Ibrahim bent a little forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He shifted his body so he could look at Nayla properly, but Zainab was sitting right between them, blocking his view. Still, Ibrahim's eyes tried to find the little girl beyond her.
"I'm sure you must be carrying a lot inside your heart right now. And I won't ask you the usual question—are you alright—because I know that's not a fair thing to ask. No one can be completely alright when someone they love is lying in a hospital bed. To lose peace is natural, and pretending otherwise only makes it harder. What I will say is this—sometimes speaking what's inside makes the heart a little lighter. It doesn't have to be anything heavy or important. Even small words matter, because they tell us what the heart is carrying. So, if you don't mind, say something to me. Anything you want. I'll listen."
Then, turning his head slightly towards Zainab, he added with a faint smile, "Since your friend already introduced me as a cousin's friend, that must mean I'm a trusted one. She and I get along well, so you can be frank with me too."
Zainab quickly hid her smile. If she stayed any longer, she might laugh, and if she laughed, all her anger at her Ibi for coming late would melt away. She wasn't ready to forgive him yet—she still wanted to keep her pride and give him sharp taunts later. So, to escape the moment, she stood up and turned to Faisal, saying something about an important matter downstairs. Without waiting for a reply, she slipped her hand through his arm and walked out with him.
Nayla kept staring at Ibrahim, surprised by his words. What a well-spoken man, she thought. Slowly, she said, "I'm not just tense… I'm scared. I don't want to lose Mummy… and if Mummy also goes, then… what will I do alone in this world? I have so many dreams I want to fulfill… but sometimes, I feel they will break."
Her voice trailed off, and she murmured, "Why am I talking nonsense?"
Ibrahim placed his coat on the empty chair between them, "It's not nonsense. Go on. I have time to listen."
Nayla lowered her eyes, "You must think I am just an immature girl… talking too much."
Ibrahim shook his head gently. "No, I don't judge people. Everyone is different. Everyone thinks in their own way. That's what makes us human. Do one thing—imagine if today none of this happened, if it was a normal day like any other. What would you be doing right now?"
He wanted to take her mind away from any kind of worry,to make the child breathe a little lighter, even if only for a moment. And he succeeded. For the first time that day, a genuine smile touched Nayla's lips.
She thought for a while and then said softly, "Hmm… right now, I would probably be at the local market with Yusuf. Every evening he comes near my house, and for the last one month, since Mummy is not well, he has been going with me to buy groceries. We check which vegetables are fresh, which fruits look good, and we laugh when the shopkeepers try to fool us. Sometimes, on the way back, we buy corn from the street vendor. The smell is too tempting to say no. And if there's still a little money left after the groceries, then we treat ourselves to ice cream. But it's not always sure—sometimes we just come home with nothing extra. Still, it feels good… like a small adventure every evening."
Ibrahim nodded gently, "And who is this Yusuf? I might have heard the name from Zainab before, but I don't remember. I know some of her old school friends, but not the ones from her new school."
"He's our friend," Nayla replied quickly. "We are all close—me, Yusuf, Aqil, and Zainab. Today, Zainab invited all three of us for dinner at her house… but then Mummy collapsed all of a sudden, and everything changed."
Her eyes drifted toward the OT door, fear clouding her face again, "Mom will be fine… right?"
"She will be. You must have faith." Then, after a short pause, he added, "So… you were talking about Yusuf. If I guess right, you and he are not just friends. What people call it nowadays… love, isn't it?"
The color rushed to Nayla's fair cheeks, her whole face turning pink. She quickly snapped her head away from the OT door and toward him, her ponytail swinging with the sudden movement. Her eyes widened as she asked, "How… how did you know? I didn't tell you anything, except that we go out for groceries every evening!"
Ibrahim leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, "It's not really difficult to figure out. Boys your age usually don't care about groceries. Their world is different. They run after cricket balls in the field, play football for hours without feeling tired, argue endlessly about who scored more goals, or spend their evenings reading about how many cars Ronaldo owns. That's natural. That's youth. But then life changes. When a boy grows into a man, when he marries and has a home of his own, his focus shifts. Responsibilities come on his shoulders. He doesn't just play anymore—he thinks of his wife, his children, his family. Then he himself takes the duty of buying food, carrying bags. It becomes natural, because by then, he is living for others as well as for himself. But when a boy—still young, still in school—chooses to spend his evenings walking through the market, looking at prices, checking vegetables with such seriousness… that is not ordinary. A boy at this age has no duty to do that. And if he still does, then there must be a strong reason. That reason is not about duty. It is about heart. It is about who he wants to be with, who he wants to take care of, who he cannot leave alone even for simple things."
