The morning broke not with sunlight, but with urgency.
Hadi’s eyes snapped open to the sound of hurried footsteps and hushed but urgent voices. Nurses ran toward the ICU. A flurry of white coats, rustling charts, and beeping monitors filled the air. He shot up from the cold chair, heart pounding.
Something had changed.
He stumbled toward the ICU's glass door, but the curtain blocked his view. He stood frozen, trying to read expressions, hoping to find answers in their faces.
Then, for the briefest moment, a nurse pulled the curtain slightly aside, just enough.
And what he saw made his breath catch.
Maira, her chest rising and falling rapidly, breathing too heavily. The doctors were gathered around her, voices raised slightly, machinery beeping in protest. Her body trembled as if caught in the middle of some invisible battle.
He stumbled back.
What now? What again?
He felt his knees buckle as panic clawed its way back into his chest.
Inside, Dr. Zafar stayed focused, calm but determined. He issued swift instructions, adjusted the oxygen, monitored the ECG. The minutes dragged. Then… a long pause. And finally, a stable rhythm.
She had returned.
Weak… but breathing. Alive.
Dr. Zafar stepped out minutes later, a rare smile tugging at his otherwise tired face. Hadi was standing against the wall, bracing himself for the worst, but what he heard instead, unraveled the knot in his chest.
“She’s out of coma, but extremely weak” Zafar said gently. “Her vitals are stabilizing. She’s asleep for now, but she’s crossed the critical stage.”
Hadi couldn’t speak. His eyes welled up instantly. His body gave way as he fell down in sujood right there in the corridor, forehead pressed against the floor.
“Shukr hai… Ya Allah, shukr hai…” he whispered, over and over.
(Thank you Oh Allah)
When he finally got up, he turned to the doctor with glistening eyes, “Can I… meet her?”
“Maybe in an hour,” Dr. Zafar replied, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Let her rest a bit first.”
Hadi nodded, swallowing the emotion that rose in his throat. He walked back to the chair, this time lighter, his chest no longer clenched with dread.
Just then, his phone buzzed.
Lubna.
The smile that had quietly formed on his lips disappeared instantly. He hesitated… then swiped to answer.
“Assalamualaikum,” he greeted softly, turning away toward a quiet corridor.
(Peace be upon you)
She was cheerful, talking about Zohan, how he had been missing his father. How they both missed him. She asked again why he hadn’t video-called.
“I’m sorry… had to rush between meetings… my phone died again,” he lied, voice low and controlled.
She sounded understanding, loving, even. Her trust cut through him like glass.
After the call ended, he gripped his hair with both hands, crouching down beside the wall.
He was stuck.
Torn between the woman who owned his heart… and the girl who now wore his name.
With heavy thoughts, he walked to the prayer room. On the mat that had caught all his midnight breakdowns, he bowed again, this time in gratitude.
He prayed, two rakaat of nifl-e-shukrana, thanking Allah for saving Maira’s life… and silently begging Him to guide them all, to somehow make this right.
When an hour passed, a nurse informed him he could see her.
He entered quietly. Rubina joined him moments later.
Maira was still asleep, a deep, healing sleep. Her head was bandaged, her left arm in a cast, and her legs carefully positioned under a light blanket. She looked fragile, but the life in her breath was enough to comfort them both.
Rubina placed a hand on the edge of the bed, whispering a soft Alhamdulillah. “She’s a fighter,” she said, blinking away the tears.
Hadi didn’t reply, but his eyes never left Maira’s face.
His wife.
The girl who had blinked yes.
And yet, the silence between them held more weight than words ever could.
---
The room was quiet, filled only with the soft beeping of machines and the rhythmic hum of air filters. Afternoon sunlight had spilled in gently through the ICU window, casting long stripes of light across the tiled floor.
Maira stirred.
Her lashes fluttered weakly, as if her eyelids weighed a thousand bricks. Her breathing shifted, shallow but more conscious. A nurse by the monitor noticed the change and stepped closer.
“Maira?” she whispered softly, placing a gentle hand on her wrist.
Her brows knit slightly. Then slowly… her eyes opened.
A dull, disoriented haze greeted her. White ceiling. Soft beeping. A sterile smell. A light pain pricked in various places across her body, her head throbbed, her arm felt heavy, her legs were numb.
“W—where…” she tried to speak, but her voice was nothing more than a whisper, dry as dust.
The nurse leaned down, smiling with quiet relief. “You’re in the hospital. You’re okay. Just rest… you’ve been through a lot.”
Maira blinked, trying to remember. There were flashes, lights, screams, screeching tires. Water. Pain. Darkness.
Then silence.
And now, this.
Moments later, Dr. Zafar walked in along with another nurse. He checked her vitals, noted her eye response, then spoke softly. “You’re doing well, Maira. You’re a fighter. Just rest for now, don’t push yourself.”
She wanted to ask… why she was here, what had happened, who brought her. But her mind was foggy, heavy like a storm cloud still drifting over the mountains of her memory.
Zafar turned to the nurse, “Inform Mr. Ansari and Rubina.”
