ROUHI

eight

Saaqib briskly walked back to his house, refused to take anymore help from the two brothers. He avoided the sting and opened the main door, stumbling inside and supporting his weight against the wall. He inhaled and exhaled quickly but deeply. He was bleeding quite badly for a wound created by such a small knife. Was it a nail cutter that the man had used?

Hafsa was as usual reading a book, sitting on the chair in the living room, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration.

"Dr Hafsa," Saaqib breathlessly croaked out and Hafsa looked up, hearing the title name. Her eyes grew visibly wider and the book dropped from her hands as she ran towards Saaqib panicked. "I'm required to be taken to the OT. Is it free?" He flashed a small, crooked smile which in no way was paid heed to by Hafsa who was shocked and terrified beyond words.

"I-I-You.. Oh, my-What-How-"

"I need to sit down first I guess," Saaqib suggested, seeing Hafsa's lost expression.

"Yes! Yes, sit down. Come. I have to- umm.." Hafsa removed the bloodied shirt from Saaqib's torso with trembling hands and threw it aside. She examined the wound for a few seconds before saying, "I-I need to stitch this up."

"What?! It's not that deep!" Saaqib said, terrified. It was already paining and now stitches. Wasn't getting stabbed enough?

After carefully cleaning the wound, Hafsa said, "I'll be back, maybe Akhter saheb still lives down the street," and handed Saaqib a cloth to hold to prevent it from bleeding further. Saaqib waited for about twenty minutes in the dim light of their joined kitchen and living room. Just within these past few minutes he felt so lonely. He wondered how Hafsa spent her whole day here, she could only visit the neighbours so many times.

Hafsa rushed in with the stitches and everything needed. She made sure to clean the things properly. "This is going to hurt a bit, okay?" The concern in her voice didn't go unnoticed like it would usually before. Some strings got pulled in Saaqib's heart. "It'll all be over soon, I promise."

If one thing Saaqib believed in in the entire world, it was Hafsa's word.

He felt the stinging way more than he had anticipated to. "There was n-no anesthetic, Akhter saheb had run out of them." Saaqib tried concentrating on other things. The ceiling was awfully dull, so were the walls. How long had it been since they had been painted? Those cracks looked like this house was going to crumble any minute.

He needed to make conversation as a distraction. Yes. "Talk to me about something." And just listen to her voice.

Hafsa understood. "You know, when I was studying medicine in college, I had to stitch up a person like you- I mean, she got stabbed. But it was an accident. She was drunk. I don't get why people get drunk when it steals your senses." Saaqib knew the question to be asked next. So he answered without being asked because it would make Hafsa feel awkward and guilty, but it wasn't her fault that she couldn't trust him.

"As you're wondering, I've never drunk alcohol."

Saaqib whimpered and Hafsa stopped. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just a little bit..." He searched for other things to focus on but there was another whimper. It came not from him though, but Hafsa.

Saaqib leant back a little to get a look at Hafsa's face. Her lips were pursed, and her eyes were... watering. She endeavoured her best but the tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks anyways, wetting them. She blinked hard. Hafsa was shaking all over, even her breathing was uneven and seemed forced, like she had forgotten as simple a task as inhaling and exhaling air. Saaqib scrunched up his face in confusion.

Out of the blue, Hafsa lightly punched - but still punched - Saaqib's shoulder, energy draining from her as more tears were shed. "How could you do this to me?" She raised her voice. "I've told you, warned you so many times, again and again, repeatedly. Then why do you still do this? I'm sure you got into a fight. They had a knife, didn't they? Of course they did. Told you several times not to mingle with the wrong people..."

"I've done so many things to you, and this is what makes you hit me? Me myself getting hurt?"

"You got stabbed, you rotten cabbage!"

Saaqib stifled a chortle. Hafsa and her no-swearing policy. Nearing the end of the stitching, Saaqib had let out a few more groans and Hafsa was a nervous wreck. She kept weeping and and sobbing, audibly now, Saaqib didn't understand why.

"Oi. I am the one hurt, why are you crying?" He meant it as a little joke but Hafsa halted in her actions. It's as if she wanted to pass a secret message through that one glance she sent, and immediately resumed stitching and cleaning, her crying forced to be lessened.

Something clicked inside Saaqib's brain. The sentence he had just spoken out kept winding around inside his mind.

I am the one hurt, why are you crying?

I am the one hurt, why are you crying?

I am the one hurt, why are you crying?

She was crying because he was hurt.