37.

The quiet of the night weighed heavily on Feras as he drove back to the hospital, his heart restless and filled with worry. His mind replayed Anam's heartbreaking plea to see her parents, the tears that had streamed down her face when she'd asked for them. The pain of losing them was still so fresh, and Feras couldn't bear the thought of her enduring it alone.

He hadn't told anyone he was leaving... he didn't need to. He couldn't stand the thought of waiting another day to see her. He needed to be there, to comfort her, to reassure her, even if he wasn't sure how to begin to fix the damage.

As he entered the hospital, the long corridors seemed even more suffocating. When he reached her room, Feras paused for a moment, trying to steady his nerves. The last time he had been here, she had been unresponsive, her body pale and lifeless. He wasn't sure what to expect now.

The door creaked open, and he stepped inside. The sight of her hit him like a punch to the gut. Anam was sitting on the edge of the bed, her face pale and drawn, her eyes swollen from crying, it made his heart ache.

Her eyes met his as he entered, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

"I want to see Ammi and Abbu," Anam said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, but the words cut through him like a blade. She was asking for her parents again, and Feras knew how badly the loss was tearing her apart.

Feras couldn't bear to see her in pain like this. He crossed the room quickly, moving towards her with a sense of urgency he didn't understand. Without thinking, he pulled her into his arms, holding her close. The moment their bodies touched, Feras felt something break inside him.

"They're in a better place," he whispered into her hair, his voice rough with emotion. "It's okay, Anam. Everything will be okay." But even as he said the words, he couldn't help but feel the weight of his own helplessness. How could he fix this for her? How could he take away her pain?

Anam's sobs shook her body, her arms wrapping around him tightly as if she was clinging to him for support. Feras felt his heart tighten painfully at the sound of her grief, her sadness almost too much for him to bear. He tightened his grip on her, trying to offer what little comfort he could.

"I want to see their Qabar," Anam said, her voice trembling, desperation creeping in as she clung to him.

Feras pulled back slightly, his hands resting on her shoulders. He could feel her pain in every word, but he knew she couldn't go now. "I'll take you there, Anam. As soon as you're better, I'll take you."

She nodded, but then something shifted in her. She hugged him even tighter, burying her face in his chest as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Feras held her, feeling her sorrow seep into his own bones.

"Qyun mujhe itna dard pohncha rahi ho, Anam?" he asked, his voice rough as he pulled back to look at her, his hands cupping her face gently. His heart ached as he looked into her eyes, filled with tears. "Tumhare yeh ansu mere dil ko teer ki tarah cheerte jaa rahein hai..." (Why are you hurting me so much, Anam?) (Your tears are piercing through my heart like arrows.)

The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and he didn't regret them. He needed her to know... he needed her to understand the depth of what she was doing to him, even as she suffered herself.

For a moment, Anam just stared at him, her breath hitching in her throat. Then, with a hesitant smile, she tilted her head, her eyes flickering with a mischievous spark despite her tears.

"Mujhe pata nahi tha ap itne romantic hain, Feras Bhai," she teased, her voice light despite the heaviness in the room. "Hamari shadi ke baad, yeh changing hoyi hai?" (I didn't know you were this romantic, Feras Bhai.) (Has this change happened after our marriage?)

Feras stared at her for a beat, completely thrown off guard by her words. It was as if her teasing had turned the moment upside down, a small ray of light breaking through the darkness. Despite the sadness that still clung to them, a small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, and the usual coolness that defined him began to reassert itself. But there was something softer in him now, something that he didn't allow anyone to see... until now.

"Pehela number toh yeh, ke 'bhai' bulana bandh karo," he said, his voice smooth but with an edge of command. "Tumhara shohar hun mai," he added with a raised brow, his tone teasing but filled with that dominant force that she knew so well. (First of all, stop calling me 'bhai.' I am your husband)

Anam's cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, and she looked away, her gaze dropping to the bed in embarrassment. She was still the shy Anam he remembered.

"Aur dusra number, meri shy Anam kahan chal gayi thi?" he pressed, leaning in just a little closer. "Ab mujhe yaad aya tum kitni bold hoti thi pehle." (And secondly, where did my shy Anam go?) (Now I remember how bold you used to be before.)

