Dr. Zafar's cabin was modest, pale blue walls lined with medical certificates, a faint smell of antiseptic in the air, and a nameplate on the desk that read Dr. Zafar Khan, Chief Surgeon. Hadi had seen it on his coat badge earlier. The room was dimly lit, the hum of machines and faint hospital announcements muffling the tension that hung in the air like thick smoke.
Rubina and Hadi sat across from the doctor. She sat with an upright poise, while Hadi looked worn down by the chaos he had been thrust into, his eyes bloodshot, his shirt still stained with dried patches of the girl's blood.
Dr. Zafar cleared his throat and asked professionally, “Yes, ma’am. What seems to be the issue?”
Rubina didn’t mince words. “I believe he had something to do with the girl’s accident,” she said firmly, nodding toward Hadi, “but he’s denying it.”
Her tone was calm, but laced with deep suspicion.
Hadi’s breath caught. He felt like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen, vulnerable. He looked between the doctor and the woman accusing him, panic slowly replacing the air in his lungs.
Dr. Zafar raised an eyebrow and turned to Hadi. “Did you do this to her, Mr...?”
“Hadi,” he croaked. “My name is Hadi Ansari.”
He straightened his back, trying to find strength in his words. “Trust me—I have nothing to do with the girl. I don’t even know her.”
He looked between their faces, two sets of eyes that seemed to pierce through him, searching for a lie, a flicker of guilt. But all they would find was fear.
Rubina exhaled, folding her arms. The doctor sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“Miss Rubina,” Dr. Zafar began, turning to her, “I understand your concern. But right now, my priority is the patient’s life.”
Then he looked at Hadi, his expression sobering. “As I explained earlier, her condition is critical, extremely critical. We’re doing all we can, but unless we operate now, she might slip into a coma... or worse, she may not survive at all.”
Hadi felt like the ground had disappeared beneath his feet. His chest tightened. He couldn’t speak. The words "may not survive" echoed in his mind like a death knell.
Even Rubina’s lips trembled slightly. “Is she... is she really that critical?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dr. Zafar nodded. “Yes. Multiple internal injuries, severe trauma to her head and abdomen. Her left leg is fractured in two places, and her right wrist is broken. We suspect internal bleeding. She needs surgery within the hour.”
Hadi leaned forward suddenly, desperate. “Then please… please operate. I’ll pay. I’ll take care of all the bills, whatever it takes.”
The doctor hesitated. “The bills are not the main issue, Mr. Ansari. The problem is consent.”
“Consent?”
“We’ve had incidents before, people come, promise support, and then vanish. Later, when the patient is stable, their actual families show up and accuse us of performing unauthorized procedures. In some cases, we’ve been sued. That’s why hospital policy strictly prohibits high-risk operations without written consent from next of kin.”
“So what now?” Hadi’s voice cracked, hoping for a miracle answer. “What can we do?”
Dr. Zafar looked down at the patient’s file spread out before him. His fingers ran over the nearly blank information sheet. “So far, the only contact we’ve found is her uncle, the same man who fled. No siblings, no parents listed. It looks like… she’s an orphan.”
There was a silence.
Rubina cleared her throat. “Doctor... what are the chances? Of her survival?”
Hadi turned his head sharply, staring at her in disbelief. How could she ask that now? His jaw clenched, but before he could say anything, a nurse burst into the room.
“Doctor,” she said, breathless. “Her vitals are dropping again.”
Without another word, Dr. Zafar rushed out. Hadi and Rubina were on their feet instantly, following behind him.
The hallway was chaos, doctors rushing in and out of the emergency wing, monitors beeping rapidly, nurses shouting codes. Hadi stood frozen, watching it all unfold, feeling utterly powerless.
After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Zafar emerged again.
His face said it all.
“She has a 30% chance of survival,” he said quietly, wiping his brow.
Rubina’s knees gave way as she collapsed onto a bench with a thud.
“Please,” the doctor continued, desperation now lining his voice, “we need a solution. We’re running out of time. She may not even survive long enough for the surgery if we delay any further.”
Then Rubina stood.
She walked over to Hadi, whose eyes were vacant, his body frozen.
“Marry her,” she said, her voice steady but soft.
Hadi blinked. He turned to look at her, stunned. Dr. Zafar also looked up, startled.
“What?” Hadi managed to whisper, like someone had just suggested setting himself on fire.
“I’m already married,” he said, his voice cracking, “I have a kid. I can’t…”
“So what?” Rubina snapped, her voice now sharper. “Should we just let her die?”
The words landed on Hadi like a physical blow. His legs gave in slightly. He leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
“I… I…” he stammered, words betraying him.
Dr. Zafar stepped forward, placing both hands gently on Hadi’s shoulders. “Look, I know this is a lot. But we’re out of options. Maybe... maybe she still won’t survive. But at least you will have tried. She has a chance. And you are the only one who can give it to her.”
Hadi's tears began to fall, slow, silent, hot tears. He hadn't cried like this since the day his son was born, when his wife screamed in pain and joy, and he had held that little heartbeat for the first time.
“If I could, I would say I’m her sister,” Rubina added gently. “But I can’t prove it. I don’t know her either. Dr. Zafar can’t do it either, he’s her attending surgeon. It would be illegal.”
