If I Could Dance With You Again

IICDWYA: 55

Chapter 55

The studio lights glared overhead as Aaliyah guided her students through a routine. She had eaten breakfast, she had hydrated, and she had convinced herself that last week's hospitalization was behind her. But halfway through a sequence, her body betrayed her.

Her vision blurred, her skin went pale, and her legs trembled beneath her. She forced herself to keep moving, but the nervous pressure in her head grew unbearable.

Not again, she thought desperately.

She excused herself quickly, clutching her bag, and made her way out of the studio. Driving was impossible — her hands shook too violently — so she called a cab, praying she could reach the hospital before things worsened.

By the time she reached the hospital, her body was weak, her breath shallow. She knew exactly where she wanted to go: Wren Willow Lee's private office. Wren was her anchor, her confidante, the one person who understood the hidden battles she carried.

She managed to knock on the door, whispering her friend's name — and then the world tilted. Darkness swallowed her as she collapsed instantly.

Fate intervened. A male doctor, passing through the corridor, saw her fall. He rushed forward, calling for a nurse.

"Emergency stretcher, now!" he barked, kneeling beside her.

Within seconds, Aaliyah was lifted onto a stretcher, her body limp, her breathing shallow. The doctor's mind raced. He didn't know her history, but he recognized the urgency.

"Notify Dr. Lee immediately," he ordered. "She's a patient of Dr. Lee, isn't she?"

The nurse nodded quickly, already dialing.

The doctor wasted no time. "Run full protocol tests. CBC, metabolic panel, cardiac monitoring. And order an ultrasound — rule out pregnancy complications."

The nurse hesitated. "Pregnancy?"

"She's young, she collapsed, and her vitals are unstable. We don't take chances. Get it done."

The orders flew down the hallway, nurses scattering to prepare equipment. Aaliyah's stretcher was wheeled into the emergency bay, machines humming to life around her.

Minutes later, Wren Willow Lee — Dr. Lee — burst into the room, her white coat flaring behind her. Her eyes locked on Aaliyah, her friend lying unconscious, wires already attached to her chest.

"What happened?" she demanded, her voice sharp.

The male doctor explained quickly. "She collapsed outside your office. I ordered the full protocol and an ultrasound. I assumed she was your patient."

Wren's jaw tightened. "She is my friend. And yes, she's under my care."

Still, she moved to Aaliyah's side, her hands steady as she checked her pulse, her breathing, her color. Beneath her professional exterior, fear gnawed at her.

Wren's mind raced. This was the second collapse in weeks. The headaches, the weakness, the irregular breathing — it was all coming back. And what terrified her most was the possibility that it would keep happening, that one day she wouldn't be there in time.

She looked at the male doctor. "Thank you for stepping in. But I'll oversee her care from here." Wren then looked at one of the nurses and said, "Call neurology. I want a full consult again."

The doctor stayed still, who was supposed to step back, but did not, and continued doing the ultrasound.

The doctor's hand moved steadily, the probe gliding across the patient's abdomen as the grayscale images flickered on the monitor. His expression remained unreadable, but his silence carried weight. Wren stood rigid, arms crossed, her voice clipped with authority as she repeated her order to the nurse.