Death- Through Relief

"So verily with every difficulty, there is a relief."

-The Qur'an (94:5)

(If things seem to go downhill, just keep calm and hold on. Things will get better, all you need is a little bit of patience.)

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Gauhar's POV

A knock on the door roused us from the very interesting conversation we were having, Muqeets face quickly became serious his eyes losing all their warmth and assuming the same worried expression that I'm sure was reflected in my own eyes.

I watched the door with bated breath. I didn't know who it was on the other side of the door, but if it was the doctor. I was afraid for what he had to say, I still remembered how he had ignored me when they were wheeling father into the operation theatre.

The door opened to let in a person dressed in all blue, his striking green eyes a stark contrast to the clothes that he was wearing. His shoes squeaked across the polished floor as he walked into the room his expression unreadable.

I patted myself on the back, surprised but proud of myself. I had somehow learnt to recognise a person without even knowing who they were. While the ninja fanatic within me jumped up and down in excitement, logic shook her head like the boring old soul that she was.

My eyes followed his movements as he approached us, I could feel how uneasy Muqeet was just by his stiff posture and widened gaze.

Dread threatened to rip my heart apart, but willed myself to stay steady "Are you two Mr--" he brought the notepad held in his hands closer to his eyes, most probably checking the name of the patient on it "Mr. Abdullah Siddique's Children?"

Both of nodded our heads together at the question, the word "yes" coming out of our mouths in unison. He nodded his head curtly, clearing his throat discreetly as he proceeded to check father's vitals.

I held in my breath as I watched him do his work. I tried not to show the anxiety I was feeling on my face, but I knew that it was a futile effort. My own body was bad at keeping in what I felt. I could clearly hear the hammering of my heart in my ears. I was surprised that the doctor wasn't alarmed by the sounds coming out of my chest.

But seeing the disinterested way in which he moved about, I knew that he wasn't even paying attention to us in the room. We were like specs of sand on the sofa for him, not worth any attention.

The expression on his face remained impassive as he checked everything, noting everything silently on his notepad as he went along his examination, slightly reducing the jitteriness that I was feeling. As long as he didn't look worried it was safe to assume that everything was fine.

As I observed his face, I wondered if he ever laughed, or evens smiled. With that unsmiling serious face he really did look like a Messiah of death. But then I presumed he couldn't help being that way, it actually felt as if his serious demeanor made everyone around him prepared to hear some bad news. Just having his grave green eyes on you made you feel on edge.

He looked up towards us, once he was done with checking everything that he had come to monitor, piercing us with his disconcerting gaze. Muqeet sat up straight, his back stiffening as he readied himself for whatever the doctor has to say. He gulped audible as his hand involuntarily seeked mine.

His hands were as sweaty as mine were (if not more so), and I could sense that they were shaking slightly. As the doctor started to speak, he sucked in a deep breath to calm himself down.

I knew he was scared, I squeezed his hand tightly silently trying to reassure not only him but myself as well that everything would be alright. "Mr. Siddique seems stable, there is nothing to worry about for now."

The words uttered in his professional emotionless voice, seemed to have breathed a new life into us. I never expected that something said so coldly, lacking any feelings would make me feel so happy.

I felt the constriction in my chest reduce as I looked at the prone form of father on the bed. The knowledge that now he would be alright, calmed my nerves considerably. I felt Muqeets firm grip on my hand loosen at the news.

I felt grateful for it, I was afraid he'd block the blood flow in my hand with how tightly he was holding it.

He leaned back into the sofa, running his hands down his face as he audibly sighed in relief. But the doctor wasn't done speaking, after waiting a few moments for us to absorb the incredibly relieving information he continued "But I cannot guarantee that it will stay that way, his condition is extremely delicate. Any shock to his system is going to affect him drastically, so do make sure that you keep him away from anything that can induce stress."

This experience had taught me something, and that was that my father wasn't invincible. He was as fragile as glass, and I knew that I would have to protect him from anything that could potentially harm him. It was our chance to take care of him, and be his shields.

