𝕸𝖀𝕽𝕯𝕰𝕽 | 𝖂𝖊𝖉𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖉𝖆𝖞

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊

~

XXXIII

~

Aiyla didn't know how many hours had passed since Xavier had left.

He'd went to class, promising that he'd be with her by the end of the school day.

But, as he had told her, she needed to rest.

Sleep was overcoming her, even though she fought to stay awake.

Aiyla, clutched her moon and star pendant in her hand as she walked over to Bahadir's bed. He still hadn't woken up. He looked healthy enough now - of course, the same gaunt look was etched onto his face, but he looked more alive than dead now. He was breathing steadily, he wasn't even hooked up onto any machines anymore.

With her other hand, she held his finger - her entire hand could grasp just one finger of his. Aiyla smiled, her mind flashing back to years ago.

They'd been running away from police - as usual - and so that 7-year-old Aiyla wouldn't get lost in the chase, she held his index finger tightly within his fist. Bahadir slowed down enough for one moment just to laugh and call her a midget.

She was still a midget, just slightly taller now.

Aiyla bit her lip as she looked down at her older brother. When would he wake? Would he wake at all? What about Emine, the fiancée - how would she react to everything that had happened?

So many questions, and not a single answer.

Feeling tiredness itch her eyes, Aiyla pushed Bahadir gently, so that he wasn't on the edge - but it left a bit of room on one side of the hospital bed.

And then, even though she knew it was a stupid thing to do, Aiyla climbed onto the hospital bed and curled into a ball next to her older brother, still holding his finger.

He couldn't die.

He couldn't leave her.

Aiyla would do anything to see those rage filled eyes of his open again.

So, right before sleep overtook her - not knowing why she said it - Aiyla whispered under her breath: "Ya Allah, let him wake. Let him live."

And then she closed her eyes.

...

Infirmary lights were always too white and too blinding. The smell of chemicals to piecing.

But what truly disoriented a person when they woke up, what the sight of a little sister curled up beside her injured brother, holding his finger.

The little sister in question - Aiyla Demir - looked so small and frail there, than any ethnic auntie who saw her would pinch her cheek and demand that she eat some food. Her raven curls were hastily done up in a messy bun, her eyes had purple bags under them, and her very soul seemed to be slightly diminished.