Maurice carries my unconscious body through the crowdy set. Amid is close behind him; his usual arrogance is now replaced with genuine concern. They push toward the exit, and the automatic doors slide open.
"Where's the car key!?" Amid scrambles through his pocket. He finds it and hurriedly unlocks the back seat. Maurice carefully lowers me onto the seat and perches beside me. Amid leaps into the driver's seat, and without any word, he guns the engine, racing toward the hospital. Maurice keeps a firm hand on my cheek, calling my name so that I won't be far gone.
We arrive at the hospital in what feels like an eternity. A nurse bursts out from the entrance, her eyes wide with urgency when she sees me. "Emergency, ward six now!" Maurice carefully lifts me onto the gurney, my body limp and unresponsive, while Amid steadies the sides, his hands shaking with worry. The nurses wheel me down to my ward.
I regain consciousness after the doctors' relentless efforts. Doctor Vance storms in, his eyes immediately locks on Amid and Maurice who are sitting beside me. "It is a good thing they brought you here on time. That probably happens because you skipped your medication. Why would you stop your drugs, knowing how dangerous they could be? I'm so sorry, Miss Elara; your condition has worsened…" I glare at him, a silent command to stop. I can't let anyone know the truth about what I'm going through. The doctor catches my gaze and immediately understands it. He stops talking straight away.
Maurice's face instantly turns weird; he questions the doctor why he stops talking, but I come in without delay to cover the mess. "It's… just malaria."
Amid asks if I can go home with them, but the doctor shakes his head in disapproval. They stay by my side for hours, watching over me until they finally leave. They make sure to notify my parents before stepping out. When they leave, the doctor resumes what he had started before I stopped him.
"Your condition has worsened, and your organs are struggling." My heart races, leaps rapidly. "How come you don't know the nature of my sickness, but you could see the toll it's taking on me? You shouldn't have told me the damage it has caused me, doctor. I won't be able to get it off my mind."
"I know telling you will break you, but it will be unprofessional for me to keep it to myself. Don't worry; your test results will be out soon. Hopefully, they will have the answer to what we have been looking for. But please, until then, endeavor to take your medication."
I remain in the hospital for more than two weeks, and through all those long days and longer nights, there is always one person by my side, not a rotation of people, not different faces, just one constant presence. Amelia. My beautiful selfless sister. My best friend. My secret keeper. My comfort. My everything. Amelia is the kind of person who walks into a room and somehow, the air feels lighter. She doesn't just sit with you; she sits for you. She understands every fear you can't say out loud. She has this soft strength, the kind that doesn't make noise but steadies you without asking for anything in return.
She cracks jokes at the right moment. She never gets tired of listening to me. Even if I have to repeat the same worry over and over again, she still pays attention like it's the first time, without showing any sign of irritation. She never once makes me feel like a burden. With Amelia, I mostly forget I have a problem. She stays with me as if she was created to carry my predicament with me.
She notices the things I don't say and answers them for me. And when I wake up at night, I will always find her by my side, either dozing in the chair or holding my hand like an egg.
What amazes me most is how she hides her own pain so mine doesn't feel heavier. She carries her storms quietly, just to make sure I feel the sun. Sometimes I wonder what kind of heart God gave her, so generous, so selfless, so endlessly patient. If love were a person, I'm sure it would look exactly like Amelia. Her presence is peace. Her voice is comfort. And her loyalty is a shield.
If I am not blessed with a sister like her, I wonder how my life would look. I would have been the most unfortunate person on earth. She's the reason I keep fighting because she gives hope to live every single day of my life.
Amelia is giving me a back massage when the doctor bursts into my ward. His face looks cold as he holds a white envelope. He turns to Amelia and asks her to meet him in his office. "You can talk to her here doctor," I say, trying to understand why he's so urgent.
He shakes his head, refusing to discuss anything in front of me, and insists that Amelia follow him. "I'll be right back. Let me see what he wants to say. Stay strong for me, okay? I love you." She kisses my forehead and follows him out.
In the doctor's office, he hands the envelope over to my sister. She opens it and reads through the papers nervously, but her facial expression clearly shows that she doesn't understand the content in the report.
"What is this, doctor? And what exactly is Affectaemia Syndrome?"
The doctor takes a deep breath as he explains, "Affectaemia syndrome (AFS) is a rare genetic condition where the body lacks the ability to regulate cellular stability without regular infusions of the A-Factor protein, found in only 0.0001% of the population."
Amelia frowns. "Pardon, please make it clear, doctor."
The doctor nods in agreement as he elaborates. "Affectaemia Syndrome is an inherited disorder caused by a severe deficiency of A-Factor, a compound that helps control emotional balance, body temperature, and the stability of certain cells. Without enough A-Factor, the body becomes overwhelmed by both physical and emotional stress."
"When the levels drop too low, the patient may experience sudden exhaustion, partial paralysis, intense heat waves, emotional outbursts, blackouts, memory fog, irregular heart rhythms which causes difficulty in breathing and in extreme cases, internal and external bleeding. Without treatment, the body begins to break down. Elara's case is a bit complicated because her body doesn't produce the protein at all."
Amelia presses her lips together as the words she is about to say refuse to come out. "And the treatment, sir?"
"There's no medicine that can replace A-Factor in the body, that is honestly the painful truth. The only way to stabilize her is to get A-Factor from someone whose body produces it naturally. It has to come from physical contact with a compatible donor. Without regular transfer, AFS becomes life-threatening to the victim."
"So, doctor, are you saying the treatment only comes from intimacy, and it is almost impossible to find a compatible donor? Oh my God, I'm in trouble," Amelia cries.