Anam's eyes flickered up to meet his again, a shy smile tugging at her lips, and Feras felt his chest tighten. This wasn't the same girl he'd seen just hours ago, broken and lost. This was his Anam... the one who had the strength to bring light even in the darkest of times.

Feras found himself smiling for the first time in months, the weight of the world easing off his shoulders.

Anam's fingers toyed with the edge of the blanket, her eyes shifting between his face and her hands. The sorrow in her gaze was unmistakable, but there was a flicker of curiosity too, a need to piece together the fragments of her life. She hesitated before finally speaking, her voice soft and uncertain.

"Feras... mere parents ke baad... meri zindagi kaisi hogyi thi?" Her eyes brimmed with tears again, but she held them back, trying to stay strong. (Feras... after my parents... what was my life like?)

Feras leaned against the side of her bed, his jaw tightening slightly. He hated that she had to relive this pain, but he also knew she deserved the truth. "Chachu aur Chachi ke baad," he began carefully, "Tum aur Ayub gaon shift ho gayi thi. Hamare family bungalow mein." (After the passing of aunty and uncle, You and Ayub had shifted to the village. To our family bungalow.)

Anam blinked, processing his words. "Sheher ka ghar chor diya thi?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with disbelief. (leaving the city house behind?)

He nodded, watching her face closely. "Haan." (Yes)

She fell silent, chewing on her lip as she tried to digest everything. Then, as if another thought had struck her, she tilted her head and looked at him. "Aur school? Meri... meri umar kitni hai ab?" (And what about school? W-what's my age now?)

Feras's lips curved into a faint smile at her innocent question. "Tum abhi 22 saal ki ho," he replied gently. "University mein ho tum. Management Sciences parh rahi ho." (You're 22 years old now, studying at the university. You're pursuing Management Sciences.)

Her eyes widened, and she almost choked on her next words. "Main 22 ki hoon? Mujhe toh lagta tha main abhi maximum 18 ya 19 ki hoongi!" (I'm 22? I thought I was still at most 18 or 19!)

Feras smiled softly.

Anam's mind raced. She was 22? In university? Everything felt surreal. "Aur university?" she asked hesitantly, her fingers clutching the blanket tightly. "Main kya karungi ab? Mujhe to kuch yaad nahi hai! Ab Kya hoga mera?" (What will I do? I don't remember anything! What will happen to me now?)

Feras reached out and placed his hand over hers, his touch steadying her. "Anam, tumhe tension lene ki zarurat nahi hai," he said firmly. "Main hoon na tumhare saath. Mai tumhari har step par madad karunga." (Anam, you don't need to worry. I am here with you. I will help you at every step.)

Her eyes softened, but the worry didn't completely fade. "Mai 22 ki hun, iska matlab Yeh mera final year hoga na, right?" she asked tentatively, her voice barely above a whisper. (I am 22, which means this must be my final year, right?)

Feras hesitated for a moment before answering honestly. "Tumhe semester repeat karna padega," he said gently, watching her reaction closely. "Lekin aise hi theek hai. Tab tak shayad tumhari yadash bhi wapis aa jayeghi." (You'll have to repeat the semester, but it's okay. By then, maybe your memory will come back too.)

She frowned, her lips pursing in frustration. "Wapis karna padega semester?" she mumbled, more to herself than to him. (Repeat the semester?)

He leaned in closer, his gaze locking with hers. "Anam, fikr mat karo," he said, his tone firm but reassuring. "Main tumhare saath hoon." (Anam, don't worry. I'm going to be there for you)

Anam blinked up at him, her worry easing slightly at his calm reassurance. A small, mischievous smile crept onto her lips. "Mujhe toh lagta tha aap sirf strict aur akru hain," she teased lightly, tilting her head. "Par aap toh kaafi sweet bhi nikle, Feras Bhai." (I used to think you were just strict and cold. But turns out, you're quite sweet too, Feras Bhai.)

