Tillim's Bullet

Chapter Nine; Plan A Kill

Tillim

I hated being at the hospital, for someone or me. I would rather die than sleep while looking at the hospital's ceiling or the whites of the beds. It was a nightmare to smell the chemical lurking all around as if it was there to grip me with my throat and gag me.

The people were mourning all around. It was indeed awful to be amongst the people who were nothing but strangers and were constantly reminding me of the memories I strived to forget. The taunts, the cries, the fingers pointing at me. For all I endured, I was here for the person who became the reason for my terror.

I kept forgetting and started to confuse myself with the scenes happening for a few days. How could I forgive and forget? I could forgive but how do I forget?

My face was buried in my palm, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. Sophia patted my back constantly. Though her constant trying to soothe me wasn't doing much, I appreciated her company. Because I would kill not to be here at this moment and especially alone.

"Muhammad texted, Tillim. He is saying there are no traces of the shooter." She said.

I finally looked up. By the tensing of her muscles, I knew that she saw my eyes. Whenever I felt suffocated, my eyes turned blood-red.

"Okay," I said and sighed.

She bought me a glass of water. The water was blurry. I could see stuff floating in it. I mean, what could I expect in the emergency section in the hospital of Bangladesh?

I kept the cup on the table. The wait was unbearable. The doctors were taking ages in doing whatever they were doing.

I was dying to bits here.

The doctor came out with his crew following behind. Sophia stood up and I didn't have the energy to. She spoke with him for a few moments. The doctor greeted me with a Salam as I nodded. I wasn't able to be polite to him at this moment.

"Gosh, he is fine. They took the bullet out." Sophia sighed in relief.

"So, can I leave now?" I asked.

She smiled bitterly. She wouldn't stop me. She knows.

___

I was late. Very late. Only if I had listened to his childish demands I wouldn't have to see him on the hospital bed with his knee plastered. Turns out, after he was arrested, I got to the police station and they told me that he got hit on the shoulder accidentally by a police chief in the lobby. One word after another created an ugly argument and he punched the chief.

I was forced to reveal my identity or them to release him. Though I was fine with the situation, things caught up in my head and I yelled at him. Hard. He ran away without even letting me catch him.

But before I could realize that he was not to be outside I heard a gunshot. I ran for an hour trying to find him in the confusing alleys but when I did, his unconscious body was laying in a pool of blood. I brought him to the hospital as fast as I could.

I feel pathetic to know that it's all my fault. It is my responsibility to look after him.

I don't even know what to expect from Evani Khala when I get back to Bangladesh.

I sighed. They started printing cards for the wedding. There is no sign of evidence. I cannot afford the loss of my brother's marriage. Sadid Bhaiya is handling my company. Rabet is injured.

"Urgh," I ruffled my hijab standing on the highway. Things were getting out of hand.

Why couldn't I be a simple Bangladeshi girl living a simple life? Even if my family got me married and made me live a boring life I wouldn't be complaining this much.