Chapter 8

Stepping inside the Sheikh's room, a heavy silence surrounded me. The smell of antiseptic and sterility hung in the air, so different from the vibrant, rich scents I associated with him. He lay there, quiet and still, but alive. A hint of his strength peeked through the pallor of his skin.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to steady myself. Picking up the newspaper from the table beside his bed, I started to read it aloud, keeping my voice steady and my eyes focused on the printed words.

"In international news today, the global economic forum has announced..." I paused, watching him. There was no response, no flicker of interest in his eyes. He stared at me blankly, a look I wasn't used to from him.

Feeling a lump in my throat, I carried on reading, determined to keep things as normal as possible for him. Occasionally, I'd ask him about a certain article, or joke about a funny comic strip, hoping it would jog his memory. The room filled with the sound of my voice, but the Sheikh remained silent.

In a desperate attempt, I turned to a section I knew he loved, a column about the history of Arabic poetry. "This one's about Al Mutanabbi, your favorite," I said softly. I could almost hear his voice in my head, passionately discussing the elegance and wisdom of the verses.

As I finished reading the piece, I glanced at him, desperately hoping for a sign, any sign, of recognition. "You used to tell me how his poetry could awaken the soul. Remember?" I whispered; my voice barely audible.

In his eyes, I looked for the man who had once shared his world with me, seeking a glimmer of recognition, a spark of the connection we had. But his gaze was distant, devoid of the warmth I'd grown to cherish. It was as if I was looking at a stranger.

*** 

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was walking down the hospital corridor when I was summoned to the administrative office. The stern face of Dr. Larson, the hospital director, greeted me from behind his massive wooden desk.

"Gabby," he began, "we've received a request from the Sheikh's family."

My heart pounded in my chest. I expected the worst.

"They've asked for a private nursing team to care for him at home, and they specifically asked for you to be part of the team."

I was momentarily stunned. "Me?" I asked, blinking at him in surprise.

"Yes, you," he confirmed with a nod. "Apparently, Ahmed recommended you. He said the Sheikh was comfortable with you."

Relief washed over me, followed by a pang of joy. Ahmed, the Sheikh's trusted aide, had recommended me. I had been worried sick about the Sheikh, thinking of how I could handle being so far away from him, and now I was going to be part of the team caring for him. I was grateful to Ahmed, he knew how much I cared for the Sheikh.

"But why me?" I asked, trying to hide the eagerness in my voice.

Dr. Larson leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his belly. "You're one of our best nurses, Gabby. And according to Ahmed, you have a way of making the Sheikh comfortable. In his current condition, that's invaluable."

A rush of gratitude warmed me. I managed a smile, my eyes tearing up. "I won't let you down, Dr. Larson," I vowed. "Or the Sheikh."

"That's the spirit," he said with a gruff nod. "Now, go home and pack your bags. You're moving to the Sheikh's palace tomorrow."

Bringing me back to the present, Ahmed walked into the room, his usually lively eyes filled with concern. "How's he doing today?" he asked, directing his gaze toward the Sheikh.

Frustration seeped into my voice as I sighed. "It's been a month, Ahmed. A month of the same routine, and nothing. He doesn't react, he doesn't recognize me, or anything. It feels like he's...like he's not even there."

Ahmed stepped up next to me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Gabby, I know this is hard. But you must keep hope. The brain needs time to heal, he will remember, he just needs more time."

"But he should be talking by now, Ahmed," I countered, the despair in my voice evident. "He just...doesn't seem to want to engage. It's like talking to a wall."

A pause filled the room before Ahmed finally broke the silence with gentle teasing. "You're only this worried because of your feelings for him, right?"

A blush crept up my cheeks, my surprise at his comment clearly visible. "Ahmed!" I protested although I couldn't deny the truth in his words.

Our conversation was interrupted as the door swung open and Morgan walked in, her demeanor all business. "Good afternoon," she greeted us curtly, her focus instantly on the Sheikh.

I returned her greeting, quickly wiping away any stray tears. Ahmed and I shared a glance, and the conversation momentarily halted.

While Morgan checked on the Sheikh, Ahmed and I fell into silence.

As Morgan finished her check-up on the Sheikh, Ahmed and I watched in silence, waiting for her verdict. She finally turned to us; her expression as impassive as always.

"His vitals are stable," she began, her gaze moving between Ahmed and me. "But we need to do another MRI. It's the only way to determine how his brain is functioning."

Ahmed was the first to break the silence that followed. "So, you're saying he's getting better?"

Morgan nodded, albeit slowly. "Yes, he is showing signs of improvement.”

She then turned to me; her professional gaze fixated on mine. "Gabby," she started, pulling out her notepad, "Could you please update me on the medications you've been administering to the Sheikh? I need the precise details for the progress report."

I nodded, quickly retrieving the medical log where we meticulously recorded every medication given. As we walked through each one, I could see Morgan mentally ticking them off, making sure every detail was accurately captured in her report. This was a task we took very seriously - every piece of information mattered when it came to understanding the Sheikh's progress.

***

As everyone filed out of the Sheikh's room, leaving us alone, I felt a heaviness settle over me. I let out a long, quiet sigh, gathering myself. It was then that the chef wheeled in a tray laden with breakfast, the aroma of freshly baked bread wafting in the air, a bittersweet reminder of our shared meals.

Once the chef left, I gently held the Sheikh's hand, encouraging him, "Let's sit you up for breakfast."

Despite the persistent weakness in his legs, the Sheikh tried to sit up. The physical therapies were beginning to show signs of progress. With a considerable amount of effort, he managed to sit up. To my surprise, he then gestured towards the tray, indicating he would like to eat by himself.

Excitement bubbled up within me, making me chatter away with uncontained joy. "This is great! You're making progress. I knew you could do it!" As my words filled the room, he turned to look at me. For a fleeting moment, I felt as if he truly saw me, and recognized me.

Breaking the month-long silence, he spoke, his voice rough but audible. "Miss... Gabby, right?"

I could only nod, tears welling up in my eyes. He continued, "Could you call my aide, please?"

Before I could respond, the door swung open with a dramatic flair. In walked Nana, a young boy by her side, and Ahmed trailing slightly behind. Nana announced, her voice filled with a mix of determination and exhaustion,

"I've moved in. I'm here to take care of my husband."