Fizah

ضد|Zidd

"Manzilen dur bhi hai manzilen nazdeek bhi hain  
apne he paon mein zanjeer pari ho jaise."

The red lights were blinding her eyes as she kept staring into the sharpness of the colour. Operating theatre, was what it read. Lost in a haze, she clutched his bloodied shirt in her balled fist. The patients, their attenders and the staff flooded past her in haste, what a busy day it had been. A busy day in the office and then a run to the hospital. A week– so long for a cut to catch infections and cause death.

I should have known better,

She should have known better. She should have understood that he was lying when he said he treated the cut. She was worried that day when she turned around and found him tearing it off his damaged skin, she should have guessed. Things and hints hazzled the folds of her brain and she held back the tears of fear. Fear that something might happen to him. Fear that he might have to leave. Fear that he was going to lose his battle.

The ringing of his phone jerked her back to reality and she looked at the caller. It was Emaad- her brother, Saleh. She had to inform him and the other two who had to fly out to Lahore to get information from two other companies. She needed someone to support her. It was getting hard, her insides were trembling and it stressed on the time when everything turned upside down for her- when Rumaan passed away. She, too, was standing outside the theatre when Rumaan was in the surgery and when he got into shock and died. The past and the present mirrored and it was as though it laughed at her misery.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she answered the call, "Saleh?" The strained reply came from the root of her throat and waited for him to answer her call.

"Izah, what are you doing with Zahid's- wait you don't sound alright. Kya hua?" He panicked. It twisted his gut and he was scared as his brain flashed possibilities in front of his eyes.

"Zahid sir-" she told him how she found Zahid unconscious in his office and that he was bleeding. He was bleeding so much that he had turned pale and lighter in colour, his warmth lost and skin blue.

"Hang tight, Izah. I'll be there in fifteen." With that Saleh hung up.

The hallway of the hospital felt particularly longer than anything else, blurring the other end. She felt cold and freezing, the blood in her hands were bringing back the memories of Rumaan. She had Zahid's blood on her hands too. She wanted to break down to see if it would lessen the fear and devastation. She insisted. She insisted on getting it done by a professional but Zahid had to play it in his way.

"Miss?" A soft call from the doctor made her turn to her right. Fizah nodded.

"The patient has alcohol in his blood. We will have to purify it so we can start with antibiotics."

Alcohol.?

"Since you're the only one with the patient here, we will be needing your consent to go ahead with our work." She nodded in a daze. They brought her a consent paper to sign and so she did. She signed on the papers that required the consent of someone so close- someone who was a family to him and she.. she was nothing. She was no one. She hadn't seen the real man laying under the layers of secrets. So many layers, so many secrets.

"Allah bacha lain." Her prayer trailed off in the end when she saw a nurse taking bags of blood to the theatre. Alcohol. He had been drinking. For how long, she didn't know. She couldn't imagine the things the alcohol would have done to his organs and soul. He was drinking. He was doing a prohibited sin. One of which Allah hated the most.

"Ya Allah reham." She muttered.

"Aap kya karrahi hain yahan?" A deep, hoarse voice wondered from the back of her head. She turned around to find the father of her boss who she hadn't seen in a week. The last time she saw him was when he had come to the office on the third day of eid.