you… for everything."
He looked at her then — really looked at her — soft, patient, unbearably kind.
"You don't owe me anything, Zarah."
But that was the problem.
She already did.
And somewhere between panic attacks, car rides, ICU doors, and hospital fluorescent lights —
she realized she was falling for him.
Hard.
And she was so, so screwed.
The hospital cafeteria was too bright for a day that felt this dark.
Zarah sat alone at a corner table, fingers wrapped around a paper cup of untouched tea. The steam had faded, like everything else. Her body was still vibrating from adrenaline, relief, fear — a cocktail she couldn't name.
Her eyes kept drifting toward the ICU hallway, as if looking alone could keep her father alive.
"You should eat something."
Alex's voice wasn't loud — it just appeared, steady enough to pull her back to earth. He slid into the chair across from her, not asking permission because he somehow already had it.
She glanced at him, exhausted. "I'm not hungry."
"You haven't eaten since breakfast."
She shrugged. "My stomach can't tell the difference between grief and food."
He didn't push. He just stayed.
Silence wasn't uncomfortable with him — it was a blanket, not a cage.
Zarah rubbed her hands together, grounding herself. "Thank you… for paying. For showing up. For— everything."
"I didn't do anything extraordinary," he said softly.
"You paid for life." Her voice cracked. "That's— that's not ordinary."
Alex exhaled, slow, careful. "You don't have to repay me. Not now, not ever."
"That's not how I was raised," she whispered.
He studied her for a moment — not like a puzzle, but like someone learning a language he wanted to speak fluently.
"You don't owe me your suffering," he said.
Zarah's throat tightened. She blinked hard, willing tears back, refusing to break again in a cafeteria full of strangers pretending everything was fine.
She changed the subject. "The doctor said they'll update us in a few hours."
"I'll stay."
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
And that was more terrifying than everything else today.
Because she believed him.
Before she could respond, Aishah jogged toward them, cheeks flushed from crying.
"Zee," she breathed. "Dad is asking for you."
Zarah shot up immediately, heart sprinting. Alex stood too, but didn't follow — giving her space without needing to be told.
She hurried down the corridor, swiped her badge, and pushed into the ICU room, breath unsteady.
Her father's eyes were open again — tired but warm.
She rushed to his side, grabbing his hand like she might lose him if she blinked. "Daddy. Hi."
He smiled lazily. "My stubborn girl."
Her heart fractured.
"You scared me," she confessed, voice tiny.
He squeezed her fingers — barely, but enough. "I'm still here."
She nodded, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
"Is that boy still outside?" he asked casually.
She groaned. "Daddy—"
"What?" he shrugged weakly. "He looks like money. And manners. Keep him."
She laughed through tears, placing her forehead gently on his arm. "Please don't matchmake me in the ICU."
"Where else will I do it? I'm bedridden."
She sniffed, wiping her face. "We're not together."
His eyes softened — not teasing now, just knowing. "But you like him."
She froze.
He didn't wait for confirmation. "And he likes you."
Her lungs forgot how to work. "We barely know each other."
"Sometimes four days is louder than four years," he murmured.
And just like that — she was undone.
She held his hand until visiting hours ended, until nurses began gently ushering family members out, until she had to let go.
She kissed his forehead. "I'll be here tomorrow."
"Bring him," he muttered.
"Dad—"
"Boss or boyfriend — I like him either way."
She shook her head, smiling wetly, and stepped out before her heart combusted.
Alex was waiting in the hallway — leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes lifting the second she appeared.
And the terrifying part?
Relief washed over his face like she belonged there.
"You okay?" he asked.
"No," she admitted. "But I'm breathing."
"That counts."
And it did.
She inhaled — shaky but real. "Come with me. The doctor wants to speak again."
They walked side by side — not touching, but close enough that she could feel his presence pulse against her skin.
The doctor met them outside the ICU, expression neutral but honest.
"The surgery bought time," she began. "But his heart condition is more complicated than we anticipated. He'll need long-term treatment, medication, and supervised recovery."
Zarah swallowed. "Okay. We'll manage."
"One more thing," the doctor continued. "Family should prepare emotionally. Recovery will be slow. And some moments may feel like setbacks."
Zarah nodded — even though her chest was splitting open. "Thank you."
When the doctor walked away, she let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
Alex watched her — not pitying, just present. "You don't have to be strong right now."
Her eyes lifted to his — and something inside her cracked wide open.
"I don't know how to do anything else."
He shook his head. "You don't have to learn alone."
She blinked — slow, stunned, undone.
That's when she knew.
She liked him.
Not workplace crush, not admiration, not gratitude —
but like-liked him.
Enough to ruin her career.
Enough to risk heartbreak.
Enough to scare her more than death, surgery, poverty, anything.
She looked away quickly, hoping he didn't see the panic bloom in her eyes.
Too late.
He already had.