Chapter Thirty One

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Murtasim was currently standing outside of the NICU, his heart pounding as he watched through the glass window

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Murtasim was currently standing outside of the NICU, his heart pounding as he watched through the glass window. Just moments ago, he had walked out of the operation theatre after ensuring Meerab was safely treated and shifted to a private wing of the hospital. Now, he was facing a different kind of anxiety, one that tugged at his very soul as he watched the two pediatricians examining his newborn daughter, Meesam.

Wrapped in a hospital blanket, Meesam looked so tiny and fragile. Her wails echoed faintly through the glass as the doctors gently probed her with their instruments. Every cry pierced Murtasim's heart, and his fists clenched at his sides, his instinct to protect his daughter almost overwhelming his senses.

Yet, he knew he had to let the doctors do their job. Premature birth meant that she might need to stay in the NICU for some time, and he wouldn't let anything, not even his own anxiety, hinder the care she needed.

He tried to focus on the positive—her cries, though heart-wrenching, indicated that she was strong and fighting. Every tiny movement, every breath she took, was a testament to her resilience.

Just then, one of the pediatricians, a man in his 40s, looked up and walked out. Murtasim's heart thudded in his chest as the doctor approached. He came to stand in front of him and placed a reassuring hand on Murtasim's shoulder as began to speak, "Fikar mat kijiye Mr. Khan, aapki beti bilkul theek hai. Hairat ki baat hai ke unhe NICU mein rakhne ki zaroorat nahi hai."

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