Fragments of forever

Chapter 5:The whisper of fading love

"I'm sorry, but he didn't make it. He is dead."

His words hung in the air, as if time itself had come to a standstill. Moh felt the tap on his shoulder, but his body didn't move. His mind struggled to process the words, the finality of them. The world around him blurred; the sterile hospital room, the low hum of machines, the sound of hushed sobs, all felt distant.

Everything had stopped.

For a long time, nobody moved, nobody breathed. The silence in the room stretched, heavy and suffocating, but then came a sound that shattered it-a soft whimpering, then a sob, and it grew louder. Moh turned slowly, his movements sluggish, as though every muscle resisted. His gaze settled on the source of the sound, and he was surprised to find it was Hussain.

Hussain-who was always so composed, so strong-was weeping openly. His shoulders shook, his hands covering his face as if trying to hide the vulnerability, but the tears were unstoppable.

Moh's eyes drifted across the room, taking in the scene. Amal was curled up in Mama's lap, both of them crying silently, their tears a painful contrast to the soft prayers Mama muttered under her breath. Yaya Kwaise stood beside Yaya Imany, both women sobbing, their hands clutched together for support. Their faces were wet with tears, expressions twisted in sorrow.

And then there was Fatima.

Moh's heart clenched when he saw her. She wasn't crying, nor was she moving. She sat there, dressed in her beautiful wedding lafaya, her makeup still perfectly intact. But her face... her face was ashen, pale, and devoid of life. Her eyes stared off into the distance, fixed on nothing, as though her soul had already left her body, too shattered to comprehend what had just happened.

She wasn't crying, but it was worse than any sobbing he'd heard that day.

The doctor's voice broke through the tension again, cutting Moh's trance. "Will you take him now, or should we keep him for a while longer?"

Moh shook his head, unable to muster words. He collapsed onto a nearby chair, his mind spinning, heart burning with the unbearable weight of loss. He couldn't think, couldn't cry-he was stuck in the suffocating quiet of disbelief. His hands fumbled for his phone, and with shaking fingers, he sent a message to their father.

Then, he just sat there-helpless-staring at the ICU door, feeling as if his entire world had been ripped away.

Inside her own mind, Fatima heard nothing but the deafening tone ringing in her ears, blocking out the sobs and whispers around her. All she could hear were her own thoughts screaming inside her head, and one word reverberated over and over again-no.

"No... no... no," she whispered, her voice growing louder with each repetition. She shot up from her seat, her body moving of its own accord, her feet carrying her toward the ICU. She burst through the doors, her breath ragged and panicked.

There, in front of her, was Farouk. He was lying still, his body peaceful in a way that felt wrong. His eyes were closed, and unlike before, there were no machines, no oxygen tubes-nothing keeping him tethered to this world. He looked so... still.

"Farouk!" she screamed, rushing to his side. "Farouk! Farouk, wake up! Ka tashii, Farouk!" she cried, her voice breaking as she shook him violently. "Please, Farouk, nashiga uku ka tashii! We were supposed to get married today. How can you leave me like this? Ya zanyi babu kai? How can I live without you?" Her voice broke, her words tangled with sobs as she crumbled onto his chest.

She pressed her ear to his chest, desperately listening for any sign of life, but there was nothing.

"You're not dead, Farouk. You're just joking, right?" she whispered, her fingers trembling as she touched his face. "We're supposed to get married... haba mutuwa, why didn't you take me too?" she sobbed, her tears soaking through the fabric of his shirt. "Ya Allah, take my life too. I don't want to live without him. I can't live without you, Farouk." Her words dissolved into broken cries, her body shaking uncontrollably.