Time does not stop.
Even in front of emergency rooms.
Even when someone is slowly disappearing.
Right next to the entrance, a man was laughing on the phone.
A light laugh, almost mechanical, accompanied by a careless hand gesture, as if brushing away something unimportant.
As if, just a few meters away, pain did not exist at all.
The taxi suddenly braked.
A sharp screech on the hot asphalt.
Then silence.
The engine vibrated for a few more seconds… before shutting off completely.
— We're here.
The driver's voice was low, tired, almost neutral.
Aïcha did not wait.
The door swung open violently.
Hot air hit her immediately, dry and heavy with dust.
She stepped out.
Too fast, without even feeling the ground properly.
Michel followed her.
— Aïcha… wait… breathe…
But she was already moving.
In front of them stood the hospital.
Large.
White.
Blinding under the sun.
The red letters seemed to shimmer in the heat.
People were entering and leaving constantly, some wiping sweat from their foreheads, others clutching crumpled papers to their chests.
A woman sitting near the wall was silently moving her lips in prayer, fingers tightly wrapped around a piece of cloth.
Why does everything keep going… as if nothing is falling apart here?
Aïcha walked forward.
Faster.
Then faster again.
As if something was pulling her from inside.
The automatic doors opened with a cold breath.
A sudden, shocking contrast.
The smell hit her immediately.
Alcohol.
Disinfectant.
Plastic.
A sharp, sterile mix that stung slightly in her nose.
Voices exploded around her.
— Nurse, please!
— Wait over there!
— It's not your turn yet!
A child was crying nearby.
But it wasn't just crying.
It was tired.
Like a voice that no longer had strength left.
Aïcha slowed down for a second.
Just one.
Her eyes searched.
But found nothing.
— Lina…
Her voice was barely a whisper stuck in her throat.
Michel caught up to her.
— This way… pediatric emergency…
His hand hesitated before lightly touching her arm to guide her.
The corridor felt longer with every step.
The ceiling lights passed above them with a faint buzzing sound.
One.
Two.
Three.
Each step echoed in her ears, amplified by stress.
A nurse walked quickly past them.
Her shoes clicked sharply on the floor, her badge lightly tapping against her uniform with each movement.
Dark circles under her eyes suggested she had not slept in a long time.
Faster.
Her heart was beating irregularly, sometimes too fast, sometimes almost absent.
Then—
— Aïcha!
She stopped abruptly.
Lina.
Sitting on a rigid plastic chair, slightly hunched forward, shoulders lowered.
Her fingers trembled on her knees, nervously rubbing her trousers.
When she stood up, her legs wavered slightly before stabilizing.
— Aïcha… I… I didn't know if you would come…
Her voice broke as she spoke, as if she had been holding it in for too long.
She quickly wiped her wet face.
— The doctors… they talk among themselves… but they don't say anything clearly… they write, they come in, they go out… and I just stay there… not understanding anything…
She tried to inhale deeply, but the air didn't feel enough.
— I tried to stay calm… but I can't anymore…
Aïcha remained still for a moment.
Her gaze fixed on Lina without really seeing her.
— Where is she?
Lina slowly raised her hand.
Her finger trembled slightly toward a white, overly clean door.
— There… but…
She stopped, swallowing hard.
— But what?
Aïcha insisted softly.
Lina lowered her eyes.
— She's not responding like before…
Silence settled heavily.
Michel stared at the door, jaw tight, shoulders slightly tense.
He no longer asked questions.
Aïcha stepped forward.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
Her hand trembled as she touched the metal handle.
Cold.
Almost icy despite the heat outside.
She took a slow breath.
Then opened the door.
—
White light hit her immediately.
Too bright.
Too uniform.
She blinked.
The steady beeping of a monitor filled the room.
A nurse adjusted an IV drip with precise, automatic movements.
Then—
The bed.
Small.
Lost in the whiteness of the room.
At first, Aïcha only saw a hand.
Thin.
Pale.
A small scar on one finger, almost invisible.
Something inside her tightened.
—
— Look!
Braëlla was laughing, head slightly tilted, hair damp with sweat.
She proudly showed her hand.
— I fell and I didn't even cry!
Aïcha rolled her eyes, but a faint smile crossed her face.
— You're unbelievable…
— No, I'm strong.
She tapped her chest proudly.
— And you worry too much.
— That's not true.
— It is.
A brief silence.
Then Braëlla extended her hand.
— Even if everything gets hard… I stay.
— You promise?
— I promise.
—
Back.
The room.
The sterile silence.
The cold air brushing her skin.
The motionless hand.
Aïcha slowly stepped closer.
Then she saw her fully.
Braëlla.
Calm.
Too calm.
Heavy eyelids.
A mask allowing a fragile, irregular breath.
Aïcha stopped.
Her breathing shortened.
She gently placed her hand on hers.
Cold.
Unresponsive.
— You promised…
Her voice trembled, trapped between her throat and her pain.
— You told me you would stay…
The beeping continued.
Regular.
Indifferent.
— You can't disappear like this…
Her fingers tightened slightly.
Michel stayed at a distance, hands unknowingly clasped.
Lina stared at the floor.
Aïcha leaned in.
— Braëlla… open your eyes…
A breath.
A suspended moment.
Then—
A small movement.
Barely visible.
Fingers.
Aïcha froze.
— …did you see?
Michel nodded slowly.
— Yes…
His voice was low.
— She moved…
Aïcha leaned closer.
— Braëlla… can you hear me?
Time seemed to thicken.
Then—
Her eyelids trembled.
A tiny effort, as if every millimeter cost everything.
Aïcha held her breath.
Then—
Her eyes opened.
Barely.
Blurred.
Lost.
But alive.
— …Aïcha…?
A fragile whisper.
But real.
Aïcha felt her shoulders loosen without control.
And behind her—
the sound of the machines changed slightly.
A soft alarm at first.
Then more urgent.
A staff member suddenly turned.
— Doctor! Hurry!
Footsteps rushed down the corridor.
And this time—
the calm was gone.
Was she really coming back… or was this only the beginning of losing her forever?