Taabindagi (Sequel Of Sharar)

Twenty-Three

Ayla exchanged a glance with Arsalan, who simply shrugged. Left with no choice, she relented, though unease gnawed at her. She wasn’t sure how Azrin would handle the tense atmosphere at the hospital.

But as soon as they arrived, Azrin quietly sat beside Ayat, holding her hand. She didn’t say a word—what words could possibly bring comfort in such a moment? But she stayed close, a silent presence. She knew the agony of losing a child. She prayed Ayat would never have to experience that pain.

“Hanan, dil nahi hai phir bhi thora sa kuch kha lo warna aap beemar ho jayenge.” Ayla urged gently. Hanan had neither eaten nor taken a sip of water since yesterday.

(Hanan, I know you don’t feel like eating, but at least have a few bites. Otherwise you'll get weak.)

“Hum jante hain yeh sahi waqt nahi hai kehne ka, par apni nahi toh Ayat ki halat dekhein.” She continued.

(This might not be the right time to say it, but look at Ayat. If not for yourself, at least think about her.)

Hanan turned to glance at Ayat, who sat on another bench with Azrin. Her pale face and weary posture made it clear—she was on the verge of breaking down completely. Since yesterday, neither of them had thought about anything—not even each other. Their entire world had shrunk down to their son.

Taking a deep breath, Hanan steadied himself and walked over to her.

“Ayat, chalo, uhto, kuch kha lo.” He said softly, taking her hand in his. His voice was hoarse, heavy with exhaustion and grief.

(Ayat, come on. You need to eat something.)

“Hanan, Shah...” Ayat’s lips trembled, and tears threatened to spill again, but before they could fall, Hanan stopped her.

“Theek ho jayega.” he reassured her, wiping her tears away. “Tum apni toh halat dekho kya bana li hai.”

(He’ll be fine.)

(Look at yourself.)

He cupped her face, his touch warm despite the cold fear in his heart. “Dekho, main badi se badi musibat aur takleef bardasht kar sakta hoon par tumhare ansu nahi. Tum himmat rakhogi tabhi toh meri himmat banegi na.”

(Look, I can endure the worst of pains. But not your tears. If you stay strong, only then will I find my strength.)

Something in his words made Ayat pause. In her devastation, she had forgotten that Shahnan was Hanan’s son too. While she had been crying, letting out her pain, Hanan hadn’t shed a single tear. He had kept it all inside.

Drawing in a shaky breath, she wiped her face, gripped his hand tightly and nodded.

Hand in hand, they walked toward the hospital canteen, and Azrin watched them go.

Men were like that, weren’t they? No matter how deep in grief, they still put their women first.

And yet, the man she had trusted, had believed in, abandoned her at the first test of hardship. He had loved her in times of joy, but when a storm had arrived, he left her to face it alone.

Azrin turned her gaze away from Ayat and Hanan, trying to compose herself. As she looked ahead, her eyes met Arsalan’s. He stood against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching her intently.

The moment their eyes met, he raised a brow in silent inquiry, asking if she was okay.

Azrin gave a small nod in response before quietly walking past him, heading toward Kaif.

•••

Shyra had sent Eifa to her room to rest, but rest was impossible when unease clawed at her heart. Instead, she performed ablution, spread out her prayer mat, and raised her hands in supplication—for Shahnan, for his life, for his recovery.