His eyes narrowed at the word "bhai," and he straightened, his expression turning stern. "Maine tumse kaha tha na, yeh 'bhai' bulana bandh karo," he said firmly, his voice carrying that familiar commanding edge. "Main tumhara shohar hoon. Tumhe har baar yaad dilana padega kya?" (I told you, stop calling me 'bhai'.) (I'm your husband. Do I have to remind you every single time?)

She bit her lip to stifle a giggle, her cheeks turning a soft pink. "Achha, achha," she said, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Feras... bas Feras keh doon?" (Okay, Okay fine. Feras... should I call you just Feras?)

"Bas Feras," he replied with a curt nod, though his lips quirked up in a smile. (Just Feras)

Her playful demeanor softened, and she looked at him with a mix of gratitude and shyness. "Aap sach mein mere saath rahenge, na?" she asked quietly, her voice laced with vulnerability. (You'll really stay with me, right?)

Feras reached out and gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "Hamesha," he said simply, the single word carrying all the weight of his unspoken promises. (Hamesha)

Her heart skipped a beat, her earlier worries momentarily forgotten. Despite the chaos in her mind and the uncertainty of her future, in that moment, Anam felt an unfamiliar warmth settle in her chest.

And as she sat there, her fingers unconsciously fiddling with the edge of her blanket, she couldn't help but smile at the man who was both a mystery and her rock in the storm. "Aap toh kaafi romantic hain," she murmured, her cheeks flushing pink again. (You're quiet romantic)

"Kitni bold ho gayi ho tum, Anam," Feras said, shaking his head slightly but unable to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. "Tumhe theek karna padega, Anam." (You've become so bold, Anam. I'll have to fix you, Anam.)

She grinned, her eyes sparkling with newfound mischief. "Toh ab, meri training bhi karenge ap, Mr. Feras?" (Are you going to train me now, Mr. Feras?)

"Bilkul," he replied smoothly, leaning forward slightly. "Aur pehle lesson ke liye—yeh teasing band karo." (Absolutely... And for the first lesson... stop the teasing.)

Anam giggled.

Anam pouted slightly, but it was playful. "I'm not in the mood to rest, Feras. How about we go for a walk? Maybe I'll get some fresh air and feel better—then I can handle all the pampering you're about to shower me with," she said, her tone dramatic, as if she were an actress on a stage, playing the role of the poor, helpless woman.

Feras chuckled softly, but the warmth in his eyes remained. Feras raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in amusement. "Pampered? You're already getting pampered, Anam. You're in the hospital," he said, his tone teasing.

He could see she was no longer the calm and shy Anam. This Anam was free from the burden of her memories... at least for now... and it seemed to have unlocked a part of her that was bold, unafraid.

"I don't think walking around is a good idea right now, Anam," Feras said, his voice deep and authoritative, though there was a hint of tenderness underneath. "You need rest, not a stroll. You've only just woken up. Besides, I don't trust you to be running around on your own."

Anam gave him a mischievous smile, the glint in her eyes showing just how much she enjoyed testing his limits. "Running around? Who said anything about running around?" she teased. "I just wanted to take a nice, slow stroll with my—" she paused, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow, "—'bhai.'"

"Stop," Feras interrupted, his voice suddenly stern. His brows furrowed, and he leaned in slightly, his gaze locking with hers. "Woh 'bhai' ka lafz tumhari zubaan se phir kabhi nhi nikalna chahiye. Samjhi?" (That word 'bhai' should never come out of your mouth again. Understood?)

Anam blinked, startled by the abrupt change in his tone. She bit her lip to suppress a smile.

Anam smirked mischievously, tilting her head to the side. "Acha, Feras Sahab?" she teased again.

Feras's lips twitched, caught between amusement and exasperation. "Zyada udne ki zarurat nahi hai." (No need to fly too high.)

Anam stuck her tongue out playfully, making Feras roll his eyes. Despite everything... the pain, the confusion, and the uncertainty... there was something about this moment that felt light. It felt like a beginning, even in the middle of so much chaos.

.....

Feras glanced at the clock hanging on the wall... it was 3 AM. He blinked, surprised. He hadn't realized how much time had passed. Sitting there, talking to Anam, had made the hours blur. It was a rare moment of peace. For the first time in months, he felt alive.

