In the quiet between heartbeats,
there is a gentle pulse of hope.
Every trial, every ache,
is a thread woven into the fabric of tomorrow.
— — —
The morning sun spilled through the pale curtains of Alliah’s bedroom, brushing her face with its soft warmth. She stirred slowly, careful not to wake Jamiro, who slept beside her with the serenity of someone at peace. For the first time in many weeks, she felt a small measure of calm, though it was shadowed by the lingering tension of the medical tests she had scheduled later that day.
Alliah sat up, stretching her back gingerly. The dull ache reminded her that her body had carried burdens she had long neglected—stress, sleepless nights, and the lingering consequences of years of anxiety and illness. Yet even as her joints whispered their co
