Endurance

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

'A day, just a day left before the final verdict on the case of Hon. Abdi where a niece to the minister of works, Miss Hafsa Ali Abbas had testified in court on behalf of the ....' The reporter's words that rang clear and compellingly through Layla's mind as she sat on the porcelain floor of the hospital building, her hands drenched in blood, stains of it as clear as day on her clothes even though it was almost dawn. The darkest night she had ever experienced.

Every movement had turned blurry and every sound had declined as all that her mind kept reeling back to was Hafsa. The metallic smell of blood as she coughed it up from her mouth. The same dripping continuously from her nose and the eerie sound of her voice laced with pain as her frail body jerked with such intensity, soaking up her cotton shirt in her own blood. A voice Layla had never heard, not without the help of an aid. When Layla had whispered in her ear that she'll be alright on their way to the hospital, she had looked up at her with glazed eyes full of tears and red with pain that the only response she could manage was to lay a hand on Layla's.

"You have to fight Hafsa. You've fought this far. You can't give up now. You have to fight!." Mansoor had held Layla as she shouted the words when Hafsa was taken in and she had struggled out of his grip, banging on his chest in agony that she left him no choice but to hold her to himself. In just a day they had watched Hafsa's vision decline, her skin and legs turning lifeless and nothing works it's way out of her mouth apart from the terrifying crimson liquid. A sight he never wish to ever see again. The atmosphere of the hospital was serene, the night was quiet yet the excruciating pain the whole lot of them felt was indescribable and quite loud in the ears of whoever was experiencing it.

His sisters and Aina cried silently, his mothers bundled the pain in their bosoms to be strong for everyone while getting up to pray on intervals, Yasir was by the end of the hallway with his head hung low, Muhammad and the rest of their cousins and brothers were outside the hospital, waiting and there was Layla. Who sat just outside the main entrance of the intensive care unit on the floor, her blood stained hands holding on to Hafsa's scarf as if it was going to disappear if she even blinked, her doe eyes red and wide with unshed tears as she stared into distance and her lips chattering as if she was cold till the Adhan for Subh, the morning prayer was called. Mansoor excused himself and tapped Yasir on the shoulder, gesturing for him to get up.

Around quarter past eight in the morning, one of the doctors came out with an urgency that he almost missed them. Mansoor immediately got up and met with him halfway.

"How's it going doctor?."

"We need two of her family members." Mansoor's heart sank and dropped to the bottom of his stomach as a wild headache pounded through his temples. He turned and saw Layla looking up at them from her seated position on the floor, a tear silently rolling down her cheek.

"Now!." The doctor urged and Mansoor's mother followed, without caring who was catching up. They got into the room and there was Hafsa, if not for the life monitor that beeped no one could say she was alive. Layla hurried and knelt close to the bed, taking Hafsa's hand in hers. A hand that had turned frail and cold in the span of a few hours. The doctors stood and watched, their heads bowed, because at that point, nothing can be done. Mansoor's mother whispered the Kalima into her ears and all she did was move her head, as if she was nodding, eyes clear but she couldn't see, which made Layla join in the repetition of the divine words, her voice cracking but holding on so that Hafsa would know she was there with her and never leaving her side. Immediately Layla spoke, Hafsa's hand held hers, and she held on to her too for the last time, knowing this was it. As if on cue, as if Layla's thoughts were an errant wish, Hafsa's hold on her slacked. And she looked up to see the lifeless form of the one person who had been one of her sources of strength, a trickle of blood flowing from her nose. As if she was still alive but Layla knew better.