He shifted in his chair, preparing to stand. But as soon as he did, he felt a small, soft hand wrap around his wrist. He looked down to see Anam staring up at him, her wide, expressive eyes filled with a mix of fear and vulnerability.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly, as though afraid he might disappear. "Please... don't leave me alone."

Feras's heart clenched at her plea. He sat back down momentarily, his other hand gently reaching for her cheek, and gave her a small reassuring squeeze. "I'm not leaving, Anam," he said softly. "I'm just going to the bathroom to do ablution for Tahajjud."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Aap bhi Tahajjud parhte hain?" she exclaimed, her tone a mixture of awe and curiosity. (Do you also pray Tahajjud?)

Feras couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Haan," he replied, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "Abhi kuch hi haftoon se." he admitted, his tone low and quiet. (Yes, from a few weeks now)

Unbeknownst to her, the reason behind this newfound habit was sitting right in front of him.

She had always been his guiding light, even when he had failed to acknowledge it.

Anam's face lit up with excitement. "Main bhi! Main bhi... Maine bhi kuch mahinu se Tahajjud parhna shuru kiya hai!" she said, her voice filled with childlike enthusiasm. (Me too! Me too... I've also started praying Tahajjud for a few months now!)

Feras chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Haan, mujhe pata hai," . He hadn't missed the glow in her eyes or the peace in her voice when she had talked about her prayers in the past. (Yes, yes, I know)

Her eyes brightened at his response, and suddenly she tried to sit up. "Main bhi parhun gi... Aap ke saath." (I also want to pray... with you)

Feras's smile disappeared the moment she moved too quickly. "Anam, stop!" he said sharply.

Feras quickly moved closer as she attempted to push herself upright, but her face paled, and she swayed unsteadily. Before she could fall, his strong arms caught her, pulling her back against the pillows with ease.

"Anam!" he scolded, his voice sharp with concern. "Main ne kaha tha na. Tumhe bed se uthna mana hai! Tumhari tabiyat abhi theek nahi hai." (I told you, right? You shouldn't get out of bed. You're still not well.)

Anam glared at him, her lips forming into an adorable pout as she crossed her arms. "I want to pray with you," she insisted stubbornly, like a child who had just been told she couldn't have her favorite candy.

Feras let out a small sigh, shaking his head as he crouched down to her level. His intense gaze softened as he cupped her cheek gently, tilting her face toward his. "Not yet," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "When you're better, we'll pray together. Every night. But right now, you need to rest."

She blinked up at him, her pout deepening, but the stubborn glint in her eyes faded as his words sank in. "Promise?" she asked, her voice smaller now, laced with a vulnerability that tugged at his heart.

He couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at his lips again. "I promise," he said, his tone full of conviction.

Her lips twitched into a small smile, though she still looked slightly sulky. "Fine," she said grudgingly, sinking back into her pillows. But as she gazed at him, her eyes softened. "You better keep that promise."

Feras straightened up, his expression unreadable, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "I always keep my promises," he replied coolly, his voice carrying a note of finality.

As she nodded at him, there was an innocence in her movements, almost childlike in its simplicity. Feras couldn't help but stare at her for a moment longer, a surge of adoration swelling in his chest.

How had he managed to live all these months without her light in his life?

"Shabash," he murmured under his breath, and her eyes snapped to his, widening slightly at his words. She turned a deep shade of red, her cheeks puffing as she looked away. (Good girl)

Feras chuckled softly at her reaction and ran a hand through his hair. "Rest now, Anam. I'll be back after I pray," he said, stepping back toward the bathroom.

As he turned away, he heard her whisper, "You're so bossy."

He stopped mid-step, glancing back at her with a raised brow. "It's called taking care of you," he retorted, his voice a mix of teasing and dominance. "Get used to it."

She stuck her tongue out at him playfully, and despite himself, Feras found himself chuckling as he walked away.

A/N: If you spot any mistakes or feel like you're experiencing déjà vu, just pretend it's my way of keeping things interesting—and forgive me anyway!

The author is currently under the weather and powered entirely by ice coffee—day and especially night. In hindsight, it seems the ice coffee-powered survival strategy may have been the culprit all along.  (ಥ _ ಥ)