But Hadi had stopped hearing them.
He sank into a chair near the wall. His hands lay limp in his lap, his face streaked with tears. His mind was a storm, flashes of the accident, the girl’s crumpled form, the blood, the chaos.
How can I marry a girl I hit with my own car?
She’s dying. Because of me.
What will I say to my wife? To my son?
Can I live with this guilt if she dies?
Nobody was blaming him. But he knew. Allah knew. And that was enough.
He was responsible. And he had to fix it.
“I will,” Hadi finally said. His voice was hoarse. He didn’t look up. “But... only after I talk to her. Just once.”
There was a pause.
Then, Dr. Zafar moved closer and placed a hand on Hadi’s shoulder. “She’s awake, but very weak. She may not be able to speak. Maybe just nods or hand movements. I can give you ten minutes.”
Hadi gave a faint nod.
“Don’t stress her,” the doctor reminded him. “Wait here. The nurse will come get you.”
He left.
Rubina sat beside Hadi, both silent now. She glanced at him, her eyes reflecting the same confusion he felt. She had only come to the hospital to collect a discharge file for a woman in her NGO. And now, here she was, embroiled in something so unexpected, so delicate.
They didn’t know what would happen next.
But one thing was certain.
The clock was ticking.
---
The cold of the corridor clung to Hadi's skin, but it wasn’t what made him shiver.
He stood outside the ICU, hands clenched into fists, breathing shallow. The soft whirr of machines and the distant echo of hurried footsteps seemed muffled, as if the hospital itself was holding its breath.
A nurse approached quietly. Her voice broke the stillness.
“She’s awake. But very weak. You have ten minutes, sir. Please... don’t stress her.”
Hadi nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. His legs felt like lead as he followed her inside.
The ICU was dimly lit, sterile and quiet except for the constant beeping of monitors. The girl lay on the bed, fragile, motionless, pale as paper. Her face was bruised, a bandage wrapped around her forehead, and her breathing came in shallow, assisted gasps. A small oxygen tube ran to her nose, and her hand had an IV needle gently taped down.
She looked like a porcelain doll, too breakable for this world.
He moved closer, afraid of the sound of his own footsteps. For a second, he just stood there, looking at her. The guilt sat like a stone on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
He knelt beside her, clutching the cold railing of the hospital bed.
“Hey,” he whispered, barely able to get the word out.
Her eyes moved, slow, sluggish, but they found him. Her gaze wasn’t sharp, but it was aware.
“I… I don’t know if you can hear me,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “but I was asked to talk to you. Before they…” He paused, looking down at the floor, ashamed to even say it out loud. “Before they operate on you.”
His voice broke, and the dam inside him cracked.
“I’m sorry. I am so… so sorry.” His hand clutched the railing tighter, knuckles turning white. “This is my fault. The accident, your condition, all of it. I should have looked. I should’ve been more careful.”
Tears slipped down his cheeks, landing on the edge of her blanket.
“I swear I didn’t see you. I wasn’t even speeding. But none of that matters, does it?” he whispered, wiping his face roughly. “Because you’re here, fighting for your life... and I’m out there, free, breathing. How is that fair?”
Her lips trembled faintly, but she didn’t speak. She couldn’t. But she was watching him. That much he knew.
“There’s one way… to save you,” he said softly, avoiding her eyes, because he couldn’t bear the shame. “The hospital needs consent from family for the operation. But your family isn't here. They said… the only way to make me your family… is…”
He paused.
“To marry you.”
Her eyes fluttered slightly. Her brows twitched.
“I’m married,” he continued in a voice that barely rose above the soft hum of the machines. “I have a son. A life. I didn’t come here thinking I’d be forced into something like this. I just came to see if you were okay. But then I heard about your condition, and I… I couldn’t leave.”
“I know this sounds insane. I know it’s wrong in ways I can’t even put into words. But the doctor says without the surgery, you might not...... And I—” His breath hitched again. “I can’t let that happen. Not if I have even a chance to fix what I broke.”
He looked at her again.
“I’m not asking you to understand. Just… if you agree, if you’re okay with this, even if only so they can operate,.... blink once. Please.”
Seconds passed.
And then, just one blink. Slow. But intentional.
It hit him like lightning.
A sob tore from his throat and he lowered his head to the bed, careful not to jostle her. “Thank you,” he whispered into the fabric of the sheet. “Thank you. I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll do everything I can to help you. I won’t walk away.”
Her eyes were closed now. Her breathing still steady. But she had heard him.
And she had given him permission.
The nurse stepped in quietly. “Time’s up.”
Hadi wiped his tears and rose slowly, giving the girl one last look. She looked even more delicate now, but somehow, she felt stronger than him.
He stepped out, and Rubina was standing there with Dr. Zafar, waiting.
“She agreed,” he said, voice raw.
Dr. Zafar didn’t smile. He just nodded, solemnly. “Then let’s not waste another second. I’ll inform the team to prep for emergency surgery, and I’ll have someone initiate the documentation.”
Rubina looked at Hadi, his disheveled hair, tear-streaked cheeks, empty eyes, and knew this wasn’t just about paperwork anymore.
It was about redemption.
♦♦♦♦♦♦
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