BLOOMING OF THE WITHERED ROSE

THE DRESS AND THE GIFT

One day, Zain felt sick, but no one knew about his illness. Determined to continue with his daily routine, he decided to spend the afternoon reading books in the library. The library was a quiet place, filled with the faint smell of old books and the soft rustling of pages. He found a spot at a large oak table and settled in with a thick novel.

Across the table sat Ayesha, engrossed in her own book. She occasionally glanced up, noting the subtle signs that something wasn’t right with Zain. His face was pale, and his hands trembled as he turned the pages. His eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open. Suddenly, Zain swayed in his chair, his vision blurring. Ayesha’s eyes widened with concern.

“Zain, are you okay?” Ayesha asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Zain tried to respond, but his words were slurred. “I... I’m just a bit dizzy.”

Ayesha stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You don’t look well. Let me help you.”

Before Zain could protest, Ayesha hurried to the kitchen to make some soup, hoping it would help him feel better. When she returned, bowl in hand, she saw Zain lying unconscious on the floor. Panic surged through her as she rushed to his side.

“Zain! Zain, wake up!” she called, shaking him gently.

There was no response. Determined to get him to his room, Ayesha tried to lift him, but Zain was tall and heavy for her. Gritting her teeth, she managed to drag him to his room next door, her heart pounding with every step. She laid him on his bed and placed a cold, soaked cloth on his forehead, changing it constantly to bring down his fever.

“Please wake up, Zain,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Hours passed, but Zain’s fever showed no signs of breaking. Desperate, Ayesha woke him up to feed him the soup. He sipped it weakly, but moments later, he vomited it out, staining her dress. He collapsed back onto the bed, unconscious again.

Ayesha’s hands shook as she cleaned herself up. “I need to get the doctor,” she muttered to herself. She ran out of the house and down the hill, her feet barely touching the ground as she raced to the village doctor’s house.

“Doctor, please! Zain is very sick. You have to come quickly!” she pleaded, breathless from her run.

The doctor, an elderly man with a kind face, nodded immediately. “Let’s go.”

They hurried back to Zain’s house, and the doctor quickly administered an injection and some medicine. He checked Zain’s vitals and turned to Ayesha.

“He needs rest and to keep hydrated. These medicines will help bring down the fever. You did well to get me so quickly,” the doctor said reassuringly.

Ayesha nodded, her eyes filled with worry. “Thank you, Doctor.”

Once the doctor left, Ayesha resumed her vigil by Zain’s side. She gave him the prescribed medicine and continued to change the wet cloth on his forehead. Exhaustion tugged at her, but she didn’t move an inch from his side, eventually falling asleep with her head resting on the edge of his bed.