He gave the faintest smile, "That is how I guessed. Because only care, only attachment, only affection can make a teenage boy act like a grown man before his time. And when I see how you speak about Yusuf, it is clear—he goes because you are there. That is his reason."
She nodded slowly, her small hands folded in her lap,"I dream of a happy future sometimes… with Yusuf. He has some of the same qualities my father had. I know I'm still young, too little to be thinking so far ahead, but… what's the harm in dreaming? Dreams don't cost anything. And I believe when someone dreams with hope—pure, honest hope—maybe life listens, maybe those dreams come true."
"Dreams are good. They give people light to walk in. But you should also know—sometimes life doesn't care about our dreams. Sometimes things don't fall in place, no matter how much we hope. And when that happens, people have two choices: either they sit broken, waiting for something that will never come… or they stand up and force life to bend, even if it breaks them in the process. The world doesn't hand happiness easily. Most of the time, you have to claw it out, fight for it, bleed for it… and even then, sometimes it slips through your fingers. So if you really want that future you dream of, you should know—it won't come soft. You'll have to make it work, in your own way. And that… takes more than just hope."
Maybe for the third or fourth time that evening, Nayla found herself deeply impressed by Ibrahim's words. What a man he was—calm, sharp, speaking in a way that made her listen without even realizing how much time was passing. Their talk stretched on and on, until finally the doors of the OT opened and the surgeons came out.
The news was good—the operation was successful. Relief washed over Nayla, but along with it came a new storm. Like every family drama, she wanted to rush inside and see her mother, but the doctors told her she couldn't until the patient was shifted to another ward. That waiting was unbearable for her.
At first she tried to sit still, but suddenly tears burst from her eyes. She cried without warning, "I just want to see her… why can't I go?"
For Ibrahim, this was harder than any deal. Zainab never got this emotional with him, not even on her worst days. But Nayla—she cried out of nowhere, like a switch had been flipped. One moment she was quiet, the next she was sobbing like the whole world was unfair. How did he end up in this situation? He had only come here to check on Zainab, and now he was babysitting a girl who even cried while eating cake
Yes, because he had even gone to the cafeteria, bought pastries for her. But she was crying and eating at the same time. The sight almost made Ibrahim laugh and sigh at once. This girl is having dessert and heartbreak at the same time. Incredible. If Faisal or Zainab had been there, maybe it would've been easier. But no—they had both disappeared, leaving Ibrahim to handle this crying, stubborn girl all by himself.
He was pacing up and down the corridor, his phone in hand, ready to call Faisal back. Every few seconds, his eyes slid toward Nayla. She was calmer now, wiping her face with the white handkerchief he had given her. For a moment, Ibrahim thought maybe things would stay quiet for a while.
But then it happened. The doors of the OT burst open.
A nurse and two ward boys pushed out a bed, wheels rattling against the floor. Nayla bolted up, her slippers slapping against the tiles as she ran forward. "Mummy!"
Ibrahim followed her with his eyes. He had no interest in looking at the patient—until his gaze fell on the pale, unconscious face lying on that bed.
And in that instant, his whole world cracked. His vision blurred for a second. The phone slipped from his hand, hitting the floor with a sharp crack, but he didn't even bend to pick it up. His whole body froze as if someone had tied him to the floor.
The woman on that bed had bandages wrapped around her head, thick white cloth covering most of her skull. Her face was swollen, especially near the eyes, making her features look heavy and tired. Her skin had lost colour, pale like wax, with tubes running along her nose for oxygen. The doctors had worked on her brain, and every mark of pain was visible. She looked almost unrecognizable. Almost.
But not to Ibrahim.
He knew this face.
Nafisa..
He blinked, but it didn't change. It was HER. It was her. The same woman he had seen years ago standing proudly beside his father with her daughter 7 years ago. The same woman he had hated with all his soul. The same woman who destroyed his family.