End-of-May 2020
Omar
"I can't wait to work with you," I told her on the phone, my heart beating faster with just the anticipation of finally seeing her that day. Even if it was in full personal protective gear, and the only thing I could see were her deep brown eyes.
She paused, then simply said, "Good bye, Omar."
"I love you, Madi," I quickly muttered, but she had already hung up. "That's ok," I told the image in the mirror, "I know she loves me. She said it herself."
In that minimally furnished bedroom, I stood alone, donning a fresh pair of scrubs. The clock read 7 am. The sun was out in all its glory, casting a brilliant glow on the world beyond the walls. Yet, within the confines of this apartment, within this room, an oppressive darkness prevailed. As if the very essence of this place was missing. Perhaps it was a premonition of what lay ahead—shadows where I yearned for clarity, ache in lieu of joy, and emptiness when all I craved was her.
As I entered the hospital that day, she was already in the ICU, standing behind a glass partition. Just like the one I stood behind when I worked in my BSL3 lab. Her figure, facing away from me, was immediately recognizable—the neatly pulled-back ponytail, the confident posture. Yet, within that enclosure, so many others surrounded her too.
Interns, residents, fellows, attendings, even a man wearing glasses with a computer in hand, and an older gentleman dressed in impeccable black trousers and a crisp blue shirt. They all crowded around her, each vying for her attention, seeking something from her, urging her to lend them a hand.
I looked around to see where the opening of that glass enclosure was, but I couldn't find it. I walked up and down around the glass wall but there was no door, or decontamination hatch. How was I supposed to get in there? I wondered. How did everyone else get in there?
Raising my eyes, I found the throng of people had swelled, obscuring her from my view. A sinking feeling gripped my heart, beads of sweat formed on my forehead. There was no intercom, or speaker through which I could call her. Instead, I knocked loudly on the glass wall.
"Madi...Madi...let me in. Please...I am supposed to be there with you," I called out to her.
She didn't turn around, she didn't even spare a glance towards me. I could hear the noise inside the glass enclosure, I could even make out her sweet but commanding voice. Yet, she remained engrossed in all those around her, talking to them, laughing with them.
I knocked louder. I cried out on the top of my lungs, "Madi, turn around. I am outside, please let me in."
Suddenly everyone else disappeared, like a scene from a movie where the world fades away, leaving only her in the empty hallway. She turned around slowly, her beautiful eyes, framed by those long eyelashes looked at me. I couldn't see her face under her mask, but I could tell she was smiling at me. She held my gaze for a few seconds before looking down at a patient's chart that had COVID POSITIVE written on it in bold letters.
That's when I realized there were holes in her N95. Large, gaping holes that were expanding quickly, and were now in her gown and gloves and her white coat.
I frantically banged my fist on the glass wall, yelling "Madi, stop. Your protective gear is compromised."
She didn't respond, she didn't even look up at me again. She just turned towards the patient's room, opened the door and entered the black void. And then she was gone.
I screamed after her till my voice was hoarse.
"Madi, don't go in there, you'll get COVID."
"Madi, please, please listen to me."
"Madi, come back to me."
"I love you. Please don't leave me."
That's when my eyes flew open and I found myself in my bed, drenched in sweat and out of breath. Still repeating Madi's name, as if she had placed a spell on me.
It was just a dream, I caught my breath, reassured myself. Just a nightmare. That wasn't real. She is ok. I repeated silently till my breathing slowed down and I was able to swing my legs over the side of the bed.
I got off the bed slowly and walked to my bedroom's window. Normally, Chicago downtown's night lights would be streaming inside my room, casting shadows on its bare walls. Today, it seemed to be pitch black outside, just like the darkness that Madi had stepped into and never returned from. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cold glass of the window.
This wasn't the first time I had this nightmare, but it was the most vivid one. My gaze fell on my bedside clock, it was 4 am. The sun wouldn't rise for another 2 hours but there was no way I could go back to sleep again. Even if I did, I knew that nightmare would be back again to torment me.
I stepped back from the window and walked into the kitchen to get myself a glass of water, ignoring the littered counter tops illuminated by the light from the open fridge. I wasn't a sloppy person. I may have spent almost a decade on my own as a bachelor but I liked having a clean space around me. Yet lately, I had just felt like giving up. On everything. Myself, my work, my family, my friends...everyone, except her. Thoughts of her were the only thing that had kept me going.
