Borrowed Days

I never believed in miracles, not the big ones.

But small ones—the quiet, almost accidental kind—I think those might be real.

The morning my life changed, I was running on two hours of sleep, a cold cup of coffee, and the kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones. Working as a nurse had always been my calling, but lately it felt like I was pouring from an empty cup, hoping no one noticed it was dry.

I pressed my badge against the hospital scanner, expecting the usual beep.

Instead, red letters blinked across the screen:

TIME CREDIT RECEIVED: +10 DAYS

I frowned. “What? That can’t be right.”

The clerk at the desk, Ray, raised an eyebrow. “Looks like someone donated days to you. Rare, too. People don’t usually give away that many.”

I stared at him. “Who sent them?”

He shrugged. “Anonymous. That’s how donations work.”

Borrowed days—extra slices of life given to someone who needed more time. The world didn’t magically extend your lifespan; instead, the days appeared in a strange, looping way. You relived them one by one, a chance to breathe, rest, reflect—or fix what felt broken.

Ten whole days.

I didn’t remember applying for help. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I deserved it.

But that night, the loop began.

Day One (Again)

The next morning looked exactly the same—same alarm, same gray sky, same cold coffee waiting.

But something inside me was different. I moved slower. Softer. A little less afraid of the day ahead.

Work felt familiar, but not suffocating. I noticed things I’d been too tired to see before—the way Nurse Patel hummed under her breath, the smell of lavender on one patient’s blanket, the warmth of sunlight in the east hallway at noon.

And even though the day ended normally, I felt… lighter.

Then I woke up, and it was the same morning again.

Day Three, Four, Five

The loops didn’t feel like rewinding life. They felt like stepping out of survival mode.

I used one day to sleep for twelve hours straight.

Another to visit the old café downtown, the one I hadn’t seen since Mom passed.

Another just to walk through the park, watching strangers live full lives while mine finally slowed down.

Every morning, the world reset.

But every night, I reset too—just a little.

Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about the donor.

Who would give up ten days of their life… for me?

Clues in the Loop

On the sixth loop, I noticed something I had missed: a small envelope slipped under my apartment door. I opened it to find a torn page from an old medical textbook—the exact edition my mother used in nursing school.

On the seventh, I found a peppermint candy on my desk drawer—Mom always kept them in her pockets.

On the eighth, I heard a familiar melody humming from the apartment next door. Mom used to hum it when she cooked.

The hints felt impossible. She had passed away two years ago.

But grief is strange—sometimes it melts the edges of reality, just enough to let hope slip through.

Maybe the donor wasn’t literally my mother.

Maybe it was someone she once helped.

Maybe it was someone who knew what she meant to me.

Or maybe—maybe kindness doesn’t need a reason.

Day Nine: The Letter

On the ninth loop, a letter appeared in the same envelope.

“You give so much.

More than you realize.

Rest. Heal.

The world is better because you’re in it.”

No signature.

Just a small drawing at the bottom—a simple peppermint swirl.

I cried for the first time in years.

Not sadness.

Not grief.

Just release.

Day Ten: Choosing Forward

On the final loop, I didn’t try to solve the mystery.

I didn’t chase clues or question anything.

I simply lived.

I brought pastries for my coworkers.

I helped a nervous new trainee until her hands stopped shaking.

I called my sister and told her I loved her.

I watched the sunrise from the hospital roof, a cup of warm coffee in my hands.

And when the loop ended, the next morning did not reset.

Time moved forward again.

But I did, too.

After the Borrowed Days

I still don’t know who gave me those ten days.

I may never know.

What I do know is this:

Someone saw me fading…

and chose to give me time.

To breathe.

To heal.

To start again.

They gave me more than borrowed days.

They gave me back my life.

And now, whenever my shift ends and I pass the donation kiosk,

I pause.

Someday, when I have enough strength stored up again,

I want to give someone else what was given to me.

A little time.

A little hope.

A chance to begin again.

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Thank you for reading...

Regard: Fazal Hadi