My Qadr

Unexpected

Farrah

"Nabeela?"

As if coming back to her senses, Nabeela flashed me a small smile, with her eyebrows furrowed, potraying her confusion at my being there.

"I'm Zayyad's employee....actually, his personal assistant" I said answering her unasked question.

Next to her was Mr Saheed with his arms over her shoulders.

"You guys know each other?" Mr Saheed spoke up, earning a shy smile from the both of us.

"Farrah meet my father " Nabeela said to me, introducing Mr Saheed.

Wait......

What?!

"I'm his uncle" Mr Saheed replied and while motioning to Nabeela continued, "this is his cousin".

I looked at Nabeela and she looked back at me with an expression that seemed to say; "we'll talk later".

I silently nodded back at her, and we all sat down waiting for the doctor who'd yet again excused himself to pick a call.

"He'll soon be awake now" he said to us and as we three were about going to the ward, he called Mr Saheed back probably to talk about something related to Mr Zayyad's condition while Nabeela and I continued on our way.

"So you work for my cousin" Nabeela started a conversation breaking the silence.

I couldn't help but wonder if Mr Zayyad was the cousin she'd spoken so much about, it was hard to tell seeing how she'd also said she had a lot of cousins.

Moreover, Mr Zayyad didn't fit her description, he wasn't serious and rude, and I definitely had seen him smile more than once.

Realising Nabeela was waiting for an answer, I turned to look at her.

"Yeah that's the interview I was telling you about"

I said to her visibly relaxing at the chance to break the deafening silence that had just some seconds ago, encompassed us.

"What's your surname" I looked at Nabeela, a little perplexed as to why she would be asking me that kind of a question but nonetheless I answered her question in a polite tone "Ahmed".

"..........writing that day" I heard Nabeela muttering, seemingly deep in whatever thoughts she had running through her mind.

She snapped out of the world she was momentarily thrown into and returned to the physical world, with a blush on her cheeks

"I'm sorry, I just remembered something".

I was curious, but I pushed the thought aside, to prevent myself from being labelled an ill- mannered person or as my grandma says in the Nigerian- Yoruba dialect :'amebo'.

We were greeted by nurses as we entered the room, only to be met with a pitiful scene.

Mr Billal was in the bed with some needles injecting a type of transparent fluid— either water or some other thing i would never be able to pronounce— into his body.

I couldn't differentiate between water and other transparent fluids, so I wrote the liquid off mentally as a chemical which I had no interest in learning about.

Infact, the only thing that I could pay attention to was the beeping of the heart monitor that showed Mr. Billal's heart rate .

"Mrs Ahmed is a patient with level three cancer, put her on life support immediately".

"Her condition is a very rare one, she needs to be taken to the intensive care unit".

"Miss, you have to sign this contract which stipulates that whatever happens to the patient, Mrs Ahmed in the course of this operation has been agreed upon and that the hospital is not responsible for any unfavourable mental conditions that she may have either as a side effect, or in the worst case scenario.....death.

"Miss....miss are you listening to me?....Nurse this patient is faint ...."

Tears threatened to fall from my eyes as I remembered when mum was admitted in the hospital and eventually diagnosed with level 3 cancer.

I always tried as much as possible to avoid hospitals, because of the tense atmosphere and the contrasting emotions that were potrayed on people's faces.

While some were happy that their loved ones made it, others were sad because theirs had just passed away.

Some people were in immense pain and had just lost their parents, Others were confused as to the state of health of theirs.

You could see people chasing doctors just to ask about the well being of a loved one who was
being operated on.

Before I used to think of running after doctors as something irresponsible, yet, when my mother was in the intensive care unit, I was faster than even the flash.

I had lost all rationality at that point and all my thoughts were replaced by the possibility that that could be the last time of seeing my mother, hearing her voice, feeling her hands as it raked through my hair, tasting her sweet dishes......tears had begun to blind my eyes and my vision was hazy before the darkness had taken over.

I was so consumed in my train of thoughts that I didn't notice the slow and pained movement of Mr Zayyad, till Nabeela shouted

"Zayyad!".

I stood there at the foot of the bed with my gaze to the floor and said a small "Assalamu alaykum sir".

Mr Zayyad winced, either from the pain or Nabeela's screeching.

"Wa alaykum salam" he replied his voice hoarse.

I reached the bedside table for a bottle of water and handed it to Nabeela, who helped him screw the cap open.

He took a sip of the water and I could feel his gaze burning through the fabric of my hijab focusing on any-and-everything apart from my eyes.

Nabeela cleared her throat and I felt his gaze leave me just as the goose bumps that had ferociously erupted on my skin did.

The doctor came in with Mr Saheed in tow.

"Zayyad, you are awake.....Alhamdulillah" Mr Saheed exclaimed, his tone relieved.

"Yes, I'm fine uncle" He said.

I stood to one side, feeling so out of place.

The moment I got a chance to, I discreetly exited the room before any one would notice, and headed for the waiting room

Ya Allah!, I thought.

*****
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~Ameenarrh