Murtasim paced the length of the hospital hallway for what felt like the hundredth time that night, his shoes squeaking slightly against the sterile white tiles. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his hands felt clammy, despite the cool air-conditioned breeze that swept through the hospital corridors. Every muscle in his body was tense, and his usually sharp mind was clouded with anxiety.
This was it. The moment he had been waiting for. The moment he had been terrified of.
Meerab was in labor.
The thought alone sent waves of panic crashing through his mind. His wife, the love of his life, was in the delivery room preparing to bring their child into the world, and while Murtasim had imagined this day many times, nothing could have prepared him for the reality of it.
He had expected to be cool, collected, and calm. But instead, he was a walking, talking, sweating ball of nerves.
The sound of a door opening snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. A nurse poked her head out of the room, her face wearing an amused smile.
“Mr. Khan,” she called, waving him over. “Your wife is asking for you.”
Murtasim’s eyes widened. He froze for a second before rushing forward, nearly stumbling over his own feet. “She—she’s asking for me?”
The nurse nodded, clearly holding back a laugh at his panicked expression. “Yes, sir. She wants you by her side. Come on in.”
With a deep breath, Murtasim followed the nurse into the delivery room. The moment he stepped inside, his eyes immediately went to Meerab. She was lying on the hospital bed, looking exhausted but fierce, her hair clinging to her forehead with sweat. Her eyes were squeezed shut as another contraction hit, and her grip on the sides of the bed was tight enough to turn her knuckles white.
“Meerab,” Murtasim whispered, his voice filled with awe and concern as he rushed to her side.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she shot him a look that was a mixture of love, annoyance, and pain. “Murtasim... you took your time.”
“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, grabbing her hand in his. “I didn’t know you’d... need me right now. Are you okay? What can I do?”
“Just... be here,” she gasped through the contraction, her voice strained. “And try not to make this worse.”
Murtasim blinked, not entirely sure what that meant but determined to help in any way he could. He squeezed her hand, trying to offer some kind of comfort, but his palms were so sweaty that his grip slipped.
Meerab raised an eyebrow at him, but before she could say anything, another contraction hit, and she squeezed his hand so hard that he winced.
“You’re doing great,” he blurted out, feeling like he should say something reassuring. “You’re... you’re so strong. I mean, I knew you were strong, but this is... this is next-level stuff.”
Meerab barely managed to shoot him a glare through the pain. “Murtasim,” she hissed. “Stop. Talking.”
He swallowed hard, nodding quickly. “Right. Got it. No talking.”
The nurse, who had been standing nearby, watched the entire exchange with barely concealed amusement. She gave Murtasim a wink, as if to say, Welcome to the club, buddy.
Murtasim’s anxiety skyrocketed. What was he supposed to do? He had seen birth in movies, but none of that had prepared him for this—real childbirth. His wife was in pain, there were machines beeping everywhere, doctors and nurses were bustling around the room, and he felt completely and utterly helpless.
