35.

Two months had passed since that fateful day, and the hospital had become a second home for everyone, a place where time felt suspended, and yet, every minute dragged on like an eternity. Ayub, Ayan, and Pari visited daily, but their presence barely registered with Feras.

He was a shell of the man he had once been, lost in a haze of monotony. His days had blurred together into a never-ending cycle of work, hospital visits, and silence. Each morning, he would drag himself to his work, his body moving automatically, a mere function of his former self. The work he once loved felt distant, irrelevant, a distraction from the chaos that raged inside him.

He hadn't stepped foot in his house once since Anam fell into her coma. The bungalow was a space filled with their shared routines, their laughter, and the warmth of their love... now felt like a hollow memory. His room seemed foreign now, stripped of their life and warmth. Every corner of the house echoed with the ghosts of happier times. Her laughter, her presence, her love... they were all gone, replaced by an unbearable emptiness that Feras could not escape, no matter how hard he tried.

His transformation was chilling. Feras, who had once been reserved but carried an air of quiet authority, now exuded an aura so icy that people instinctively avoided even looking in his direction.

His face, once strikingly handsome, was now gaunt and pale, its sharp features hardened into a perpetual mask of anger and despair. The man who had once been the pillar of strength for his family had become a shadow of himself, barely recognizable to those who had once known him well. His eyes, once full of determination and purpose, now held nothing but a cold, empty void.

But behind those steely eyes, there was something more... an ocean of sorrow, a tempest of guilt that churned endlessly beneath the surface. It was a pain so deep that it consumed him from the inside out. He hadn't been able to forgive himself, not for the hurt he had caused Anam, not for the pain he had inflicted by pushing her away. And the worst part was, he had no one to blame but himself. Every decision, every moment of doubt, every time he had pulled away... he could trace it all back to him. It had been his arrogance, his pride, his fear of letting her in, that had led them here. And now, as she lay unconscious, trapped in a world between life and death, he was left with nothing but the weight of his own mistakes.

Meri taqdeer ne mujhe apne aap se door kar diya,

Uska pyaar mere saath tha, magar mujh se jud nahi paaya,

Jab tak uski muskurahat thi, zindagi thi,

Ab uski khamoshi hai, aur mere paas sirf khali raaste hain.

Har pal, har din, har raat

Zindagi ka har pal, ek saza ban gaya hai,

Kehte hain waqt sab kuch theek kar deta hai, lekin yeh sach nahi hai...

Meri zindagi ki sabse badi galti yeh thi,

Ke jo cheez mere sabse zyada kareeb thi, wahi maine apne ap se door kar li.

(My destiny has driven me away from my own self

Her love was with me but it could never truly be mine

As long as her smile was there, life existed

Now there is only silence and empty roads before me)

(Every moment every day every night

Each second of life has become a punishment

They say time heals everything but that's not true)

(The biggest mistake of my life was this

That I pushed away the very thing that was closest to me)

.....

Ahmed, and Salman had returned from their business trip only to be greeted by a grim reality. While neither had ever been particularly fond of Anam, seeing their niece in the ICU, pale and unmoving, had struck a chord of unease in them.

Ayub was the first to approach them when they entered the waiting room. Her dupatta was tightly wrapped around her head, her expression a mix of relief and exhaustion. "Taya-abbu, Chachu..." she greeted softly, her voice trembling as she led them to sit down.

Ahmed's brow furrowed as he observed the tension in the room, his gaze darting to Ayan, who leaned against the wall, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a somber silence. Pari sat with her hands folded, uncharacteristically quiet.

"What happened?" Ahmed asked finally, his tone sharp.

Ayub hesitated, glancing at Ayan for support. He sighed and stepped forward. "It's Anam," he said, his voice low but steady. "She fell... an accident happened two months ago. She's in a coma."

The news hit Ahmed and Salman like a blow. Salman's mouth tightened into a grim line. "she fell? what happened?" he demanded.

Ayan hesitated, exchanging a glance with Ayub. Feras had strictly ordered everyone to keep Aman's involvement a secret... for now. "We're not sure yet," Ayan lied smoothly, though his fists clenched behind his back.

Ahmed's gaze darkened. "And where is Feras in all of this? Why isn't he here to explain?"

"He's with her," Pari interjected softly. "He's been at the hospital every day since it happened. He barely speaks to anyone anymore."

As if on cue, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, breaking the fragile silence. Everyone in the room turned their heads in unison. Feras appeared in the doorway, his towering figure framed by the harsh white light of the hospital hallway. He moved with an eerie stillness, his presence casting a shadow over the room.

He was dressed in the same black kurta he had been wearing for what felt like days... no fresh change of clothes, no attempt to care for himself. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his face unshaven, his jawline, once a finely trimmed stubble... now filled with an almost beard. His eyes, bloodshot and sunken, seemed to lack any spark of life. He looked every bit the ghost of the man he once was, a reflection of the devastation inside him.

