Prince from Paradise | ✔

I. The World Weeps

Rabiya

Sobbing filled the silence in the air, heartbreaking screams piercing into the darkness. Even the children seemed to pause and watch the tormented faces of their parents, wondering what calamity had striken them so dreadfully that their cheeks had been stained with tears, eyes swollen, and lips quivering.

Rabiya stood up, unable to take their cries no more. She had to be strong. Her family had traveled from their homes in order to reunite with her mother's family. It was only two weeks prior that her uncle had mysteriously been found dead one night, his wife's cries all that anyone heard from that fateful night.

Her grandfather was already an old weakened man, kidneys both gone, and only a couple weeks left to live. Blood poured into his vomit at times, the crimson color swirling within the bile of his stomach.

The death of his only son seemed to destroy his already fragile form until he was left defenseless to the world's sickly pleasures, internal bleeding that refused to halt. This morning, he had fallen victim to a stroke, his heart stopped beating.

He was legally dead for ten minutes.

When the Bangladeshi doctors finally stabilized him, they weren't sure whether he'd live to see the sun of day ever again. Now, her beloved grandfather laid helpless on a hardened hospital bed with tubes deep down his throat and a machine pumping his heart.

She watched his chest jolt up and down, the same scary rhythm that she hoped she'd never have to experience. Walking closer to his body, she reached her hand closer to his cold forehead. His eyes painfully squeezed, and she knew that a part of him was still there. Allah was giving him a few more moments.

Wrinkles that told a story of a brave soldier lined the corner of his eyes, a long slender nose followed after, a nose that no longer breathed for him. His long gray beard was softer than before and easily breakable like thin twigs. Rabiya fought her tears back, the world around her disappearing, and she lost herself in her own anguish.

He wouldn't survive. She knew he couldn't because if he somehow did live through such physical torture than he would never be able to walk the Earth without the constant reminder of his dead son. Rabiya wasn't sure if she was ready to let go though, especially after her beloved uncle had already passed away.

She'd never experienced death, not once in her eighteen years of existence, and she was blind to the harsh reality of such grief. Rabiya believed that her uncle, a man as courageous as a tiger, would always be at her side, treating her as if she were his own daughter.

Allah had other plans, and even if the thought of another family member dying, before she even recovered from the last, killed her, Rabiya still trusted her Lord.

Allah had never thrown an obstacle that she couldn't handle. Her Creator was the all-knowing, whose plans were beyond human capacity. Every struggle, every conflict, every pain she felt made her stronger in the end, yet even that thought didn't stop the fear that blossomed in her heart.

She wanted to be selfish, and do anything to save her grandfather. Her voice ached to tell him how much she loved him and apologize for all the times that she never showed her compassion. She wanted to go on her knees and beg Allah for one more day to spend with her grandfather. She would do anything to hear his raspy voice one last time.

Alas, the world was not made for selfish people. Those with an inch of purity in their hearts knew the chilling realization of fear of the unknown. Bangladesh was at war, fighting for their independence from Pakistan, and Muslims were fighting for their rights back.

She glanced at her grandfather's right arm, which laid limply on the bed. The bone jutted out, an imprint of the war left on his body, and the once opened flesh had dried out. He was a fighter, a war veteran, who stopped at nothing until justice was served, until he had put in all his efforts into survival.