*
"Are you the patient's husband?," the doctor said, eyeing Adnan warily.
"No," he replied with a solemn look in his eyes. "I'm her brother in-law."
"That would be me," Ibrahim stepped forward, his eyes dark and withdrawn. Afrah glanced up at him through her tears, noting how unhinged he appeared.
"Please come with me," she said, directing him towards the hallway behind her. "Her family can join us as well."
Amir was the first to shoot out of his seat, striding towards the hallway right behind Ibrahim.
"Go ahead," Adnan said, turning to face Afrah. He took her hand in his, giving it a quick squeeze when he saw the tears. He hadn't intended for her to show up here, but she refused to be left behind while the rest of her family came to the hospital.
Afrah turned to look at him, her eyes void of any emotion but grief. He hated seeing her like this, and he desperately wanted to make her smile again. He wished he could do something, and the helplessness dug into his soul, clawing at his heart painfully.
He watched as she stood silently, heading towards the hallway with her parents beside her. Afrah's mother wrapped her arms around her shoulder, and Adnan guessed she did it to comfort both of them rather than just Afrah.
Sighing, he leaned back against the wall. He was sitting in the waiting room, his feet sprawled out before him. Nafisa sat across from him, talking quietly with their mother. Beside them was aunt Safiya, and a daughter of hers who he didn't know. Most of Afrah's aunts littered the remainder of the room, looking disheveled and out of place.
Adnan felt exhausted, the events of the evening playing out in his mind in slow motion. This time however, it wasn't Amina he saw lying on the floor. It was Afrah.
Who could be so cruel and heartless as to do that to someone? A pregnant woman at that. He shuddered to think about what the family must be going through right now.
What if it had been Afrah?
He couldn't bring himself to imagine what he would have done then. He remembered the madness which seized him as he helped to lift Amina into the back of his car. He remembered the seconds which felt like an eternity as he desperately searched for a pulse in her wrist, and the painful relief which lasted only a split second as he felt her blood pulsing weakly through her veins. He remembered the way Ibrahim had rushed to his side with a terrified expression in his eyes, reaching for her with his hands trembling.
Mostly however, he remembered the look on Afrah's face when she saw her sister in that state. He remembered her scream, and the image haunted him even now.
Nafisa came to sit beside him, her eyes stained with tears.
"Hey," she whispered, "are you okay?"
Adnan sighed, staring down at his hands.
"I'm fine," he said, in a tone which scream the exact opposite.
"You did a good thing, Adnan," she said. "If you hadn't rushed her here..."
"What was the point?" he asked. "I did what I was supposed to do. So why do I still feel empty?"
"Don't beat yourself up over it," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Afrah is in shock. That's why she's acting this way. Give her time."
"What if..."
No.
He couldn't bring himself to voice his fear.
"It wasn't her, Adnan," she said. "You should try to relax. Even if it had been, you would still have rushed her here, wouldn't you?"
"In a heartbeat," he replied fiercely.
Nafisa sighed as she leaned against him, holding back her tears. Adnan sighed as well, staring off into space. He had no idea how long they sat like that, until they finally heard footsteps from the hall. He looked up sharply, and saw Afrah sobbing into her mother's shoulder. The latter was staring blankly as she walked, holding Afrah abesntmindedly. Behind them came uncle Aminu, with Amir beside him while he stared at the floor.
Adnan was out of his seat in a flash. He searched their faces for answers; answers which he both dreaded and needed to hear at the same time.
The moment Afrah's eyes met his, she released her mother and rushed to his side, allowing him to wrap his arms around her.
"Hey, it's okay," he whispered, inhaling sharply as she buried her face in his chest. "It's okay. I'm here. Everything will be fine."
She said nothing, the only sound coming from her being her erratic sobs.
Adnan stared up at his uncle's face, who looked as terrified as Afrah.
"She's alive," he said. "The doctor says she's stable."
"Alhamdulillah," he heard his mother say behind him. Relief washed over him instantly, and he allowed himself to breath finally. But something didn't feel right. He felt Afrah tense up in his arms, and he knew that it wasn't over.
"She... She lost the baby," uncle Aminu said hastily, as though he were eager to get the words out of his mouth.
A hollow feeling settled in Adnan's chest. He gripped Afrah tighter, afraid of letting her go. He heard the women behind him break out into hysterical sobs, but he paid no attention to them. All he could focus on was Afrah, and the way she trembled in his arms.
"Hey," he whispered, "it's okay. It's okay. She's alive. That's the most important part. Stop crying, Afrah. Everything will be okay."
But even he didn't believe himself as the words came out of his mouth. How could anything be okay? An innocent child was dead. Gone before it ever got to see the light of day. Bile rose to Adnan's throat.
"You should take Afrah home," his uncle said. "Ibrahim and her mother will stay here to watch over Amina. The doctor says she'll need time before she can see anyone."
"I understand," Adnan said, pulling away slightly. "Afrah? Are you okay?"
She shook her head, hiccuping as he wiped the tears from her eyes.
"Let's go home," he said.
Like a child, Afrah allowed him to lead her to his car. She didn't even turn to say goodbye to her mother. The moment Adnan opened the door for her, she hopped inside, still shaking from her tears.
"Adnan," his uncle stopped him before he walked around the car. Adnan took a step forward, keeping a wary eye on Afrah.
"I don't want anyone hearing about this," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper before glancing about to make sure they were truly alone. "The doctor says it was poison."
