Before Our Dawn| ongoing

sixteen

Without a word, she approached her father and placed the lunch box on his desk. His tired eyes, rimmed with dark circles, slowly lifted from the pages before him, and a glimmer of relief danced within their depths. The lines etched upon his face spoke volumes of the burdens he carried as the head of the clinic, yet in this fleeting moment, his countenance softened, radiating paternal warmth and affection.

"Thank you for dropping that off for me," he spoke.

Isra nodded, her gaze momentarily drawn to the dust motes swirling in a ray of sunlight that filtered through the half-curtained window. She found herself struggling to find the right words, the heaviness of sadness constricting her throat.

He reached out a hand, a silent invitation for her to draw near. Isra closed the small distance between them, her steps cautious. "My dear, I'm worried for you. It's been a month and nothing has improved. You can't let grief consume your life like this."

Tears built up in Isra's eyes, threatening to spill over, as she fought to regain her composure.

"Loss is an inevitable companion on this journey we call life. But it is through embracing what we have loved and lost that we find the strength to carry on."

"I miss him a lot, baba." She sank into the chair in front of his desk, the pressure of sobs accumulating in her chest, wanting to escape her lips. "We had so many plans, baba. We were supposed to build a future together, to explore the world hand in hand. But now... now he's gone, and I'm left with a void that feels insurmountable."

"It's okay to mourn, to feel the weight of loss. But remember, within the depths of that grief lies the resilience of your spirit, the strength to carry Haadi's memory with you as you continue to forge your own path."

He stood up and rounded the desk, pulling her into his arms. She clung to him, weeping into the fabric of his white coat. The sound of her muffled sobs mingled with the quiet rhythm of their shared breaths, creating a sacred symphony of mourning. As the minutes ticked by, their embrace remained unbroken. He rubbed her back soothingly and allowed her to cry, whispering words of comfort in her ear.

"Isra, remember that Haadi would want you to find happiness again. He would want you to cherish the memories you shared but also to create new ones, to find joy in the beauty that still exists in this world."

Her sobs gradually subsided, and she pulled back slightly, her tear-streaked face searching her father's eyes for reassurance. "But how, baba? How do I move forward when every step feels so heavy?"

His lips curved into a gentle smile. "You move forward one day at a time. Little by little, inch by inch. It gets better. I promise."

Finding happiness sounded like a task much too egregious for her to bear, but sooner or later, she would have to. Life went on. People lived and died. But for a while longer, she wanted to mourn him and remember him. If he was watching over her, she wanted him to know how much he meant to her.

"Dr. Mansouri, I just finished with the patient and—" Marcel's cheerful expression faltered as he entered the room, his eyes immediately drawn to the scene before him. He stopped in his tracks, concern carving lines of worry on his forehead. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

Isra's father released her from their embrace, giving her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before stepping back to give her space.

As her gaze shifted towards Marcel, her eyes scanned his features, taking in every detail as if committing them to memory. The soft glow of sunlight streaming through the window cast a warm halo around his blonde hair, emphasizing its golden hues. His blue eyes sparkled with a vibrancy that seemed to have intensified since the last time she had seen him. His tall frame exuded strength and vitality, a stark contrast to the pallor of her own grief-stricken countenance.