Eternity

Chapter 64

As-salamu alaikum wa rahmatullah wa barakatuhu

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The next morning, soft sunlight streamed through the hospital windows, casting a serene glow over the room. Ayzal sat upright in her hospital bed, her body still weak from the birth, but her heart felt an inexplicable fullness. Zayan was seated beside her, his hand resting in hers, the both of them staring at the small bundle in the nurse’s arms—their son.

The NICU had been their baby’s home for the past few days. He was small, fragile, but he was fighting. Ayzal’s eyes brimmed with tears every time she thought about how much he had already endured in his short time on this earth. Their son had come early, too soon, yet here he was, defying the odds.

Today was the day they would hold him for the first time without any of the tubes or wires. And today was the day they would give him a name.

A name. The weight of it had pressed heavily on both of their minds, lingering over them like a shadow. Zayan had been quiet about it, ever since they knew they were having a boy. But now, as their son lay bundled in the nurse's arms, his soft breaths faint but sure, the moment had arrived.

Zayan’s gaze was fixed on the baby, his expression distant, as if lost in a place neither Ayzal nor anyone else could reach. She knew what was going through his mind. She had known it for a long time now, but they had never spoken about it openly. It was too raw, too painful to voice.

"Zayan," Ayzal began, her voice barely above a whisper, careful not to disturb the stillness in the room. "We need to name him."

Zayan didn’t respond right away. His eyes remained locked on their son, his thoughts seemingly a thousand miles away. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice quiet and hesitant.

“I have been thinking,” he started, his tone laced with a depth of emotion that was hard to ignore. “About Murad.”

Ayzal’s breath caught in her throat. The name hung in the air like a weight between them. Murad. Zayan’s brother. The man who had once been a part of her life in a way that no one else would ever truly understand. The man whose death had shaped every moment of their marriage, every harsh word, every silence, every distance between them.

Murad had been a ghost in their lives, ever-present, never spoken of, and yet always there. And now, Zayan was suggesting they name their son after him.

Ayzal closed her eyes for a moment, trying to find the right words. She understood why Zayan was suggesting it—this was more than just a name to him. It was a way to honor the memory of his brother, to keep him alive in some form, to try and find closure where there had been none.

But for Ayzal, the name carried a different weight. Murad’s death had shattered her world in ways she still hadn’t fully come to terms with. She had been blamed, accused, made to feel responsible for something that had torn her apart just as much as it had torn Zayan. Naming their son Murad—was it too much? Or was it exactly what they needed to finally move forward?

“Zayan,” she said softly, her hand squeezing his. “Are you sure?”

His eyes finally met hers, and in them, she saw a mixture of pain, hope, and vulnerability that she had rarely seen before. He swallowed hard, as if the weight of everything was pressing down on him at once.

“I don’t know if I will ever be sure about anything when it comes to Murad,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “But I think… I think it is time. I have spent so long being angry, hating myself, hating you, hating him for leaving us. But this… this could be our way of making peace with it.”

Tears welled up in Ayzal’s eyes. She had never seen Zayan this open, this raw. And as much as it hurt to think about the past, about everything that had happened, she realized that maybe this was the way they could finally heal. By bringing Murad’s memory into the light, by giving it a place in their future rather than letting it haunt their past.

She nodded, her voice thick with tears. “Okay. Let’s name him Murad.”

The moment the words left her lips, something shifted in the air between them. It wasn’t a release of all the pain—they both knew that would take time. But it was a beginning, a step toward healing. And for the first time in what felt like forever, they were taking that step together.

The nurse, who had been standing quietly by, approached with their son cradled gently in her arms. She smiled as she handed him to Ayzal, his tiny form fitting perfectly in her arms. Zayan leaned in closer, his hand resting softly on his son’s head.

“Murad,” Zayan whispered, his voice breaking as he said the name out loud for the first time. “Murad, my son.”

Ayzal looked down at their baby, his small chest rising and falling with each breath. It was as if their son carried both the weight of their past and the promise of their future. Naming him Murad wasn’t just about honoring a memory; it was about rewriting their story, about finding a way to love and forgive in the midst of so much pain.

As she looked at Zayan, she saw a tear slip down his cheek, and without thinking, she reached up and wiped it away. It was the first time in so long that she had seen him cry, and in that tear, she saw everything—his grief, his love, his hope for the future.

Zayan looked back at her, his eyes full of something she hadn’t seen in him for a long time. There was no anger, no resentment. Just love. And in that moment, she realized that they were no longer the same people they had been when they started this journey. They were parents now. They were a family.

“I love you,” Zayan whispered, his voice barely audible, but strong enough to carry the weight of everything they had been through.

“I love you too,” Ayzal replied, her voice equally soft but full of meaning.

Together, they looked down at their son—Murad, named after a person who had left them too soon, but also a symbol of hope, of new beginnings. And in that moment, with their son cradled in their arms, it felt as though they had finally found their way to each other again.

The past wasn’t forgotten—it never would be. But now, it wasn’t a barrier between them. It was a part of their story, a story they were ready to write together.

And as their son stirred in his sleep, his tiny hand curling around Zayan’s finger, Ayzal felt a peace settle over her that she hadn’t felt in a long time. This was their new beginning. This was their family. And together, they would be okay.