"Poison?" Adnan's eyes widened in shock.
"They found traces of it in her drink," he continued. "And you can be damn sure it didn't end up there by accident. We've notified the police, and an investigation will be carried out. We don't want the news to get out, so the culprit won't know that we're onto them. Keep your eyes on Afrah, and make sure she is safe."
"Always," Adnan replied, his blood beginning to boil. "Don't worry about her. I'll protect her."
"I can't thank you enough, Adnan," he sighed, rubbing his hands over his eyes. "If you hadn't reacted quickly..."
"There's no need to thank me, uncle," Adnan said. "Amina is like a sister to me. I would have done the same if it were my own sister."
"She is your sister now, Adnan," he pointed out. "Don't forget that."
"Of course."
"Take care of her, will you?" he gestured to Afrah who was still in the car, staring straight ahead.
"I will," Adnan replied. "Insha Allah."
*
The night had gone on too long. Zainab stumbled into the house loudly, exhausted but fully satisfied with herself. Groping along the wall, she flicked the lights on.
The house felt eerily silent, but she shrugged off the feeling. There was no one here except her.
Sighing, she threw her bag onto the couch and headed to the kitchen. Her throat felt dry, and she desperately needed to find her bed.
'You haven't prayed Isha yet,' a voice which sounded oddly like her mother's echoed in her head. She laughed, grabbing a pack of orange juice from the fridge. The sound of her laughter was strange, even to her own ears.
She returned to the living room, dropping into the couch beside her bag. The juice felt cold as it trickled down her throat. She closed her eyes relishing the taste.
When she set the empty carton down on the center table, her eyes were filled with tears.
"Ridiculous," she muttered, wiping them away hastily. A fresh wave returned, and this time she let them cascade down her cheeks.
Reaching for her bag, she pushed the gun aside, pulling out the little frame she always kept in there.
Three people stared up at her, identical smiles on their faces. Zainab felt a pang in her chest at the sight of them. The picture was engraved in her memory, but she took it with her everywhere she went. She remembered the day clearly, the sights and smells returning to her in a rush.
Her mother smiled up at her, her sunglasses perched up in her hair. She was grinning wildly, the wind blowing her hair across her face. Zainab remembered the feel of the navy blue shirt she was wearing, and even the scent of her perfume.
Her father was beside her, his grin slightly subdued, but still wide enough to stretch from ear to ear. His own sunglasses were hung on the collar of his shirt, a loose grey tank top. Zainab remembered he had been wearing denim shorts that day, even though the picture didn't show that.
She smiled at the little girl between them, her arms thrown over their shoulders while she dangled between them. She couldn't have been older than nine, but she looked younger than that with a goofy smile on her face. She was wearing a loose fitting white blouse, with her tiny sunglasses dangling from the collar just like her dads'.
They looked so happy. Zainab's heart ached at the memory. She would have given anything to return to that day, innocent, wild and free. She remembered the heat of the sun on her back, and the feel of the sand between her toes. It was her first time at the beach, and she remembered the vastness of the ocean the first time she'd laid sight on it. Her father had placed her on his shoulder, allowing her to take the great body of water in all its glory.
"See the way the horizon seems to curve downward," he had traced the path with his hand, tugging at her tiny legs. "That is proof that the earth is actually round. The curvature follows the shape of the planet."
Zainab didn't understand everything he said, but she had nodded like she did.
"When I was your age, my father told me that the earth is flat," he had said, his voice sounding far away. "He told me that the earth is surrounded by four walls, and that China was the closest country to the wall. He didn't know what he was talking about."
Zainab felt a tear dropping from her eye. It landed on the man's face, and she quickly wiped it away. She missed him. She missed both of them.
The sound of the door opening startled her. She swirled around, stuffing the picture back into her bag.
Yusuf stumbled into the living room moments later, groaning as he massaged his neck. He stopped when he saw her sitting there, his eyes narrowed.
"You're back," he said.
Zainab merely nodded.
"And where are they?"
"Still at the dinner," she said. "There was a little... incident."
"What sort of incident?" he frowned. "On second thought, don't bother. I don't really care."
He took a step toward the stairs, but he paused again. "Have you eaten?" he asked.
Zainab shook her head.
"Come," he said, heading for the kitchen instead.
Minutes later, he had set a pot on the fire, half-filling it with water. Zainab leaned against the counter as she watched him pulling out three noodles from the drawer above him, busying himself as he took out some peppers from the freezer and a small onion from the store.
"Let me do it," she said.
"Don't bother," he sighed, grabbing a knife.
A small smile played at her lips as she watched him cutting the peppers and onion, while simultaneously checking the water. Neither said a word, while Yusuf prepared the food. A warm feeling spread through her as she watched him, humming silently to himself as he worked.
When he finished, she silently reached for two plates and handed them to him. Yusuf smiled weakly at her as he poured the cooked noodles for both of them, while she grabbed their forks.
She carried her plate to the dining table when he finished, while Yusuf followed behind her.
"Aren't you going to eat with me?" she asked when he passed her, heading for the stairs once again.
Yusuf paused in front of her, his plate of noodles in one hand. With the other, he reached over and caressed her cheek fondly, smiling to himself. "Not today," he said. "I'm too tired for that."
He walked away, leaving Zainab to her food. "Good night," he called from the stairs.
"Good night," she replied, reaching for her fork.
It truly was a good night.
*