Whole night Amarha kept turning and tossing in her bed. She sat up, sighing, raking her slender fingers in her long hair. She lunged to unwind her dupatta across her neck and put it back on her head. She leaned against the headboard. Her mind on a rollercoaster. She cussed it and she blamed Mohsin for that.
She needed a healthy eight hours sleep to be attentive towards her patients. She decided to not stress over and think of positive things in life. She tried think about Zavair's unborn child. She decided to think about what she would wear on her friend's wedding. Will the heels look good or should she go with the flats? How Almas' daughter be looking right now sleeping, her plumped lips parted. Amarha chuckled thinking of Parisa. She was the cutest child one could ask for. She was truly a Pari, Fairy.
But her mind rushed back to Mohsin. What about him? Soon tears sprung into her eyes. She shook her head. He would've pulled a prank definitely. She would talk to him about it in the morning. She laid back and soon drifted off.
Other day at hospital, she asked about him from a doctor when she couldn't find him. Doctors were off to have lunch.
"Well Mohsin is doing an MRI scan with some fresh doctors."
She had nodded. "Any idea how long it gonna take?"
"Might take a while. Who knows." That person shrugged.
She spent whole day with a sullen mood. On the way out she finally got to see him when he exiting the main door of the department. The elevator door opened for him and she ran in just behind him.
Quiet.
She was staring at the reflection in the metal walls of the lift. It was a few seconds together and the elevator door opened. They were at the ground floor, a very busy place. She wanted to reach him but someone stopped her by. "Excuse me doctor Amarha. Some man named Yousaf Zaman had come to meet you."
"Oh--" Her eyes followed Mohsin and soon he was vanished in the hallway. That name sounded familiar and soon it clicked her brain. It was the same man whose wound she had bandaged once and later turned out to be a politician.
She was led by the nurse into the room she knew very well. Waiting room.
***
It was a pleasant evening. Hues of sky was so enticing that he kept standing at the balcony railing. His eyes were at his parents' house. And then something interesting caught his eyes. It was an elderly aged man. He sat by the pavement on the other side of road, facing Zaman's house. He was in a tattered coat which had may paywand on it, at some patches it was blue, at some orange.
Even tho winters were almost over but still evenings were the coldest. He wondered what was so important for that old man that made him sit here. Cool wind was so blood freezing. He went inside to attend a call and then turned on tv for himself as he worked on his laptop. Two hours had flown by when he took a break for dinner.
He warmed a plate of Biryani Bi Gee had cooked. He sat down in living room and from the window, he could see the guard bickering with someone on the main gate. Zaman came out and asked what was the matter. His guard told him about the old man who had been sitting there, constantly saying he wanted to meet MNA.
"You should've asked me for once Chacha." He rebuked him yet staying in boundaries.
"Zaman Sahb! Your father had strictly asked us to not let anyone inside the home. More strictly after you were attacked."
"He is harmless. Isn't he?"
"Not everything is as nice as it seems."
Zaman now could see how stubborn these gaurds were that were employed by his father at his home. Moreover they did what his father had asked them to, his own opinion mattered nothing. But he was adamant to see the old man. After he stepped out the old man stood and re-wrapped the shawl around him over his shabby coat.
"It is so cold outside. Why are you sitting there uncle?"
"Zwiya my son is extremely sick. He needed some money for his medicines. Also doctors have given me this file. But i do not understand it. Doctors say if i don't haste in his treatment, i will loose him that i cannot. Please help me."
Under the street lamp that stood in between his parents and his house, he took the file. He asked him to come back the next day evening. He also gave a little money to him to take some food home.
The other day after discussing some files with Ibrahim, he went upto his apartment where in basement Junaid and Abkaram waited for him.
Abkaram spoke to him, "Zaman bhai you asked me to tell you about the uneducated people. Behind Naway Kalay bazaar, in the quarters where migrants Afghani, muhajir live. Most kids back in there are uneducated.
Why? Because they have to go to work with their fathers. Most of them goes to Khaar for work and return in evening. So with this studying is an improbability. Also the females mostly opt for working in the houses of owners of their quarters.
Even though most of them have moved back to their counry, Afghanistan. Some still stay here and won't go back. They say Pakistan is their country now. They have been living here for decades. Those who left were extremely overwhelmed and anguished but they had to since it was an order from government. And no citizen can stand government."
"And the land about which you talked", said Junaid, "has now been bought and cleared. There were many issues with that piece of land and some gunday were claiming it but things sorted out now!"
"Thanks Junaid!," Zaman spoke, "for keeping me out from all this. I was already so overwhelmed."
"Moreover we will build a school over this patch. To educate kids free of money." Zaman leaned back and continued, rubbing his hands against his face up and down. "Rate of literacy needs to be elevated. We somehow need to reduce child labour otherwise we are so doomed."
"That you are right about bhai. But for this, awareness should be raised among people."
"We will continue things from here next time. I have to reach a place in half an hour." He took the leave and gave the responsibility to both of them to raise the walls of school building as soon as possible for they had to welcome the students after the summer break.
He pulled out the car and drove to the hospital. There he asked the receptionist about Doctor Amarha who asked in return to wait in the waiting room. After somewhat 20 minutes, door creaked open and she was revealed behind it.
She wore a mask but her eyes held the samblance. He felt a sizzle in his being, a type of emotions stroked him that he had never felt. No!, he told himself.
She took a seat on the chair across and said her salam. "How are you?"
"Better than before."
She nodded. "You called me here. Is there anything you wanted to say?"
"Yeah." He rubbed his thumb against his thick eyebrow, "this file. I was handed this by an old man who said his son was terribly ill. It says," he proceeded the file to her, "he has some kidney issues. Probably a renal failure."
"So he might need a kidney transplant." She leafed through the file. Her slender fingers running over the lines, "he is been treated with dialysis but it won't work for long."
"Does the transplant happens here?"
"For this i will need to talk to a few doctors."
"How will i know your answer?"
There she stopped for a while. "You can give me your number. I will text and let you know."
"My heartfelt thanks."
"No need. That's my job."
He wrote his number on a card and handed it to her. It was then she left.
How lucky that old man been to him for he became the reason to see her once again. He slid into his car and brought the engine to life and soon was on his way back to home but that old man didn't show up on the time he had promised to.
Other day a text was dropped on his cell. 'Hello! Its Dr. Amarha. I talked to some friends and came up with the information that a private hospital in Islamabad can be helpful for the transplant.' She had written other important details about the transplant needed.
Following day the old man showed up outside his home and Zaman told them all the details. He informed them that he had already contacted the doctors. Zaman had collected some charities and some he added from his own pocket to make it possible for the young boy to live a normal life.