I wanted to believe him, wanted to step into that version of myself he saw, but she seemed so far away, so out of reach.
“You’re a healer,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “You’re a helper. You’re the light people see when they’re surrounded by darkness, when they think it’s all over. And I know that because...you’re my light, Lillian. So I need you to believe me, okay? I need you to believe that this wasn’t your fault.”
The room went still.
“I’m sorry that I come across as emotionally unavailable,” he continued, voice hoarse. “The emotion is there, it consumes every part of me, it’s just clogged. I don’t know how to let it out without drowning in it. I’m sorry I can’t be more, can’tgiveyou more, but if I were capable of being that for anyone...” He paused, eyes flicking down to my lips, then back to my eyes. “I think I would choose that person to be you. I’dwantit to be you, Lillian.”
My throat cinched.
“You told me you weren’t interested in love,” he murmured, half a smile ghosting across his face through the dim light. “But I don’t think that’s true. You’re like those sunsets you’re always chasing. How can something that beautiful and radiant not want to be loved?”
For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of our breathing. Then he started to mumble in Arabic—low verses of Quran that vibrated through his chest, into me. His other hand drifted, skimming down my neck, my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder.
His words lingered in my mind, looping softly:You’re my light. The memory of his hands steadying me, his voice trembling as he said it, pressed against my ribs until my breath faltered. Warmth uncurled in my belly, spreading like a current, dangerous and alive.
No one had ever seen this much of me before, but somehow, under his gaze, I didn’t feel exposed. I felt seen,whole, in a way I hadn’t realized I’d been craving.
My body relaxed by degrees. Khalifa lowered himself so he was lying down beside me, his arm sliding tight around my waist, his breath evening out on my neck until the rhythm of it started to pull me under. The last thing I felt before sleep took me was the heat of his face buried in my hair—then something softer, the faintest press against my forehead, too fleeting to be certain, too careful to be real, gone before I could be sure it had actually happened.
I told myself I was just dreaming. It was easier than letting myself consider the possibility that Khalifa Nasser had just kissed me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I WOKE TO THE ROOMunfamiliar and hazy. For a few seconds, I didn’t know where I was, whose bed this was, how I had gotten here, why the sunlight slanting through the curtains felt so strange. The sheets smelled faintly of him, warm and lived-in, but it didn’t immediately click.
And then it all came rushing back. Memories clawed at me—Jennie. The twins. The surgical lights glaring, my hands trembling, the impossible weight of it all. Mr. Thompson’s voice, furious and raw: “You killed her.” Khalifa finding me at the door when I stumbled home covered in blood, cleaning me up, taking me to his room, tucking me in. The soft hum of his voice reciting Quran in the darkness, grounding me when everything else felt unmoored. The ghost of a kiss pressed to my forehead, disappearing before I could tell whether it was a flashback or wishful thinking.
You’re my light, Lillian.
My phone blared suddenly from the nightstand, yanking me back to the world. I fumbled for it, squinting at the screen blinking with a bunch of missed calls and messages from Kevin.
“Hello?”
“Oh my God, finally. Why weren’t you answering your phone?”
“Sorry, I just woke up. It was a...bad night.”
There was a pause, then he spoke again cautiously. “Yeah, I figured. We’ve all been worried. Dr. R said you just left covered in blood. Are you okay?”
I swallowed hard, the recollection of the OR pressing back in. “No, Kevin. I’m not okay.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. T,” he said. “I hate to do this to you right now, but you have to come to the office. We have a problem.”
I frowned, dread pooling in my stomach. “What’s wrong?”
“Jennie’s husband...Mr. Thompson. He’s suing you.”
The phone slipped from my hand, the bulk of his words dragging me down until I sank into the mattress, deeper and deeper, as if the bed itself were trying to swallow me whole, and for a second I thought maybe I could just keep falling—let the dark take me somewhere safer, somewhere that didn’t hurt. My fingers flew instinctively to my neck, brushing the red lines still dented into my skin—faint grooves where my hijab had cut into me, where his grip had stolen a breath I was still trying to get back. I could almost feel it again—the tightness, the panic, my world narrowing to a single desperate inhale.
I forced myself upright, every muscle resisting. My legs swung over the bed, my feet meeting the cold floor, grounding me in a body that felt barely mine. I twisted my hair into a bun, rubbed the lingering fatigue from my eyes, and made my way to the kitchen.
Khalifa was at the stove. When he turned, surprise flickered across his face. “You’re up. Go back to bed, I’ll bring you breakfast.”
“I can’t. I have to go to the office.”
“No, Lillian, you can—”
“He’s suing me for medical malpractice,” I interrupted. “He wants my license suspended indefinitely.”
