Does she care? A short story.
Murtasim paced around his room. He was thinking about what Haya had said.
Did Meerab really hate him that much?
He understood that he had been harsh with her so many times, but for her to not even care one bit after his accident left his heart with an ache he couldn’t describe.
He knew what Meerab thought of him.
The words she said when she told him she could never love him still stung in his ears.
He walked over to the small folder and opened the page of conditions where he had signed his life away. The torture of looking at his wife and not being allowed to love her in the way he wanted to, was getting more and more painful to bear.
And now it seems she had left him when he wanted her, no, when he needed her beside him more than ever.
He sat in his chair and gripping the hard leather tightly, he could feel the heat from the tears rising in his eyes. He looked up towards his Lord and finally let his tears mourn his broken heart.
Everyone in the house seemed cautious to talk to him he understood that they were worried about him so they had given him his space.
Only Haya had kept coming into his room trying to offer him food and drink which he continuously rejected. She was the last person he wanted to see. The one whose face he sought, he could only find in his dreams.
The day of removing his plaster cast from his broken arm had arrived and he insisted that he would go to the hospital by himself. Even when Maa Begum had begged to go with him he politely declined and said he was well enough to do things for himself.
As he entered the clinical room the doctor looked at him and asked with a quizzical look where his wife was? Murtasim was surprised. Why would he be asking about Meerab? He frowned at him until the doctor spoke again.
The doctor explained how Meerab had been waiting for him the night that he was brought into the ICU.
She was exhausted and in pain from her own bruises and sores but she had declined food and drink and rest until she knew he was out of danger.
He was listening intently as the doctor described that she was tearful and relieved when she found that he was over the worst.
She has spent the whole night awake worrying about him forsaking her own comforts. She had want to come into the room and see him on numerous occasions but wasn’t allowed.
She had pleaded with the doctors just to let her see him once even for a moment but was persistently declined.
He heard how she wanted to see him as he regained consciousness and was told he had called out her name but again she wasn’t allowed to enter the room, so with eyes hot and red through crying, she was taken away by her father.
He couldn’t believe what the doctor was saying. Murtasim stared at him with open eyes. Why didn’t anyone of his family tell him about this? Why was this the first time he was hearing about it?
Suddenly a glimmer of hope fluttered in his heart. Like a small plant just beginning to grow. Fragile. Delicate. But nonetheless with roots strong enough to hold it steady.
A thought. A feeling. A hope. A realisation that Meerab cared for him. That her eyes were red and warm with tears only for him.
Does this mean that she cared for him? He began to think the unthinkable. Did this mean she could possibly love him?
As his plaster cast was finally off and the bandage removed on his forehead, a small smile began to form on his face and his heart started to beat again to the rhythm of her name. Meerab. Meerab. Meerab.
It might not mean she had begun to love him as he loved her. But it was enough for him. For now he had reason to hope once again.
He looked up at the doctor, shook his hand strongly, and thanked him reverently. The doctor wished him and his wife well and smiled back, telling him that he was very lucky to have such a caring loving wife.
Murtasim smiled back at him, and this time the smile reached his eyes and twinkled.
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