I watched as Dr. Umar gently held Umma's wrist to check her pulse, then placed his stethoscope against her chest to listen to her breathing. He flashed a small penlight into her eyes. There was no blood, no cuts—so I prayed it was nothing too serious. Just something minor, right?
"Start her on oxygen—mask at 10 litres. Set up an IV line and draw blood for CBC, electrolytes, and clotting profile," he instructed the nurse briskly.
Like hell did I understand most of what he said.
"Get me a portable monitor—we need vitals now."
The nurse scurried away, and I stood there, unsure whether I was even breathing.
"Uhm… Doctor, is everything okay?" I asked, my voice small, concern thick in my throat.
"She's stable for now," he replied calmly. "She's unconscious, but her vitals are holding. We're running scans to make sure there's no internal bleeding."
He looked me straight in the eye. "Try not to worry. We'll take good care of her."
And just like that, I could finally take a breath.
"Anisa, your phone is ringing," Aunty Fati said softly from beside me. I had forgotten she was even there. I'd been too busy staring at the doctor. Don't ask me why.
I scrambled to find my phone in my backpack, which I'd thrown on the floor like I was in a drama. I wasn't thinking straight.
It was Abba—my dad.
I picked up.
"Assalamu Alaikum—"
"My dear, is everything okay? I'm so sorry for not being there. Is she okay?" he interrupted, his voice trembling slightly. That was just how he was—soft-hearted, emotional. I guess I got that from him.
"Yes, Abba. The doctor just reassured me she'll be fine, Insha Allah," I replied, trying to sound steadier than I felt.
"Hand the phone to your Umma. Is she awake yet?"
"Not yet. But she will be... I hope."
"Okay, dear. I'll call again later. Hang in there." He ended the call.
---
The rest of the morning blurred by.
Dr. Umar came and went, nurses moved around with IV bags and beeping machines, and I sat there, just watching Umma breathe. Time passed strangely fast, and before I knew it, it was already noon.
Just as I began dozing off in the chair beside Umma's bed, Dr. Umar returned with a sheet of paper in his hand.
"We just got her scan results," he said, scanning the paper. "There's a mild concussion—no internal bleeding, no skull fracture, which is a good sign. She'll stay unconscious for a while, but that's expected."
He glanced at me gently. "When she wakes up, we'll need to monitor her closely—for headaches, dizziness, or confusion. But for now, her vitals are stable."
"Thank you so much, Doctor. For helping us," I murmured, hoping I was audible.
Dr. Umar only smiled slightly in response and turned to leave.
My mind drifted elsewhere. Ya Hanifah, Ya Abdul. They never called to check on Umma. Well, what was I expecting? They never cared anyway.
"Anisa, you should go home and change out of your uniform," Aunty Fati suggested. I glanced at Umma, still unconscious, then back at her, and I nodded.
"Will you be okay going in a tricycle?" she asked.
"I'll just call a Bolt," I told her. Bolt is just like Uber.
"Oh! I forgot about that," Aunty Fati exclaimed.
I just gave her a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. I grabbed my backpack and slung it over my shoulder. "I'll be back soon."
---
I was standing at the front of the hospital entrance, impatiently waiting for my Bolt. When I checked the app, the driver had the audacity to cancel the ride. How pathetic.
I didn't have the patience to book another ride, so I decided to hop on any commercial tricycle that came by—but there was none.
"Do you need a ride?"
The calmest masculine voice behind me asked, and I instantly recognized it.
Then he appeared before me.
The ER Doctor, Umar.
"No, thank you," I rejected the offer. That wouldn't be appropriate now, would it? I mean, I just met him. I didn't know what he was capable of. Better safe than sorry.
"Would you rather stay out here in this scorching hot weather?" he said, reminding me of the heat I was trying to ignore.
My eyes flew down to the name tag on his lab coat: Umar Muhammad.
I looked back up at his face. He tilted his head, waiting for an answer.
I quickly said a prayer in my mind, seeking Allah's protection from all evil—not that I was saying he was evil—and then I nodded.
We were now in his black, tinted, 2024 model Hyundai Elantra.
"Where are you going?" he asked as he started the car.
"Alu Avenue," came my short reply.
"Yes, ma'am," he said like he was my personal driver. I glanced at him, eyes fixed on the road, and honestly… I couldn't believe this was happening.
Now that I really looked at him, he seemed young. Twenty-four, maybe?
"So, that's where you live?" he asked.
"I guess."
"How rude of a reply for someone who's older than you."
"Oh, sorry," I said, a little sarcastically.
I was eighteen, for goodness' sake.
"My house is along Audu Bako Way," he offered, not that I even asked.
"That's great," I said, trying to sound a bit more polite this time.
"So we're pretty much neighbors, right?"
"Yup."
The rest of the ride was filled with awkward silence—not that I wanted to engage in a conversation with him anyway.
After all, I felt like I was walking on thorns, letting a stranger drive me home.
Not until I saw the sign that read Alu Avenue did I let out a quiet sigh of relief. After all, I wasn't being kidnapped.
I pointed at my house near the start of the road. "That's my house," I said.
He pulled up near the red, intricately designed gate that I always admired whenever I was outside. Abba really knows his way with design.
"Thank you," I muttered as I opened the door, ready to step out.
"I'll wait for you," I heard him say.
What— "No. You should just go," I refused.
"I insist," he said, sounding adamant.
"Okay," I replied curtly and exited the car, maybe closing the door a little too hard.
I opened the gate and saw our gatekeeper, Malam Bukar, seated on an orange plastic chair.
"Assalamu Alaikum," I greeted.
"Wa Alaikumus Salam. Madam Anisa, you're home early," he responded.
So he didn't know about Umma. Okay.
"Oh, yes. Something came up."
I rushed toward the front door, pushed it open, and slid in.
The house felt warm... but empty.
As soon as I got into my room, I quickly changed into a beige-colored abaya and rolled on my veil in haste. I grabbed my phone from the backpack and jumped back downstairs.
I made a quick stop in the kitchen, opened the fridge, and drank half a bottle of cold water, then grabbed another to take to Dr. Umar. I figured he might need it in this heat.
Though I still wondered... Why offer to take me home and back? Was he just being thoughtful? Do people like that really still exist?
"Malam Bukar, see you later," I muttered and stepped out.
Dr. Umar had already turned the car in the direction we were headed. I hopped in and closed the door.
Ya Allah, return me to the hospital safely, just like You brought me home.
I handed him the bottle of water without looking at him.
"Oh, how thankful of you," he said, like I was a seven-year-old.
---
We arrived at the hospital just as Aunty Fati called to tell me Umma had woken up and was moved to a VIP room.
She regained consciousness!
I walked quickly—okay, more like ran slowly—towards her room. When I opened the door, a pair of brown eyes locked onto mine.
Alhamdulillah.
All else faded into the background as I rushed to my Umma and hugged her tightly.