Ahmed stood at the sight of him, his authoritative presence filling the room. His voice was firm, edged with concern. "Feras," he called out, his tone holding a mixture of reprimand and something deeper... an unspoken worry that gnawed at him. "Where have you been?"

Feras paused in the doorway, his body stiffening for just a moment as his eyes flickered to his father. It was a fleeting glance, just a brief flicker of recognition before he moved past Ahmed as though he didn't even exist. His face remained unreadable, cold, and distant. Without a word, he started to walk toward the ICU, his steps heavy and deliberate, as though he had already made up his mind to distance himself from everything and everyone.

"Feras!" Ahmed's voice cracked through the air, louder now, more insistent. The room seemed to hold its breath as all eyes turned to Ahmed, who now stood at the threshold of his son's retreat.

Feras paused, his back still to them, his broad shoulders tense. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he turned his head. His eyes, hollow yet burning with a depth of emotion so intense it could freeze fire, met Ahmed's. The room seemed to shrink around them as the tension escalated.

"Don't," Feras said quietly, his voice low but sharp, each syllable carrying an edge that was impossible to ignore. The words sliced through the room, silencing everyone in their path. It wasn't just a command... it was a plea, a warning, a barrier between him and the world.

Ahmed faltered, momentarily taken aback by the coldness in his son's voice. His heart sank at the sight of Feras... the son he had once trusted, admired, and been proud of... now so broken, so unreachable. Before he could find his words, Feras had already turned away again, walking toward the ICU doors with the same hollow, determined steps.

The room was still. Only the soft hum of the hospital machines filled the silence, as if the world outside had stopped turning, leaving them all trapped in a moment of unbearable tension.

.....

The routine of life continued, the days flowing by in a blur, and yet, nothing felt the same. It had been a month since Ahmed and Salman's arriver, and Feras's existence had become a monotonous cycle of hospital visits and cold, unfeeling work. The world outside had moved on, but for him, time had stopped. Each day dragged on like an eternity, and each moment was filled with the silence of his own guilt.

One morning, as Feras drove to the hospital, his mind was consumed by thoughts of Anam, of the mistakes he had made, and of the guilt that suffocated him. The radio played softly in the background, a fleeting distraction, until a familiar voice caught his attention.

The words Ayyam-e-Fatimiya echoed through the speakers, and for a brief moment, Feras was pulled from his thoughts. He had heard the term before, but never really understood its significance. All he knew was that Bibi Fatima was the daughter of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH), a revered figure in Islam, but beyond that, he knew little.

Curious, he turned up the volume, hoping to understand more. The voice on the radio began to narrate the story of the tragedy that had befallen Bibi Fatima (SA), and as the words unfolded, Feras felt an overwhelming wave of emotion hit him.

The voice explained the unbearable pain and injustice that Bibi Fatima (SA) had endured in the wake of her father's passing. After Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) had left this world, the beloved daughter of the Prophet was left to endure unimaginable suffering. In the midst of her grief, when she had just lost her father, Bibi Fatima (SA) was subjected to cruel treatment by those who had once been part of her family... those who were her father's friends.

She was attacked in her home by those who sought to claim power for themselves. The door of her house was forcefully slammed against her, causing her to fall, and in this violent act, she was crushed by the door. In that moment of indescribable pain, Bibi Fatima's ribs were broken, and she was severely injured. Despite her fragile condition, the injustice continued. The attackers did not stop there... they insulted her, humiliated her, and took away her right to defend her father's legacy. Her cries of agony went unheard, her pain ignored by those who had once sworn to uphold the values of justice and kindness.

Her injuries were grave, and despite her immense suffering, Bibi Fatima (SA) endured it with remarkable strength, her faith unwavering, but her body shattered. The pain she felt that day... the loss of her father, the loss of respect, and the physical agony... was something no one could ever truly understand. She was the daughter of the greatest, yet she was treated with cruelty and disrespect. The injustice she faced became a turning point in history, one that is still remembered by millions today.

As the story unfolded, Feras's heart sank. He could barely breathe, his mind reeling from the weight of what he had just heard. He had been lost in his own guilt, consumed by his own failures, but now, as the tragedy of Bibi Fatima (SA) was laid bare before him, he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of humility. How could anyone, he thought, how could anyone stoop so low as to attack the daughter of the Prophet (PBUH)? He, a sinner, thought of himself as one of the worst, yet the atrocities he had just heard about made even his own darkest thoughts seem insignificant in comparison.

Tears welled in his eyes as the pain and sorrow of that historical tragedy began to settle in his heart. He parked his car and sat there for a moment, lost in thought, unable to move. His hands trembled as the weight of it all pressed down on him. He was a sinner, a man who had made countless mistakes, who had turned away from those he loved, and had hurt the one person who mattered most... Anam. But after hearing the story of Bibi Fatima (SA), he found himself questioning everything. How could such cruelty be done? And yet, it had happened. The greatest injustice, the most unimaginable suffering, had been inflicted upon the Prophet's own daughter.

Through his tears, Feras's thoughts turned to Anam. His heart ached with a pain that was beyond words. She had been everything to him, and now, she lay in a coma, her life hanging by a thread. He thought of her smile, her laughter, the warmth of her presence.

