Chapter 3

"What?" Arsy stared at the nurse, eyes wide. "But I'm his daughter. I just want to be with my father."

The nurse managed a thin smile, trying to stay composed despite the urgency of the situation.

"We need the space and our full concentration to treat him. Please wait outside."

"But—" Arsy's voice shook. "My father's alone in there."

"The doctor and the medical team will give him the best care possible," the nurse answered — firm but gentle. "Trust us."

The door began to close.

"Dad!" Arsy cried out before she could stop herself. Her hand reached forward, as if to touch him one last time. "Dad, I'm right here! Don't be afraid!"

But the door sealed shut, separating Arsy from the only person she had left in the world. The click of the latch rang impossibly loud in her ears. She stood frozen in front of the ER doors, staring blankly at the sign as though the words themselves might offer her some answer. Her body trembled. Her legs felt ready to give out. She dragged both hands down her face and swallowed hard against the sob climbing her throat.

"Dear God..." she whispered. "Please save my father."

Behind that door, the scene was anything but calm. Rahman lay on the ER bed with medical equipment attached across his body. The cardiac monitor beeped in rhythm, but the rhythm was unsteady. Numbers on the screen climbed and dropped, drawing tight lines across the foreheads of every doctor and nurse in the room.

"Blood pressure's dropping," one nurse reported.

"Prepare the cardiac meds," the doctor ordered, his voice sharp. "We need to move fast."

A middle-aged physician stood at Rahman's bedside, his hands moving with practiced speed — checking pupil response, blood pressure, pulse.

"The cardiac event is severe," he told his team. "There's evidence of a significant blockage."

"Does the patient have any prior medical history, Doctor?" another nurse asked.

"His daughter mentioned a history of heart disease," the doctor replied. "Let's stabilize him first. Start a second IV line."

The room filled with the escalating sounds of medical urgency. Nurses moved in quick, coordinated bursts — hanging IV bags, drawing up medications, recording every flicker of change on the monitors. Rahman's face remained ashen. His chest rose and fell in uneven stutters. Cold sweat beaded at his temples despite the air conditioning that chilled the room.

"We need to work as fast as we can," the doctor said again. "Every second counts."

Meanwhile, outside the ER, Arsy was unraveling. She paced the short corridor in front of the doors — fast, directionless steps that went nowhere. Her hands wrung against each other, occasionally clutching at her hijab. Every few seconds she stopped directly in front of the doors, pressing her ear against them, straining to hear her father's voice. All she caught were the muffled sounds of equipment and the hushed shuffle of footsteps.

"Dad..." she whispered. "Stay strong, okay? Don't leave me alone. You're all I have, and I'm not ready to lose you."

She resumed pacing, stopped to stare at the door, wiped her tears, paced again. Time warped. Every second stretched into a minute. Every minute into an hour. She sat on the metal bench outside the ER — and was back on her feet in less than sixty seconds. Sitting made her thoughts spiral worse.

"What if he doesn't wake up? What if that was the last time I'll ever hear his voice? What if this really is all my fault?"

"This is my fault," Arsy murmured, pressing her hands to her face. "All of this is my fault." The tears broke through in a flood she couldn't contain. Her shoulders heaved. "If I'd found out sooner about what Radit was doing — if I'd seen it faster — Dad would never have gone through any of this."

Her mind drifted back to the image of her father's face just before he collapsed. The pain etched into his expression. The look of disappointment and heartbreak. Guilt hit her in relentless waves. She stood again. Her steps quickened until she was nearly jogging up and down the short hallway, drawing a nurse's attention.

"Excuse me, miss — please try to sit down and stay calm."

Arsy nodded vaguely, not really hearing the words. Her legs kept moving. Her heart hammered without rhythm.

Then, at last, the ER doors opened. Arsy froze mid-stride. Her breath caught. Her eyes went wide as a doctor emerged, pulling his mask down from his face. He looked serious, drained, and not like a man bearing good news.

Arsy rushed toward him.

"Doctor — Doctor!" Her voice shook. "My father — how is he? He's okay, isn't he?"

The doctor studied her for a few seconds. That look alone was enough to tighten the vise around Arsy's chest.

"Are you the family of Rahman Shahira?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm his daughter." She nodded frantically, and the doctor gave a slow nod of his own.

"Your father's condition right now..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "He's still in critical condition."

The sentence dropped the ground out from under her.

"Critical...?" Arsy echoed, barely audible. "What does that mean?"

The doctor drew a deep breath.

"Your father suffered a severe heart attack. The blockage is significant, and we're doing everything we can to stabilize him."

Arsy's world collapsed. The word severe echoed through her skull, over and over.

"Severe..." Her lips trembled. "So — my father is—"

"We're still doing everything in our power," the doctor cut in quickly. "But you need to prepare yourself for all possibilities."

That sentence was the final blow. Tears poured down her face. Her body shook violently. She stumbled, catching herself against the hospital wall before she could fall.

"Oh God..." A broken sob escaped her. "Dad..."

Her hand clamped over her mouth, trying to muffle the cry growing louder in her chest. Everything hurt. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps. The doctor stood before her, his expression grave, doing his best to remain steady.

"Please try to stay strong. Right now, all we can do is place our faith in God. If you have no further questions, I need to attend to other patients." With that, the doctor left Arsy and returned through the doors.

The ER doors opened again a while later — a soft, almost inaudible sound, but to Arsy it was the creak of a gate swinging open onto her worst fears.

"You can come in," a nurse said quietly, holding the door ajar and gesturing for Arsy to enter. "But please keep it brief."

Arsy nodded. Her hand trembled as it touched the door handle. For a moment she hesitated. Her feet felt heavy, as though something unseen held her back from taking another step. Her chest ached. Her breath came shallow and thin. She was afraid. Afraid of what waited for her on the other side.

But in the end, Arsy stepped through.

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