Afsaaney

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It's been 11 days since that fateful day and 24 hours since Arsalan was back home from the nightmare of a hospital. The days had dragged on like a relentless storm, each one harsher than the last. Samar had lived through the echoing hallways of that sterile hospital, the scent of antiseptic lingering in her nostrils, and the beeping of machines that seemed to synchronize with her own racing heart. Seeing Arsalan in that hospital bed, her heart shattered into a thousand pieces. The sturdy young man who always held his head high and shoulders broad was now lying motionless, almost swallowed by the dainty hospital bed that barely seemed capable of holding his once indomitable presence.

However, what truly sent Samar's world spiraling was the information the doctors provided regarding Arsalan's condition—Brown-Séquard syndrome. The words were heavy, loaded with medical jargon that seemed to hang in the air like a dense fog. It was a spinal cord injury, they explained, leading to paralysis that would affect one side of his lower body more than the other. Samar struggled to comprehend the full gravity of it, the stark reality that their lives might never be the same.

Returning home, the mansion that once felt imposing and lonely now seemed suffocating. Each room echoed with the silence of unspoken fears and unvoiced hopes. Samar couldn't escape the memories of Arsalan as he used to be: the confident stride, the commanding presence, the fierce determination in his eyes. Now, those same eyes held a vulnerability she had never seen before.

The first night back was the hardest, and returning home did not bring the relief Samar had hoped for. Instead, it unraveled a new layer of anguish she hadn't anticipated. Arsalan had retreated into his bedroom, shutting himself away from everyone, including Samar and Niggo. The heavy curtains remained drawn, casting his room into darkness that matched the shadow that had fallen over their lives.

Niggo, unable to bear seeing him isolated and withdrawn, ventured into his room despite his protests. Arsalan's reaction was unexpectedly fierce, his agitation palpable as he demanded her to leave. Niggo emerged with tear-filled eyes, not from his harsh words but from the pain of witnessing his self-imposed isolation. She had cared for him like a son, and his rejection cut deeply.

Samar, meanwhile, felt helpless as she sought updates from Arsalan's caretaker. His refusal to eat or engage in any form of therapy or rehabilitation baffled her. It was as if Arsalan had chosen to punish himself, withdrawing into a self-imposed exile of darkness and silence. This behavior pained Samar deeply; she longed to reach out to him, to assure him that together they could face whatever challenges lay ahead. Yet, his adamant isolation and rejection of help left her feeling frustrated and angry.

Days passed with Arsalan confined to his room, his once strong presence reduced to a fragile silhouette behind closed doors. Samar wrestled with conflicting emotions—compassion for his suffering, frustration with his refusal to accept help, and an overwhelming sense of loneliness. She paced the corridors of their home, her footsteps echoing the ache in her heart. Every closed door felt like a barrier she couldn't breach, every plea met with silence or resistance. The weight of their unspoken words hung heavy between them, a chasm widening with each passing day.

She knew she couldn't force him to change his mind, but she couldn't stand idly by either. Deep down, she feared losing him not just physically, but emotionally too, to the darkness that seemed to envelop him.

Personal space and his orders be damned, she thought, and barged into his room one fine morning. He was silently sitting in his wheelchair, clutching a dog tag in his hand, until his wife burst in. For a moment, he was speechless, stunned to see the woman who had never defied his wishes now standing in his room, her face set with a dangerously determined look.

"Good morning," she greeted him chirpily, though her voice wavered slightly under the thunderous look on his face. Ignoring his glare, she moved forward toward the large wall-length windows and yanked the curtains open, letting the fresh morning light flood the room.