𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

56

Arsalan's POV:

I sat in the waiting room, my leg bouncing uncontrollably ever since I came back half an hour ago. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the room, but it felt like time had frozen.  My mind was in another place—on Airah in that operating room, and on our baby. The baby we hadn’t even met yet.

Yasir stood by the window, squinting into the sunlight, while Tariq nervously tapped his foot. Talbiya and Ziya whispered amongst themselves, their voices distant and muffled. Hiba and Iqra sat close together, their concerned eyes flickering toward me every few minutes, but I couldn’t bring myself to look back. Hiba’s father sat in silence, his hands clasped together.

My eyes stayed fixed on the operating room doors. It had been hours. Too many hours. Each passing minute felt like a knife, slicing deeper into my nerves. Airah had been rushed into surgery, and now, I had no control over anything. My wife. My child. Were they okay? Would I lose them both?

I clenched my fists, trying to breathe, but it felt impossible. All I could do was sit here, helpless, and pray for a miracle. Just give me Airah and the baby. That was all I wanted.

Finally, the doors swung open. I jumped to my feet, heart hammering in my chest. The doctor walked out, and I took a step forward, my legs weak, my body shaking.

"Mr. Arsalan?" His voice was calm, but it did nothing to soothe the terror in my heart.

I nodded, my throat dry.

"The surgery was successful," the doctor said, and I felt the ground steady beneath me. "Airah’s condition was critical, but we were able to repair the valve. She’s stable now."

Airah. She was alive. A wave of relief hit me. I exhaled, the tightness in my chest loosening just a little. But then my thoughts raced to the baby.

"And the baby?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor’s expression softened. "Your baby was born prematurely—around eight months. We’re keeping him in the NICU. It’s common for babies born at this stage to need some support, but he’s doing well so far. He’s strong."

Him. A boy. My son.

The words hit me hard. Our son. He was here, early, but fighting. Relief and fear collided inside me. He was fragile, but he was alive.

"You can see him soon," the doctor continued, "but Airah is still under close observation. She’s going to need time to recover."

I nodded, barely able to process it all. Airah was safe. Our son was alive. But the road ahead still felt uncertain.

I glanced around the room, noticing everyone for the first time in hours. Yasir let out a deep breath, his arms crossed as if holding himself together. Talbiya had tears in her eyes, and Airah’s mother was pressing her hands to her chest, her face streaked with tears. Hiba’s father spoke first, his voice quiet but steady.

"They’ll be okay, Arsalan. You’ll see."

I tried to smile, but the knot in my throat held me back. I sank back into my chair, my hands trembling. I needed to see them—both of them—but for now, all I could do was wait and hope.

I stood outside the NICU, still trying to wrap my head around everything. My son was here, early but alive, fighting. Airah’s father, who had been by my side since we got the news, stood next to me. His face was full of quiet strength, but I could see the same worry in his eyes that I felt in my chest.“You ready to see him?” he asked, his voice soft but steady.