The soft sound of Zakirah's pen scratching across paper was the only noise in the room as she sat at her desk. Her fingers moved in a rhythmic motion, absorbed in the world of her book, the characters, and their fictional world. For a moment, she felt at peace, far removed from the weight of her life outside this space. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of paper and the steady hum of the city beyond the window.

Zakirah's mind wandered back to the conversation with Omar earlier that evening. She had thought she had made progress—made peace with her situation—but the more time she spent in this new reality, the more questions she had. And the more complicated it became. There was something stirring inside her when she thought of him. Her marriage to him wasn't built on love, not yet—but there was something more, something she couldn't put into words.

But no matter how much she wanted to focus on the hope that had begun to form, there was still the undeniable fear lingering in the corners of her mind—the constant ache in her chest, the reminder of the heart she was born with, the one that had been weak since the day she was born.

Zakirah had lived with it for as long as she could remember. The doctor's visits, the tests, the constant vigilance. It was a burden she wore in silence, one she had learned to live with but never quite accepted. Her parents, especially her father, had always been overprotective, shielding her from everything, trying to guard her from the inevitable. They loved her with all their hearts, but they feared the day when her heart would give out. And she feared it too.

But tonight, the worry seemed to be a bit louder in her mind than usual.

Omar had been gone most of the day—busy with work, as always. He had been an enigma to her. A man who hid behind the mask of his responsibilities, a man who didn't seem to need anyone, and yet, in the quiet moments, there was something about him that drew her in. She couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath the stern exterior. What if he could be the one to break down the walls she had carefully built around herself?

She couldn't deny that she had started to notice more of him. The way he looked at her, the subtle glances that lingered just a bit too long, the moments of vulnerability that he so carefully masked. He had said he was trying. And maybe she was trying too, but there was still something that felt off.

It was then, as Zakirah lost herself in the pages of her book once again, that she felt it—sharp and sudden. A tightening in her chest, like a vice had closed around her heart. Her breath caught in her throat, and she froze, her pen dropping to the desk with a soft thud.

A wave of dizziness swept over her, and for a moment, the world spun around her. Panic gripped her chest, and she tried to take a deep breath, but it was as if the air had thickened, becoming impossible to breathe in. Her vision blurred at the edges, and the familiar weight of her heart issue—the one she'd always been terrified of—settled heavily over her.

She gripped the edge of the desk, trying to steady herself, but the pressure in her chest only worsened. She blinked, willing herself to focus, her heart racing as though it were trying to escape her chest.

No, no, not now, she thought, the panic starting to bubble in her chest.

Just as quickly as it had started, the pain intensified, and she gasped, clutching at her chest with both hands. Her mind raced—I can't... I can't pass out now. Not here, not like this. But the more she tried to calm herself, the worse it seemed to get. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead as her body trembled.

"Zakirah?"

The voice, deep and familiar, cut through the haze of her panic. She barely registered it as the room began to tilt. Her head spun, and her hands lost their grip on the desk, sliding onto her lap.

"Omar!" she gasped, barely able to keep her eyes open. She could feel the world around her growing dimmer, her breaths becoming shallow. Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. "Help me... please."

The door to the room slammed open, and before she knew it, Omar was by her side. His hand gripped her arm, and his voice was a sharp contrast to the quiet desperation in her own.

"Zakirah!" His voice sounded frantic, a raw edge she had never heard from him before. He gently lifted her, his hands surprisingly steady, even though the tension radiated from him. "What's happening? What's wrong?"

Her breath came in shallow gasps as she tried to force her words out, but her chest was tight—too tight. She could barely breathe. "It's... my heart," she managed to whisper.

At the mention of her heart, Omar's expression hardened, and she could see a flicker of panic in his eyes. His gaze was wide, scanning her face with a mix of fear and confusion. "I don't understand. You're supposed to be fine, aren't you? You said it—your heart, it's—"

Before he could finish, Zakirah collapsed against him, her body weak, her limbs trembling. The dizziness grew more intense, and she closed her eyes, unwilling to let herself fall into unconsciousness.

"Stay with me, Zakirah. Stay with me," Omar's voice was urgent now, his grip tightening on her arm, though his hands were gentle in the way they touched her. He helped her to her feet, wrapping his arm around her waist to support her as she stumbled.

"I... can't breathe," Zakirah gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. The panic was making everything harder to bear. "Please... I need... help..."

Omar's jaw clenched, and his face paled. He looked around the room, as if unsure of what to do, before his gaze locked with hers. "I'm not losing you, Zakirah. Not like this."

Her breathing was shallow now, her mind clouded by the growing panic and fear. She could hear Omar's voice calling out, but everything seemed distant, as though she were fading into the darkness. She tried to hold on, to focus, but the pressure in her chest was unbearable.

"Omar, please..." she whispered again.

His hand flew to his phone, his fingers moving quickly to dial something. "Help is on the way," he said, his voice strained. He looked at her again, his eyes filled with worry, his usually composed demeanor crumbling in the face of her distress. "I won't let anything happen to you."

The world seemed to spin in slow motion as Omar gently helped her to the couch, his hand never leaving her side, holding her steady as she struggled to breathe. The pain in her chest was gradually lessening, but her heart was still beating erratically, too fast, too loud. The thought of what might happen if she didn't make it through this terrified her.

Omar knelt beside her, his gaze fixed on her with a quiet intensity, and for the first time since their marriage, Zakirah saw something in his eyes that wasn't just concern—it was raw, unguarded fear.

"Stay with me, Zakirah," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You can't leave me, not like this."

His words pierced through the haze of fear and pain that clouded her mind, but she could barely keep her eyes open. All she could focus on was the sound of his voice, the warmth of his hand against hers.

When the doorbell rang, a rush of relief swept through Omar's face. He didn't wait another second—his hand gripped hers, as if unwilling to let go for even a moment. "Help is here," he said quietly.

Zakirah's mind drifted into a fog, but she heard him, faintly, as if from a distance. "I'm not going to let you go, Zakirah. I promise you that."

As the paramedics arrived, Omar never let go of her hand.