Moments later, the door creaked open.
Hadi stepped in first.
His breath hitched when he saw her eyes, open.
She turned her head slowly toward the movement. Their eyes met.
It was brief… but enough to bring tears back to Hadi’s eyes. That same pair of eyes, the ones that had blinked once in a yes, were now blinking again, slowly, painfully, but alive.
Rubina followed behind him, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she saw the fragile girl on the bed looking back at them.
“Alhamdulillah,” Rubina whispered, stepping closer, “You scared us”
Maira’s eyes shifted between the two, still too weak to speak. But her brows furrowed, almost like she was trying to ask something.
Hadi moved closer, clearing his throat to speak but finding his voice caught in the emotion.
He couldn't speak, but his eyes turned moist again.
Her eyes locked with his. And something shifted.
A strange, sharp sensation rose in her chest, a thread being pulled from a tangled knot of unconsciousness. A memory… no, a voice. His voice.
"I’m already married… but they are asking me to marry you to save you."
His voice had cracked when he said it, like it had hurt him too. But it had shattered her.
Then, flashes.
The Qazi’s voice… solemn, official.
“Do you accept?”
She had blinked.
Then she had stared at the man in front of her, his eyes full of conflict, guilt, and something else she couldn't place.
After that, Darkness. Cold. Pain. Silence.
Her breath caught. Her eyes widened slightly.
She blinked again, rapidly, trying to make sense of where she was… and what she had become.
Her throat felt thick, like cotton had lodged itself inside. A violent cough escaped her chest, startling both her and the silence of the room.
“Maira!” Hadi moved in instantly, his heart jumping into his throat. He grabbed the water from the side table and held it out to her.
She took slow, trembling sips, her fingers brushing his by accident, his hand flinching ever so slightly at the contact.
When she leaned back against the pillow, she didn’t meet his gaze. Her eyes stared ahead, unfocused, burdened with something she hadn’t yet found words for.
Just then, the nurse walked in, breaking the intensity. “Mr. Ansari, Dr. Zafar is calling you to his cabin.”
He blinked and nodded, still looking at Maira, hoping for something, anything, from her.
But she said nothing.
He lingered one last second, then turned and walked out. His hand brushed the doorframe before leaving, like he needed to anchor himself somewhere.
Rubina quietly stepped in and sat beside Maira, her eyes full of gentle concern. She reached out and adjusted the blanket on Maira’s chest, whispering, “It’s okay… just rest now.”
But rest was far. Maira’s eyes were open, and so were the cracks in her memory.
---
Dr. Zafar’s cabin was quiet, almost too quiet, save for the faint ticking of a wall clock and the soft hum of the air conditioner. Hadi sat across from the senior surgeon, fingers interlaced tightly, knuckles white.
Zafar studied the file in his hand, a frown etched deep on his forehead. Then he looked up.
“Hadi,” he began, voice softer than usual. “There’s something important I need to tell you.”
Hadi's shoulders stiffened, his body still aching from two days of relentless tension. “Yes, Doctor?”
Zafar placed the file gently on the table. “We ran a few internal assessments after Maira gained consciousness. She’s young—just 24 years old. Her body’s strong, but…”
He trailed off, sighing heavily.
Hadi leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper. “But what? What do you mean, Doctor?”
Zafar’s eyes didn’t flinch. “She’s suffered a significant internal injury to her lower abdomen. Her uterus was affected, badly. It’s serious.”
Hadi blinked. His mouth opened, but no words came.
“She may face major complications if she tries to conceive in the future,” Zafar continued gently. “There’s a chance medicine and time may help… but nothing can be promised. And if things don’t improve—” he paused, hesitant, “—she may not be able to have children at all.”
The words hit like a blow to the chest.
Hadi felt the air leave his lungs. The room suddenly tilted, the walls closing in. He clutched the edge of the chair, struggling to stay grounded. His ears buzzed as flashes of Lubna’s joyful face from months ago danced before his eyes, how she’d held up the pregnancy strip, glowing, crying happy tears. And now… Maira.
Maira, lying in the ICU. Silent. Broken.
“Ya Allah…” he breathed, voice cracking.
Zafar stood immediately, poured a glass of water, and placed it in Hadi’s trembling hands, resting a firm, comforting hand on his shoulder.
“She doesn’t know,” he said. “And I’d advise we keep it that way. At least for now.”
Hadi looked up, eyes burning. “Why?”
“She’s too fragile, emotionally and physically. She’s just survived a trauma that could’ve taken her life. If we tell her now… Hadi, this might shatter her. More than anything else she’s facing right now.”
Hadi nodded, slowly. It wasn’t agreement. It was resignation. The kind of surrender that came when your heart was too heavy to protest.
“So you’re saying… I have to carry this,” he whispered, voice hollow. “Alone.”
Dr. Zafar sighed. “For now, yes.”
Hadi lowered his head, one hand covering his face. It wasn’t just pain he felt, it was the weight of knowing. A truth too cruel for a girl who had already lost so much.
And yet, he had to protect her. Even from the truth.
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