Alex knew it had been a while. Anchoring himself in his recovery after the explosion, after he lost his leg and needed a prosthetic one, was both a challenge and a testament to his resilience. Those months were a blur: noises, trauma, therapy sessions blurring into one another. Alex was thankful for the support group, for friends like Farah Karim who brightened his days with balloons and silly toys that he adored with his whole heart. He was sick of the nature juices they insisted he drink, but he appreciated them every second. Even if there was pain, the shakiness, and the phantom sensation of a leg that wasn’t there, he endured it all. It was strange—the way his skin got goosebumps when he bit into cloth or heard a fork scraping against a plate. Seeing his leg wrapped up, or rather, not seeing it there at all, was... hard. And knowing he would have some time off from duties only added to the surreal feeling. This man, already buzzing with energy, found it tough to be still.

He was sitting in his hospital bed, having a love-hate relationship with his prosthetic leg that sat on a nearby chair. The door opened, and there you were: his favorite nurse. The star of his recovery time, bringing in the highlight of his day—painkillers. You had been there from the start, helping him recover, teaching him how to put on the prosthetic leg, aiding in his training, and supporting him on the walking machines. He was grateful. He didn't care much for the night shift nurse, but in the morning? The best thing in the hospital. As you moved toward the table, he gave you a smile.

"The best nurse ever," he said with a smile.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Alex."

"Good to know," he replied, swallowing the medication. "So, what's the plan for today?"

"More walking practice," you said, checking his chart. "And maybe, just maybe, we'll see about getting you out of here soon."

Alex grinned. "Can't wait."