Reminder: Pray.
Author's PoV:
The sterile smell of antiseptic clung to the air as Feiha stepped through the emergency ward’s corridor, her dupatta clutched tightly in one hand, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear the nurse’s directions.
“Room 207,” the woman had said. “It’s not serious—just a sprain and a few scratches. He’s doing fine.”
But Feiha hadn’t relaxed.
Not until her eyes fell on him.
Ayan sat propped against the white hospital bed’s headboard, his shirt half-open and stained with dried blood near the collarbone. A nurse was tending to him, her hands deft as she injected something into his upper arm.
Feiha flinched at the sight.
Ayan didn’t.
He didn’t even blink.
His eyes weren’t on the needle.
They were on her.
Feiha stood frozen just beyond the threshold, their gazes locked. Her throat burned with all the words that refused to come out.
Not from anger.
But shame.
He hadn’t eaten.
He had left upset.
She had said things she didn’t mean—and now here he was, in a hospital bed, bruised and still watching her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.
The nurse patted Ayan’s arm gently. “Done. He’ll be sore for a while, but it’s not serious. I’ll inform the doctor you’ve got family waiting.”
She left, and for a heartbeat, the room was silent again.
Just the two of them.
Feiha took a hesitant step in.
“Ayan…”
His name came out like a confession.
He turned his head, slowly, gently—as if giving her space, as if waiting.
She tried again, her voice shaking. “I—”
The door burst open.
“Ayan!” A man’s voice called out, full of relief and tension both.
Feiha turned, startled.
Ahan.
Tall, composed, and aura that screamed power. He crossed the room in two strides and gripped Ayan’s shoulder with surprising gentleness. “You scared the hell out of us, idiot.”
Behind him, Mariam rushed in, her eyes already brimming. “Ya Allah, my boy… you’re okay, right? Let me see your face—no scratches there, at least?”
Ayan smiled faintly, the first in hours. “Just sprained my back. The car hit the brake too fast.”
“You should’ve called us,” Ahan said, already turning to the nurse who returned with papers. “Can we take him home now?”
“Yes,” the nurse replied. “He needs rest and no strain for a few days. He’s lucky—could’ve been worse.”
Feiha stood quietly to the side as Ahan signed forms and Mariam fussed with Ayan’s hair. No one asked her anything—but not out of coldness. There was warmth in the air, concern and love thick between them.
And maybe that made her guilt feel even heavier.
Within minutes, arrangements were made.
"You two are coming with us,” Mariam said, touching Feiha’s arm softly. “He shouldn’t be alone in that little flat right now.”
YOU ARE READING
No Conditions, Whatsoever
Romance"I can't marry you," the words slipped out of her mouth, paining her in the process. "Why?" He questioned, "Feiha, you know how I feel for you and I'm hundred percent sure that you feel the same. Then what is it that's stopping you from marrying me...