That, and having faith in a Being who was larger than us mere humans. The realization that nothing was really under our control had dawned on many of us in the medical field. We were all trying our best, and the science was progressing at breakneck speed. Every day new COVID-related discoveries were being made, including in my own lab. But every day we were also humbled by how relatively healthy people would end up losing their lives, while others miraculously recovered after weeks of being at death's doorstep.
I hadn't seen Madi in a while, but every day I read her 7 am COVID update emails. A new responsibility she had taken on, since being selected as the next chief resident. The update was filled with both dire news and hopeful discoveries but it was the last line of that email that I would always look out for. Reading the motivational quote she added was almost like an addiction now.
Those emails weren't even for me specifically, they were for the whole residency program. But they were a reminder that she was out there. And that would add enough fuel to my smoldering fire to last me another day.
But it was several hours till today's email.
"Allah khair rakhe," I sighed and mumbled into the silence before reciting the Ayat-ul-Kursi, doing wudu and saying the Fajr prayers. I lifted my hand, praying for Madi's safety, and that of Salman and Noor and their young baby. And for my sister who was pregnant in the middle of a pandemic. I even prayed for my parents. That they would see the light, and the error in their ways.
Sleep had eluded me long ago. On a whim I decided to step out for a walk, even though dawn was still almost an hour away. Chicago's streets, typically teeming with life no matter the hour of the day, now lay in an eerie stillness, temporarily suspended in time as the pandemic took over every facet of life. The air itself seemed hollow, as if drained of its very breath.
A short while later, I found myself upon a bridge spanning the Chicago River. Dim lamplight cast a soft glow along the walkway, and the settling mist conjured a scene one might find in the pages of an English classic novel, evoking a sense of timeless serenity. Yet, the backdrop of towering skyscrapers, once aglow at any hour, now standing in almost total darkness was a stark testament to the transformation of this bustling urban expanse.
Gazing down at the river's gentle current, I noticed a distorted reflection of myself. For a fleeting moment, I pondered the sensation of lying still beneath those waters. I wondered if anyone would even notice my absence, should I simply vanish into their depths.
My parents certainly wouldn't.
My sister might.
Madi? My heart asked. She'd move on. My despondent mind replied, plummeting into a whirlpool of despair, asking question after question, hammering away at the last shreds of hope within my soul.
What if my parents never agreed?
What if Madi's parents refused?
What if Madi and I couldn't be together?
What if Madi had other options?
What if, what if, what if...
These intense waves of hopelessness were unfamiliar territory. Yet, I could discern their origins in a profoundly dark place steeped in despair and self-destruction. If I allowed myself to sink any further, the return would be uncertain. Forcing myself to do, I retreated quickly from the precipice of the bridge, and sat on a nearby bench.
Before I could stop myself, I was taking my phone out and dialing a number.
Madiha
My alarm clock had gone off at 5:00 for Fajr. Usually, I would have gotten up but today it felt like my entire body was revolting against me. Covered in blankets I lay still in my new apartment in downtown Chicago, willing myself to get up but failing miserably. I would have given up too, if it hadn't been for my phone ringing.
"Omar?" I asked, my voice barely came out in a whisper.
He might have noticed that, if it hadn't been for the hoarseness in his own voice as he took my name, "Madi..." His voice trailed off.
The sound of a dog barking broke the silence. A woman spoke, "Sorry about that."
Puzzled, I asked, "Where are you?"
"On a bridge," is all he uttered. A surge of adrenaline jolted through me, snapping my eyes open as I swiftly cast the blankets aside. The weight of despair in his voice echoed in my chest, overcoming my own discomfort. He didn't need to explain why he found himself on a bridge at around 5:00 in the morning. I understood all too well.
"Which bridge?" I asked him, already at my door putting my N95 mask on.
"The one on Michigan Avenue, over the Chicago River," he replied, and I thanked God that I had decided to move into this apartment, closer to work - and him.
"I'll be there in 10 minutes, don't go anywhere."
*******
The bridge was cloaked in misty darkness when I spotted him, seated on a bench, his head bowed in despair, tugging at my heartstrings. Before I approached, I repositioned my mask, making sure it sat snugly on my face.
"Omar," I called out from where I had taken a seat, on a bench well over 6 feet from him. "Could you put your mask on, please."
Gazing up at me, he obliged but hesitantly pointed out, "Sure, but we are out in the open."