In the midst of his grief, Feras remembered the words he had heard... how Bibi Fatima (SA) had endured so much. Her pain was a testament to her strength, to her unwavering trust in the Almighty. Feras, despite all his faults, he felt a flicker of hope hearing the next words on the radio. "Our Lady Fatima has served as a beloved Marian devotion of protection and hope for those suffering, offering comfort through times of uncertainty. As we observe the Feast of Our Lady of Fatima, you can find peace in reflecting upon the Guidance of the Blessed Mother."

He could also seek redemption through her help, right?

With his heart heavy and his hands trembling, Feras formed his palms together in prayer. He looked up at the sky through the car window, his voice breaking as he spoke to Allah (SWT). "Ya Allah," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I am a sinner, and I know I do not deserve Your mercy, but I ask You, through the waasta of Bibi Fatima (SA) and the broken ribs she endured, please, grant Anam health. Bring her back to me. Give her the strength to heal. Ya Allah, do not let my mistakes define me. Please, hear my prayer."

Tears fell freely now as Feras wept, his heart laid bare before Allah. He had nothing left but his faith, and even that felt fragile in the face of all the suffering. But in that moment, with Bibi Fatima (SA) as his intercessor, he felt a glimmer of hope... hope that perhaps, his prayers would be answered.

He wiped his face, his resolve trembling but intact, and entered the hospital with heavy steps. The fluorescent lights and sterile smell hit him as they always did, but today, they felt sharper, more oppressive. He walked down the hallway, past nurses and doctors, until he reached her room.

The sight before him never grew easier. Anam lay still, her pale face framed by the sterile white sheets, her chest rising and falling gently with the help of the machines. She looked so fragile, as if even the slightest touch could shatter her.

Feras approached her slowly, his every step laden with the weight of his guilt and sorrow. He pulled up a chair beside her bed and sat down, his hand trembling as he reached out to take hers. Her hand was cold, lifeless.

He brought her hand to his lips, his tears falling onto her delicate fingers as he whispered words only she could hear.

"Woh din yaad hai jab tum muskarayi thi,

Zindagi ke har kone mein roshni si chaayi thi.

Meri har saans mein tumhara ehsaas bas gya tha,

Dil mein ek nayi umeed ka diya jal gya tha.

Aaj woh kona khaali hai, sirf khaamoshi hai,

Tumhare bina meri duniya adhoori hai, sirf tanhaai hai.

Meri saari khataon ki bas ek sazaa hai,

Tumhara door hona... jisne dil pe ek daagh chor diya hai.

Tumhare haath ko choota hoon, toot jaata hoon,

Tumhari aankhein na khulengi, yeh soch ke ghabra jata hoon.

Tumhare honthon ki muskaan ka intezaar karta rehta hoon,

Tumhari har saans ka shukar har pal ada karta rehta hoon.

Tumhari rooh se kehta hoon, laut aa zindagi mein,

Tumhare bina mein adhoora hoon."

(The day you smiled... I still remember it

Light spread into every corner of my life.

Your essence settled in my every breath,

A flame of hope was lit within my heart.)

(Today, that corner stands empty, only silence remains,

Without you, my world is incomplete... only loneliness remains.

For all my mistakes, there is just one punishment,

Your absence...  which has left a scar on my heart.)

(Touching your hand I break inside,

The thought of your eyes never opening again terrifies me.

I wait for the return of your smile,

I am grateful for every breath you take.)

(I whisper to your soul... come back to me,

Without you, I am incomplete.)

The room was silent except for the rhythmic beeping of the machines, a monotonous reminder of the delicate line between hope and despair.

But then, like a whisper against the storm, he felt it... a faint twitch of her fingers. For a moment, he froze, his breath catching in his throat. His mind raced, convincing himself it was his imagination, a cruel trick of his grief-stricken heart.

But then it happened again. Her fingers moved, ever so slightly, like the first stirrings of life returning to a long-abandoned place.

Feras's head shot up, his tear-streaked face etched with shock. "Anam?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling. "Anam... can you hear me?"

Her hand shifted again, the motion weak but unmistakable. His heart pounded in his chest, a surge of emotions... relief, disbelief, and overwhelming hope... flooding through him.

Without wasting another second, Feras wiped his face hastily, his trembling hands releasing hers as he bolted toward the door. "Doctor!" he shouted, his voice echoing down the sterile hallway.

A/N: Look, I know... other writers might have dragged this coma part out for 1, 5, or maybe even 10 years, but honestly, I just couldn't bear to separate them for that long. I mean, Feras is already drowning in his own grief, and Anam's been through enough already...

One of the well-known quotes that reflects the significance of invoking the wasta (intercession) of Bibi Fatima (SA) to resolve problems comes from Imam Ali (AS). He said:

"By the right of Fatima, the beloved daughter of the Prophet (PBUH), we ask Allah to grant us our needs. She is the intercessor of the oppressed, and through her we seek Allah's mercy and blessings."