Tum Hi Aana | A Short Story

Iraaday Phir Se Jaanay Ke Nahi Lana

Murtasim's heart and Meerab's weight on him simultaneously dropped as her eyes fluttered shut, tears slipping out and staining her cheeks. Her pale face, though now lax, was etched in pain and all Murtasim could do for the next few seconds was watch the silent tears slide out and onto her cheeks and down onto his hands. With one arm around her waist and the other clutching the back of her head, he held her up as his tangled mind caught up with the situation. and then he didn't stop.

Shouting a raw, throaty "Bakhtu!" he swung his wife up in his sturdy arms, cocooning her prone body safely against his chest, and strode towards the entrance of the haveli he had just come out from. His guards scrambled to the side and Bakhtu ran up ahead of him to open the tall, wooden doors and the phone calling their family doctor already at his ear. Murtasim strode inside, his feet almost breaking into a run as he hurried down to their bedroom.

'Meri beti do din hosh mai hi nahi aayi thi...'

Waqas's words echoed in his ears and the metallic tinge of fear flooded his mouth, his arms tightening around Meerab's little body as he looked down, whispering her name. She felt so weak; lighter than she had when he'd had her in his arms after her kidnapping. Her waist felt so so delicate. Too delicate. Her face, though even more beautiful than before to him, was showing signs of stress when looked at this close. Her eyelids and under eyes tinged with the lightly purple bruising left by sleepless nights. He knew because he had identical bruising on his own face.

Gulping at the terrifying thoughts flooding his brain, he pushed back the doors of his outer lounge and bedroom with his shoulder and finally kneeled over the bed, laying her down with utmost gentleness. Covering her with the mustard-coloured throw and running his hand over her forehead, he bent down over her, whispering her name again and again. His thumb wiped her face clean of tears, his heart squeezing in torment at her state. His head shot to the door just as footsteps approached the lounge, and with a last look at her, he got up and hurried outside to see Bakhtu standing a few steps from the entrance to his lounge, phone in one hand. Behind him, both their families were rushing down, their faces wrinkled in worry.

The next few hours passed by in a blur. Meerab was seen to by a doctor and declared to be suffering from dehydration and weakness; a possible effect of stress and lack of suitable diet. Murtasim had stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes troubled and pinned to her face, and his entire body tense as the doctor had taken her time to ensure Meerab was otherwise fine. The doctor had left and Murtasim had stepped back to let Waqas and Anila gather around Meerab on the bed, their worry evident. His own mother had lingered behind him, her worried eyes flitting from him to Meerab continuously. A banished Haya, who'd tried to enter the room amongst the crowd and had been halted in her tracks by Murtasim, wandered up and down the corridor leading to his lounge area. When she'd tried to reason her way in, Murtasim had stepped forward menacingly, making her step back and further away from the doorframe.

'Tum mujhe uske aas paas nazar nahi aani chahiye ho.'

With that, he had shut the door on her face, leaving her to do what she had always done; linger around his doorstep in wretched waiting. It had taken a good hour and a half for the doctor to leave and all the while, Murtasim had had one question burning a hole in his mind. What the hell had happened? How had the situation gone from her wanting nothing to do with him to her running into his arms in that state? Something didn't add up, and now wasn't the time, but he was sure as hell going to find out eventually.