"One can never be too cautious," I argued. He didn't question why. Perks of him being an intern and me a senior resident.
Before he could pose more questions, I cut to the chase. "What are you doing here?"
His shoulders sagged. "I couldn't sleep."
We sat in silence for a few seconds. Me trying to ignore the headache against which the pain killers I had popped just as I stepped out of my apartment were losing their battle. Him, just staring across the bridge. Finally, I managed to speak again and push him to open up further.
"Omar, did something else happen too? You sounded really disturbed on the phone."
He let out a profound sigh. Even in the dimness, I could sense his internal struggle before he finally mustered the strength to share his woes in a voice tinged with sorrow, "I had a nightmare..." He poured out his fears, about losing me to someone else, to the pandemic, or the realization that he might have nothing to offer me.
The vulnerability in his voice made me desperately wish I could move closer to him, put my hand on his, maybe even wrap my arms around his hunched form. But I couldn't. Not in this moment. Not when his nightmare might just come true. I could only use my words, choosing them carefully so I said as few as possible, lest the condition of my throat give me away.
"I am right here, Omar. Zindagi tou Allah ke haat mein hoti hai, but if Allah gave me a choice, I would always choose you. Always." (Life is in Allah's hands)
I hadn't told him about my father yet, how could I? I didn't even have words to describe the conversation between Faraz, Abu and myself just a few days ago. How could I break his heart, when it was already breaking with uncertainty.
Oblivious to all that I hid within me, he sat back on the bench, "It just feels like the world is conspiring against us."
Maybe I should have agreed with him, but I didn't. I chose to be optimistic, even as I struggled to see the light at the end of the tunnel. On a bridge, at the break of dawn, sitting with him while he divulged his inner most secrets after a sleepless night was not the time to tell him that my worst fears could be coming true too.
You're young, and healthy, I reminded myself before focusing back on the man who needed me.
"I know this isn't going to be easy," I tried to keep a steady voice, "but think about our patients whose lives are turned completely upside down by this pandemic. So many others have lost their jobs, their homes, their loved ones. We have so much to be thankful for, even if we can't get married right now."
He raked a hand through his hair and nodded, "I know. It is a stressful time for everyone, no matter the profession. I don't think I have given this much bad news to people than I have in the last 2 months."
"Yup, me neither."
"Everything just sucks right now."
"I agree."
"I wish I could just fast-forward to the time when this stupid pandemic is over."
"Me too."
"Madi-" he suddenly got up and took a few steps towards my bench.
I reflexively jumped up, moving further away from him. "I should go, I think I can catch Fajr if I hurry, and I still have to prepare the 7 am COVID update," I blurted out.
None of that was a lie.
Thankfully, he bought it. "You're not even the chief resident, and they're already making you work so hard. I have a good mind to complain to Dr Patel."
For the first time in the last few days I felt like smiling, at his protectiveness. "Don't, because then I wouldn't be able to send you my secret messages?"
"Your secret messages?" he looked at me curiously.
"Those motivational quotes at the end of the email, are for you. I always think of you when I put them in there," I told him, glad my mask hid my blushing cheeks.
"Thanks, Madi. I really mean it, I can't thank you enough for everything." I could hear the joy seeping back in to his voice, placating my own worries about him. My job was done for now.
"I could say the same to you, Omar," I grinned, even my headache felt better.
With that we said goodbye and headed towards the opposite ends of the bridge. I couldn't wait for the day that 'home' would mean the same address for both of us. But for now, I would just have to hold on to the knowledge that Omar loved me in a way no one else ever could.
Though, the moment I reached back into my apartment and headed straight to the pantry to pull out a packet of roasted coffee beans, a silent prayer escaped me.
"Please let me live long enough to experience his love to its fullest extent".
The coffee beans that I could usually smell from the other room, smelled like nothing at all. No matter how deeply I breathed in. Or how many other packets of desi masalas or perfumes I sniffed at. I couldn't smell anything at all.
*******
You don't have to be a physician to diagnose what Madi has! She is young and healthy, but after what she would have seen in the COVID wards fear of the worst is only natural.
This was probably the darkest chapter in the whole story. Will Omar's nightmare become the premonition he feared? Will Madi and Noor's life story have more in common than their relationship with Omar?
This was a short chapter, but there is plenty more to come on all that.
Thanks for reading! Don't forget to vote and let me know your thoughts...pretty please 🙂