Chess & Checkers

10. A Helping Hand

*WARNING: CONTAINS MENTION OF SUICIDE AND DEPRESSION-READ AT YOUR OWN RISK*

Contains Mature Content and Language (18+)

The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the air as Meerab slowly made her way through the hospital corridors, her steps echoing against the cold tiles. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered, casting a pale glow on her weary face. She clutched the discharge papers in her hands, a tangible proof that she was finally free from the clinical confines of the hospital. Her heart raced with a mixture of relief and gratitude. It felt as though a weight had settled on her shoulders during the past three days and it had finally lifted, allowing her to breathe more freely.

The rhythmic beeping of machines and the distant murmur of hushed conversations slowly faded as she approached the exit assisted by Murtasim. Each step brought her closer to the warmth of sunlight and the promise of a world beyond the sterile walls. The doctor had advised to use a wheel chair but Meerab, refusing to admit that her legs felt like jelly from being in bed for three days and had almost zero energy, had basically thrown a tantrum and refused to sit on the 'stupid' wheel chair as she'd called it. So reluctantly, Murtasim, with an awkward smile passed in the doctor's direction, gave in.

As Murtasim pushed open the glass doors, a rush of fresh air greeted her, carrying the scent of blooming flowers in the nearby fields and the distant sounds of life outside the hospital. The contrast between the artificial atmosphere she had forced herself to get used to and the natural world awaiting her was palpable. The sunlight painted her surroundings in hues of gold, and a gentle breeze played with her hair, as if nature itself rejoiced in her newfound freedom. Her eyes shimmered with gratitude and the realization that she was leaving the hospital much healthier than when she arrived 3 days ago.

She looked up at the sky, its vastness seemed to symbolize the infinite possibilities that lay ahead; possibilities she never would've considered had it not been for her recent brush with death. A genuine smile graced her face, radiating a sense of resilience that had carried her through the challenges of not just the past few days in the hospital, but the past couple of months since she had been told she was to marry Murtasim, and the past 16 years from the night it all started.

Bakhtu awaited her just beyond the hospital entrance, his face a mosaic of emotions—concern, relief, and unwavering support for the little girl that had grown into a strong and resilient woman right before his eyes, and by a stroke of fate, was now also the Khaanum. As Meerab approached him, they exchanged heart-warming smiles before he opened the door to the black SUV and allowed Murtasim to help her in . Soon they were on their way home and the joyous chatter of reunions and laughter filled the car, drowning out the memories of the hospital's clinical hum.

Meerab's heart swelled with appreciation for the simple joys of life—the warmth of the sun, the embrace of loved ones, and the promise of a better tomorrow. As they drove away, she couldn't help but glance back at the hospital. For as long as she could remember, Meerab had hated hospitals; just the word alone was enough to irritate her. She had spent a good chunk of her youth in hospitals, mainly in the psychiatric ward, from weekly sessions with her psychiatrist to being hospitalized for severe depression, attempted suicide, and having extreme panic attacks that would render her unconscious for days on end. But this time, she seemed to have found a new-found appreciation for life upon her discharge.

The journey ahead was uncertain, but in that moment, Meerab felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the gift of life, the opportunity to savor every precious moment, and Murtasim.

"Araam se," Murtasim assisted Meerab carefully as she exited the car upon its arrival at the majestic driveway of the Khan Haveli. His firm hand supported her lower back while she stepped out of the SUV. Meerab clutched his hand tightly, her other hand gripping her lower abdomen as she stifled a moan, feeling the pain coursing through her body. Though she had been discharged, her wound had not fully healed yet. The doctor had advised minimal movement and complete bed rest for at least two weeks.