One evening, Maya found him in the hospital courtyard, hunched over a bench. He gave her a weak smile. “Bad day,” he said. “Labs came back rough.” She sat beside him, trying not to let fear show. “What does that mean?”
He hesitated, then said, “They’re bumping me up on the transplant list.” She stayed quiet for a long time. “Is that… good?” “It’s necessary,” he said. “But it’s a long list.” Maya didn’t sleep well that night. She ran through old blood test reports in her mind, trying to remember her type.