The moon was a silent witness to the fury that raged in Murtasim's heart. The car’s engine roared as he sped down the dimly lit road, the tires screeching on the asphalt. His knuckles were white around the steering wheel, his jaw clenched tight. He could barely hear Meerab’s panicked voice over the engine's growl.
"Murtasim, please! Slow down! You’re driving too fast!" Meerab’s voice trembled as she clutched the handle above her seat.
Murtasim's anger was like a storm, swirling with the humiliation he felt from Meerab questioning his decisions in the panchayat. His pride was wounded, and he couldn't bear the thought of appearing weak in front of the entire village.
"Stop telling me what to do, Meerab! You don’t understand anything!" he shouted back, his voice a mix of anger and frustration.
Meerab’s fear intensified as the road twisted and turned with reckless abandon. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her hands gripped the seat as though trying to anchor herself. The night air was filled with a deafening roar, masking the impending danger.
Without warning, a truck appeared in front of them, its headlights cutting through the darkness like twin beacons of impending doom. Murtasim’s eyes widened in horror as he realized too late that he couldn’t avoid the collision. The truck’s driver blared his horn, but it was futile.
The impact was catastrophic. Metal crumpled, glass shattered, and the world spun violently. Murtasim’s head struck the steering wheel with a sickening thud. Pain exploded in his mind, but he was still conscious. The car spun off the road, landing in a mangled heap.
When Murtasim regained his senses, he saw the chaos around him. His left hand was twisted at an awkward angle, a sharp pain radiating from it. He had a small cut on his forehead, but nothing too severe. He turned to Meerab and his heart sank.
Meerab was slumped against her seat, her face pale and bloodied. Her breathing was ragged, and she seemed unconscious. Panic surged through Murtasim, and he frantically tried to open the car door. It was jammed. Desperate, he kicked and pushed until he managed to force it open.
"Meerab!" he shouted, his voice cracking with fear and desperation. He struggled to pull her out of the wreckage, his own injuries momentarily forgotten.
---
The hospital was a stark contrast to the chaos of the accident. The antiseptic smell and the sterile, bright lights seemed almost cruel in their calmness. Murtasim paced in the waiting area, his eyes never leaving the closed doors of the operation theatre. His shirt was stained with blood, his face etched with guilt and anguish.
Maa Begum and Anwar chacha were there, their faces mirrors of concern and helplessness. Maa Begum sat hunched over, her hands clasped in silent prayer. Her eyes were swollen with tears, her usually proud demeanor shattered by worry.
Anwar chacha was pacing, his face grim. He had always been a stern man, but now his worry for his daughter was palpable. He had failed Meerab in many ways, and now, in this moment of crisis, he wished he could undo all his past mistakes.
Murtasim’s mind was a whirlwind of guilt. Every second of their argument replayed in his head like a relentless, torturous loop. He had pushed Meerab to question him, and now, because of his rage and recklessness, she was fighting for her life.
---
Hours seemed like years as the night dragged on. Finally, a doctor emerged from the operating theatre, his face somber. Murtasim and Anwar chacha rushed to him.
"How is she? Is she going to be okay?" Anwar chacha's voice was hoarse with emotion.
The doctor’s expression was grave. "Meerab's condition is very serious. She suffered severe head trauma, which has led to internal bleeding. Despite our efforts, she has slipped into a coma. We’ll have to wait and see if she recovers."
Murtasim's heart shattered at the words. He slumped against the wall, his world collapsing around him. The guilt and helplessness were overwhelming. His mind screamed that he was responsible for this.
Maa Begum’s sobs filled the room, and Anwar chacha’s shoulders shook with silent despair. The doctor’s words hung heavy in the air, each syllable a dagger to Murtasim’s already broken heart.
As he sat there, waiting for any sign of hope, Murtasim’s resolve hardened. He would be there for Meerab, no matter what it took. His reckless anger had nearly cost her life, and now, he vowed to make amends. He would be there every step of the way, hoping for a miracle that would bring his wife back to him.
For now, all he could do was wait, lost in the depths of regret and hope, praying for Meerab’s return to consciousness and the chance to make things right.
---
In the cold, clinical silence of the hospital, the past seemed a distant memory, and the future was shrouded in uncertainty. Murtasim’s heart ached with the weight of his actions, and the long night was a testament to the fragile line between anger and regret, and the painful journey of redemption.
