The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of the hospital room, bathing everything in a golden glow. Zaria lay quietly in bed, her hands resting atop the crisp, cream sheets. Today was the day — the day she would be taken into surgery. A chance for a new life. A chance for legs that would carry her across open fields and bustling streets.
The thought made her heart race, and for a moment, fear bubbled to the surface. What if something went wrong? What if she never woke up? What if the pain she had suffered for so long was replaced with a new, unending ache?
She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, brushing the edge of the letter she had written to Linda. The paper was slightly creased now, a symbol of the countless times she had read it herself, reminding herself why she was doing this. Why she refused to give up.
A soft knock pulled her from her thoughts, and the door swung open. The nurse who had been with her on the flight stepped in, a warm smile lighting up her face.
"Good morning, Zaria," she said softly. "How are you feeling?"
Zaria offered a faint smile. "I'm… a little scared."
The nurse came closer and placed a hand gently on Zaria's. "That's okay, my dear. It's okay to be scared. But you're strong. Stronger than you realize. What you're about to do takes a lot of courage, and you have that inside of you."
Zaria felt a sting of tears. The words felt like a balm to the ache deep within. "Thank you," she whispered. "I just… I don't want to fail."
The nurse shook her head and gave a firm, hopeful squeeze. "You won't fail, Zaria. You've come too far. You're surrounded by people who care about you, and we will be with you every step of the way."
A wave of warmth surged through Zaria, softening the sharp edges of her fear. Somehow, despite all the pain she had endured, despite all the moments she felt abandoned or broken, she had found herself here. In this quiet room. In this place where hands that had never known her until now promised to guide her toward a brighter future.
Soon after, a doctor came in, introducing himself as Dr. Sharma's assistant. He spoke calmly and clearly about the procedure — how long it would take, what she could expect when she came out of surgery, and how long recovery might be. Zaria listened closely, finding strength in understanding.
Shortly after, Dr. Sharma herself came to the room, carrying an air of quiet confidence that put Zaria at ease. She checked Zaria's charts and offered a gentle smile.
"Today, we help give you a second chance, Zaria. You have a fighting spirit — I can sense it. Whatever you've been through, it hasn't defeated you, and this surgery is one more step toward victory. Trust yourself, trust us, and when you open your eyes, we'll be right here."
Trust. It felt like such an enormous thing for Zaria, something she hadn't been able to give for so long. Yet here, in this place, surrounded by strangers who felt like friends, she chose to hand it over, piece by piece.
As the staff prepared to move her, Zaria pulled the letter from the side of the bed and pressed it to her chest. It was more than paper and ink — it was a piece of herself, a reminder that she was not alone. Not anymore.
"May I keep this with me?" she asked quietly, holding it out to the nurse. "Until I come out?"
"Of course," the nurse said, tucking it safely into a pocket of her scrubs. "I'll have it ready for you when you wake up."
Moments later, the bed was wheeled down long corridors, past bright lights and soft voices. Zaria closed her eyes as she felt herself glide from one space to another. The sound of doors swinging open and closing felt like a quiet drumbeat, a reminder that she was moving closer to the moment when her life would be forever changed.
In the operating room, a team of masked faces offered reassurances, their voices calm and confident. The room was a place of precision and care, and for the first time in a long while, Zaria felt surrounded by purpose — by hands that worked to heal, not harm.
"Are you ready?" a voice asked. It was soft, belonging to the anesthetist.
Zaria nodded, swallowing down the lump rising in her throat. "I am," she said, voice shaking but strong. "I am ready."
A mask was placed gently over her nose and mouth, and she was instructed to take slow, deep breaths. The sound of her own breathing filled her ears, and the room blurred around the edges.
As she sank deeper into the soft mist of sleep, memories surfaced — moments that shaped her, moments that tested her. The sting of rejection, the sting of pain, the sting of despair. Yet, rising above all of it came moments of belonging. The warmth of Linda's hand. The nurse brushing hair from her forehead. The quiet promise in the doctor's voice.
Through that veil of mist, one thought surfaced stronger than the rest:
I am worth this chance.
With that thought, Zaria surrendered herself to the hands of those who would piece her back together.
Time became meaningless. Somewhere beyond the veil of consciousness, hands worked meticulously, guided by a knowledge and precision that came from years of training and countless victories over pain and limitation.
In that quiet space between moments, Zaria felt herself suspended — no longer the girl with wounded legs and wounded heart, no longer defined by scars that marked her journey. Just a breath. A whisper. A prayer.
And then, slowly, light seeped in.
Through the mist came sound — hushed voices, the hum of equipment, and a hand brushing across her forehead. Slowly, Zaria surfaced, swallowing down the heaviness pressing upon her chest.
"Welcome back, Zaria," a voice said softly. "You've done wonderfully."
Her eyelids fluttered open, and the world swam into focus. The room felt brighter, the air crisp and clean. Somewhere deep inside, despite the ache that came with waking, she felt a spark — a tiny ember of strength. An ember that promised a flame.
Through dry, cracked lips, she whispered, "Thank you."
It was more than thanks for the hands that had worked for hours upon hours, more than thanks for the space and the bed and the fresh linens. It was thanks for belonging. Thanks for being seen. Thanks for a chance she thought had long been lost.
As the nurse placed the letter she had kept safe into Zaria's hand, Zaria pressed it to her chest, closing her eyes for a moment. Whatever came next — the pain, the therapy, the moments of doubt — she would carry this moment with her.
Today was the first page of a new chapter. Not one defined by loss, but one shaped by hope. And as the hum of the room embraced her, Zaria felt herself exhale and surrender, knowing deep within:
This was only the beginning.