I'm sure you've heard a lot about unrequited love, but what if I say there exists an unwilling love, hidden somewhere between the echoes of silence and the whispers of the heart's secrets? A love that fights to stay buried, yet yearns to be discover...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
๑ 🥀 ๑
Meanwhile in Florida
The hospital air was thick with antiseptic and the quiet hum of machines. The ICU's dim lighting cast a sterile glow over everything making the room feel even colder than it was.
Amaan sat beside Adeel, his hand resting on the younger man's shoulder as if to keep him grounded. Adeel's fingers trembled around the disposable coffee cup in his grasp, his knee bounced restlessly. He hadn't spoken much since they arrived- just staring blankly at the floor.
Zumar stood near the window, arms crossed, her eyes fixed on the door that led to the ICU. Her father was on the other side-unconscious, fighting, suspended between life and death. The weight of it pressed against her ribs, but she didn't let it show.
The door to the waiting area creaked open, and she heard the footsteps before she saw him.
Rashed.
Her stomach twisted painfully and a storm of emotions raised within her. She had imagined this moment before-what she would say, how she would stand tall and unshaken.
But reality didn't match her rehearsed thoughts. Seeing him again, here, of all places, chipped away at her composure.
Did he feel guilty? Did he regret anything? For not trying enough.
He met her gaze briefly before his eyes flickered away, as if he knew what she was thinking. As if he knew he had no right to be here.
Amaan was up in an instant, moving between them and blocking any chance of a conversation before it could begin.
"You're here for Uncle. Not for anything else," Amaan said, his voice low but firm.
Rashed's jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod.
She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to look away. She couldn't do this-not here, not now.
Her father was the priority. Nothing else.
She turned back to the ICU door, waiting, hoping, praying.
And the doctor came out of it, his expression was grim as he pulled off his gloves and voice heavy with finality.
"We've done everything we can," he said, looking at them. "But his chances of survival are very low."
The words cut through Zumar like a blade. Her breath hitched, and before she could stop it, tears spilled down her cheeks.
She had spent her whole life resenting her father, holding onto the anger, the hurt, the disappointments. But now, the thought of losing him-losing the chance to make things right, to demand answers, to have even the smallest semblance of closure-was unbearable.
The doctor hesitated before speaking again. "There's something else."
