Under That Niqab

40. Vague

For any normal person, the chilly late November nights always provide the frantic yearning to enfold the whole body in a stuffed blanket and never leave the warm comfort of a mattress and to plus that, winters always have had short days making it almost a dark season.

But here he was tossing away the entire solace of a warm bed into a trash bin and standing with his back resting on a wall beside the closed door of Haya's room, in a frigid unkind cold hospital corridor that was all dark and very dimly lit with only one white bulb amid the ceiling.

He has always been like this, when Haya's heart was closed upon him he was there. Just there hanging on to nothing.

The hands which were coiled into one another against his built chest came down loosely as he lifted the palm of his right hand scrutinizing it, watching the lines emerging out of nowhere and blending into. Apart from the three dark lines, they were numerous short and faint ones, almost as if they were cuts and scratches. Many of them.

The palm readers, would they do it correctly, would they tell him that amongst those million lines will he ever find her name written in a corner, somewhere?

But when he saw the two lines emerging from the middle of his palm and coalescing into becoming a darker one, he thought, maybe those lines resembled the two most important people in his life, his mother whom he loved with his soul, and Haya whom he adored with his heart.

Those were the best days of his life when he had both of them, but the line just had to stop after traveling for a very short distance. His best days didn't last long.

He placed the open palm up on his heart, closing his eyes feeling his heartbeat, and bringing over the other hand over to clasp it.

How that very heart betrayed his soul and chose to beat for another.

All the 'ifs' clouded the void empty space of his mind. If-only he dared to talk to Adnan, if-only he had acted when the time was right and water wasn't spilled, if-only he was not a coward. If-only he was brave enough to fight for his love.

Haya did not deserve this, she deserved all the love and care and somebody who treats her like the queen she was.

Unrequited love is the most painful one. And he had gone through that hell of a pain, willingly.

After a brief glance at the door of the room where Haya and Rabi might be fast asleep, his heels turned involuntarily to the floor above, there weren't many people there as well. Perhaps in their deep slumbers or active drowsiness, like the guard constable before Adnan's room.

With muted steps, Shavez looked at him before opening the door and sliding inside.

It was pitch black dark. One large window closed and the curtains draped shut on them. He looked over at the bed to find Adnan's whole being engulfed in the hospital sheets, from head to toe. Not a single part of him was visible.

How can one bat an eye to sleep after ruining somebody's life? Are guilt and conscience no thing?

Shavez seethed, moving to switch on the light and filling the room with unpleasant light. The sheets ruffled immediately and a groaning voice reached his ears. He turned to stare deadly at the man who appeared from beneath.

His forehead was bandaged, from what Shavez knew he got stitches on the back of his head and was in a pretty bad condition. Well, he deserved it.

"The fuck you want?-" He yelled looking at the side of the door and they held the contact.

Shavez was so furious, he wanted to pull him out of that bed and shove him to the tile ground, and beat him senseless.

But he was not a man who spoke with destruction.