An Echoing Race.

Epilogue.

Do read the short Author's note at the end :)

Epilogue.

Do you know when it's war? It's when you don't find bodies scattered around, nor bloodshed. You only live in fear of it happening - Unknown

Sameena's POV.

Two years later...

It was three in the morning.

An exhausted sigh escaped my lips as I tilted my head to glance at the digital clock hanging directly to my right. For the last five hours since I got into bed, I had been tossing, turning and checking the time every few minutes. In between it all, I most likely gained only an hour worth of sleep. In the end, I became frustrated with myself and resorted to just staring up at the ceiling.

This happened every time Tariq had a late shift.

I couldn't help it. I worried about him so much and lately, I felt like all I had been doing was worrying.

Alhamdulillah, after a lot of begging and dare I say, sucking up, the hospital agreed to give him working hours throughout the day. It had made a big difference in both our lives as we could now dedicate not only more time to ourselves, but to our families also. I could see the subtle change in Tariq; his sleeping patterns became constant, he was eating better, getting much more sun and overall his energy levels increased drastically. This was an amazing development when compared with his behaviour during the time he had randomly allocated shifts.

Every now and again however, he was called in for emergencies and those were the nights where I found myself in this very situation.

As the clock struck three twenty, I heard the sound of our door opening and instantly, I felt my heart rate pick up speed. Even after two years of living together, I felt a thrill pass through me whenever he arrived home from work.

His footsteps were light as he moved but since I was so used to them, I could track exactly where he was going. Just as I predicted, he moved off into the kitchen, the sound of the refrigerator opening and closing and then a lid popping off a water bottle resounding through the silence of our house.

His shoes clacked against the wooden floorboards as he headed towards our bedroom and I hurriedly shut my eyes and tried to even my breathing. The last time he caught me awake, he had gone on a ten minute tirade about how sleep was so important but being the sweetheart that he is, he had followed it through with a breathtaking kiss, thanking me for being so concerned over him.

Our door creaked open and I almost smiled at how cautious he was being, barely making a sound as he placed his duffel bag onto the floor. After a few seconds, I felt both his arms rest on either side of me as he hovered for a few moments. He planted a soft kiss onto my forehead. Like always, I felt the effervescence of the same goosebumps on contact. And I never got tired of it. Hopefully, I never will...

When he had retreated, I dared to open one eye. He was moving around the room, pulling out clothes for his shower and for the next few minutes, I just lay there like a creep, watching him in utter silence.

To my relief he didn't seem very tired. He didn't have bags under his eyes, those usual tell-tale signs that he was overworking himself.

He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath before finally moving into our en suite bathroom and for the next ten minutes until he returned, I continued to stare up at the ceiling. Sleep had completely escaped me at this point and I actually considered just getting up, making a coffee and reading some Qur'an until fajr.