VULNERABLE

PAIN, TEARS AND A FEVER

ABIDAT

I sat in the bleachers, watching the boys practice with a casual disinterest, but my thoughts kept drifting. I had a lot on my mind—exams, the persistent anxiety gnawing at me, and the complicated feelings I was starting to have towards Armaan. It was easier to focus on the small things: the way the sun felt warm on my face, the sound of sneakers scuffing against the field, the laughter and occasional shouts that echoed around the stadium.

But then something happened.

One moment, Armaan was running across the field, his body moving with the ease and confidence of someone who was comfortable in their own skin. The next, he was down on the ground, clutching his ankle, his face contorted in pain. My heart lurched, and before I knew it, I was on my feet, racing down the bleachers, my legs carrying me as fast as they could.

"Armaan!" I called out, my voice cracking with panic as I approached him. The other boys had already gathered around, but they stepped back when they saw me rushing over, their eyes wide with concern.

I dropped to my knees beside him, my hands trembling as I reached out to touch his shoulder. His face was pale, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he groaned in pain.

"Armaan, can you hear me?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, but the fear that gripped my chest made it difficult.

He nodded weakly, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to manage the pain. "It... it hurts, Tahbeer," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Don't worry, we'll get you to the clinic," I assured him, though I wasn't sure if I was trying to convince him or myself. I looked up at the others. "Help me get him up."

They moved quickly, each one grabbing a limb to help lift him off the ground. Armaan's grip on my hand tightened painfully as they pulled him to his feet. His eyes fluttered open briefly, and I could see the fear and pain in them.

"It's okay," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if he even heard me.

The trip to the clinic was a blur of rushed footsteps, murmured reassurances, and Armaan's pained groans. The nurse immediately ushered us inside, directing the boys to lay Armaan down on one of the beds. She moved with the practiced efficiency of someone used to handling emergencies, but the sight of her probing his swollen ankle sent another wave of panic through me.

"Just a sprain," the nurse said, more to herself than anyone else. But when she started to wrap his ankle, Armaan's screams filled the small room, echoing off the walls and sending a chill down my spine.

I bit my lip, fighting back tears as I held his hand. His grip was so tight it felt like my bones would break, but I couldn't let go—not when he needed me, not when his pain was so raw and palpable.

"Almost done," the nurse said, her voice calm and soothing, though it did little to ease my own anxiety.

Armaan's breathing was labored, his face drenched in sweat. I could see his strength waning, his eyelids drooping as the pain and exhaustion took their toll. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched him, feeling utterly helpless.

"Armaan?" I called softly, my voice trembling. But there was no response. His eyes had closed, his body going limp as he fainted.

"Armaan!" I cried out, my voice rising in pitch as panic set in. I looked frantically at the nurse, my heart racing in my chest. "Is he okay? Why isn't he waking up?"

The nurse looked up from her work, her expression reassuring. "He's just fainted from the pain, dear. He'll be fine. Just keep talking to him."

I nodded, though her words did little to soothe the fear gnawing at me. I kept my grip on his hand, even though it was starting to hurt, refusing to let go. I kept whispering to him, my voice shaking but steady, praying he would wake up soon.