Just like he had done for us all his life.

"Other than that, he's completely fine. His vitals are stable, and if everything continues the way it has you, will most probably be able to speak him by tomorrow." we nodded our heads at his words, I let myself relax as I finally allowed myself to be able to breathe. As the air entered my lungs, I realised that I would have surely died of suffocation if I had stayed that way any longer.

As the doctor walked out of the room, I let out a sigh of relief, feeling as if a new life had been breathed into me.

Muqeet ran a hand through his hair "Goddmmit I can still hear my heart beat in my ears, did that bugger really have to look all that serious. I was completely prepared for receiving bad news, with a face like that he could very well be the freaking angel of death."

I grinned at his words, marvelling at how he was thinking the exact same thing that I was wondering about a little while ago.

"He most probably has been that for many people, his job is harrowing. I don't think I could see the sorrow on people's faces when they know that the person they loved is no longer alive." I explained to him, sounding much more knowledgeable about the situation than I actually was.

I looked up at the ceiling, which was switching between blue and green as the machines continued to blink.

I jumped up slightly as I heard a sharp click pierce the silence of the room. I watched warily as the door opened, Muqeet's head whipping towards the door to see who had come in. The click-clack of the shoes from the person's shoes captured my attention. Though the light was dim, I could still tell in the faint light that he was a distinguished looking man, a peppering of white on his head of black hair.

His was exuded immense confidence, as if he owned the entire place. He wore a plain white t-shirt and jeans, but he had an aura around him that commanded respect.

As I assessed him trying to remember who it was, the pair of honey brown eyes fell on me. I quickly averted my eyes away from him, feeling embarrassed to be caught staring at him.

I felt a flicker of recognition, though I couldn't recall him from memory. Surely, someone who looked so distinguished would be ingrained in to my memory. His age wisened, yet handsome face split into a kind smile as he looked at my red face.

I watched warily as he approached us. I felt a heavy feeling within me as I observed him. Whatever it was, I didn't have a good feeling about this.

Muqeet quickly stood up or rather jumped up from his seat, his face splitting into an excited smile as he walked towards the man. I raised my eyebrows in surprise as wondered how my stupid brother was able to recognize someone that I couldn't.

"Muqeet my son!" he exclaimed in his low gravelly voice that immediately made me feel intimidated in his presence "How have you been? I hope you didn't worry yourself too much." He slapped Muqeet hard on the back, it surprised me that he didn't double over by the force of it.

"How are you Gauhar?" he turned his attention towards me. My eyebrows momentarily furrowed in confusion -how on earth did he know my name. I felt incredibly dumb as the realization dawned on me that, if Muqeet knew him so well. There was a high chance that he knew me as well.

What increased my mortification was that it was only me who couldn't remember him for the life of me, he seemed like someone whom I should have remembered. But my brain absolutely refused to function.

I quickly schooled my expression and gave him a polite smile "I'm fine, thank you-" I wracked my brain to remember his name, it would absolutely not do if he came to know that I had absolutely no recollection of who he was.

But thankfully Muqeet saved me from the embarrassment by asking him to take a seat n the chair that was placed beside the bed. The man sat down, his eyes softening as they beheld father. It was clear by his expression that father was very important to him.

As he silently observed father I continued to wrack my brain, running through all the possible images that could remind me of who he was. We were working in a high crisis situation and it would absolutely not do if the extent of my dumbness was revealed.

Especially in the presence of my number one nemesis. If he got whiff of it, he would continue to torture me with the mortifying information till my last breath.

My memory was in need of dire help, maybe I had amnesia. Perhaps I should get myself checked while I was at the hospital. By the way he was holding fathers hand I could tell he was a close friend of his, and since I couldn't remember him. Quite an old friend of his as well. Though I did feel guilty for not remembering my father's old friend, I knew that if I got to know his name I would surely be able to recognize who he was.

Damn it! My memory needed serious oiling. All my mental faculties were in overdrive as I tried hard to recall any memories of him.