Chasing Heart

| Tough Times |

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Taif

I entered the doctors' library at the hospital and almost immediately spotted Iman. She was sitting at a table, making notes, while blowing a bubble from her chewing gum. Her hair was tied back in a bun, and she had earphones plugged into her ears.

I made my way towards her, a small smile on her face. "Assalam Alaikum."

"Walaikum Assalam." She automatically replied, before looking up. Now that I was closer, I could see that her nose was red and she was sniffing.

"Are you sick?" I flopped down on the chair in front of her.

"Just a little flu. But I was told that I cannot be on duty today within the main hospital, so I asked if I can do some studying here instead, while technically still being paid for work." 

"Does Aunty know that you're sick and here?" I asked. It didn't seem like my mother-in-law to let Iman come to work while she was sick.

"Mama was asleep, and it didn't take me long to convince Appi to let me go because she was distracted by Hassam." She shook her head. "I didn't want to call in sick."

"Iman, we do get sick pay, you know?" 

"It's not about that. Not once have I called in sick for work, Alhumdulillah, and I don't want to start now." She tapped her pen against her notebook. "And it's not like I'm in the hospital itself. I'm here in the warm library." She looked up at me. "Anyway, how come you are here?" 

"I am trying to get a scholarship of sorts." I explained. "I want to start my training as a surgeon, and the hospital is offering a scholarship on the basis of passing a certain exam with over 90% marks. If I win this scholarship, I won't have to pay for the training. But if I don't, I'll have to pay the full amount."

"And how much is the full amount?" 

I scribbled something down on the top of the page of her notebook, and she glanced down at the number with a gasp.

"Taif..."

"So, as you can imagine, my whole future depends on me getting 90% or above."

"That's a high requirement." 

"It's about being a surgeon, Iman. Of course it's going to be hard." I turned away, starting to feel like I'd have to give up my dream of being a cardiothoracic surgeon. I couldn't afford it, and getting 90% or above seemed like an impossibility that I couldn't achieve.

"Work hard." She put her hand on mine. "Allah knows how much you want this, and In Sha Allah, if you do your very best, you will succeed. Ameen."

"Why is everything so much easier for the rich?" I muttered almost without thinking.

"You know what? I'll help you study!" She suggested. "It will help me as well when the time comes for me to take that exam."

"You don't need the exam." I realised too late that there was bitterness obviously present in my tone as I said that.

"What?" She blinked in surprise. "What is that supposed to mean?" 

I sighed. "Nothing. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

"What didn't you mean? What are you trying to say?" 

I turned my head, regretting my words.

"Are you suggesting that I would be a part of nepotism?" She asked. "That my father will buy a place for me in the training programme? Or that I don't even need to do anything. I'll just automatically get admitted because I'm the daughter of Dr Fawad Ali?"