~Winner of The Praise Worth Awards~
When the Sweet, Confident and people's person Airab Haroon, done M.Phil. in PR and Advertising, is married to the feisty and young Elza Ali who is 18 years only.
How will she welcome his love, his passion? Will...
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Chapter 26
AIRAAB
The never ending darkness is causing me mammoth headache.
Elza...
Where is she?
I need her.
More, Precisely, I need her head massage. Her fingers possess a certain kind of magic which presses out all the sufferings under soft tips, tucking me into a relaxing slumber.
Shhh...
I ask my mind to go quiet.
Are my ears deciphering wrong? Why would Elza weep when I am here to be her shield against every thorn?
Stranded to my state, I beg the softness under my head to give me some peace. This headache will guzzle my life like a barbarous beast and would not belch. I cannot die soon. I have a wife and to-be-born child to take care of.
*
It seems I have slept incredible hours but still the pain is here – in my head – intensified than before.
This time, I open my mouth to take Elza's name but the lips are at some distance, leaving me incapable to converse. How will I call my Elza now? And my Baba...
Ignoring the blasting pain, I try to move my frozen figure. Why can I not move?
The hammering at the back of head is going worse. What is happening to me? I was never this lazy and helpless all my life.
Giving a damn to bursts and shrills of spasm, I put all my force to join my lips. I think I succeed so but then again slip into a blissful sleep.
*
This time when I am up from sleep, the head ache is slightly better than before. My body is no more frozen and jammed. I can feel the moistness on my cheek.
Another drop falls and I part my lips to breath. Don't tell me Elza has the room windows closed, messing with the oxygen!
"Airab..." After like centuries of struggle, my ears finally listen the voice of my beloved wife.
I open my eyes at the instant, finding myself in my room, on my bed, snuggled closer to my wife who is mourning badly. Tears are not in my vision but I can tell she is lamenting like cats. The toys which we bought last time to shopping are in monotone.
I cup her cheek but she does not meet my eyes. Finally, after lots of efforts, when she meets my eyes, I spot the streams, really heavy streams of tears and her hair... What has happened to them? Her beautiful chocolate curls are turned into some slaughter house – blood is dripping from them, gradually pooling the white sheets along the room into red hue.
