She's Leaving

The phone finally connected, the harsh click cutting through the silence like a warning shot. Arsalan's voice followed, sharp and relentless, slicing through the static.

"Where is she, Karim?"

On the other end, Karim's response was calm, almost unsettling—completely in contrast to the tempest brewing in Arsalan's tone. "She's with Arham. Feeding him."

Arsalan's exhale wasn't one of relief. It was heavy, edged with tension that wrapped around each word like barbed wire. "Don't let her out of your sight. Not even for a second. Tell Catherine to stay with her. Everywhere. Even the washroom."

Karim's brow furrowed, confusion seeping into his voice. "Why? What's going on?"

A long pause stretched between them, the silence pregnant with something unspoken. When Arsalan spoke again, his voice had dropped to a low, tight growl, the urgency like a current of electricity. "Just do it. I'll explain when I get there. But don't let her out of your sight. Understand?"

---

The hospital corridors stretched out like endless tunnels, dim lights casting long, haunting shadows. Arsalan's footsteps echoed in the emptiness, each step a drumbeat of rising dread. Midnight had come and gone, but the tight knot in his chest refused to unravel. Something was wrong. He felt it like an itch beneath his skin, a shadow pressing in from all sides.

He spotted Karim slumped against the wall outside the room, head lolling forward in an uneasy sleep. The sight gnawed at Arsalan, irritation sparking like flint against stone. How could he sleep when something was so palpably, desperately wrong? He pushed the door open, eyes scanning the room.

Arham lay in the bed, his small chest rising and falling steadily. On the sofa, Catherine was curled up, her breathing deep and even. But Sahira... Sahira was gone.

The air seemed to constrict around him. "Damn it," he muttered, the words almost a breathless prayer.

Karim jolted awake, blinking rapidly. "What's wrong?"

Arsalan didn't answer. He was already moving, already halfway down the corridor, his mind a tangle of frantic thoughts. Karim scrambled to his feet, chasing after him, his footsteps loud and clumsy against the polished floor.

---

The terrace was bathed in moonlight, a cold, indifferent glow that cast Sahira's figure into stark relief. She stood at the edge, her silhouette a dark contrast against the sprawling cityscape below. The lights of the city glittered like distant stars, oblivious to the storm raging within her.

The wind whispered against her skin, but it wasn't the chill that left her breathless. Tears traced silent paths down her cheeks, her eyes fixed on the abyss. Faces floated in her mind—Arham's gentle smile, Arhan's mischievous glint, Arhal's curious gaze, and little Arhab's innocent eyes. But then, like a knife, came the memory that hollowed her out: the tiny, lifeless form of her newborn daughter, silent and still in her arms.

It was her fault. It had to be. She had failed. The thought wrapped around her, squeezing, suffocating. If she had failed once, what was stopping her from failing again? Failing them all?

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the railing. Her voice, when it came, was a fractured whisper. "I can't do this anymore. Ya Allah, forgive me." The words bled into the night, thin and fragile.

The door behind her slammed open, the sudden crash ripping through the quiet. Arsalan stood in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes wide and searching. The sight of her, so close to the edge, stole the breath from his lungs. A sharp, nameless sensation clawed at him, something he couldn't quite place, but it lodged deep in his chest, relentless.

"Sahira," he called, his voice low, steady—an anchor in the storm. "Step back. Please."

She didn't move, didn't turn. Her shoulders shook, her tears falling faster. "I can't... I can't keep living like this. I failed her, Arsalan. I failed her, and I can't... I can't fail them too."

Arsalan's jaw tightened, his mind scrambling for words. He had never been good with them, had never found them easy. Now, in this moment, they felt like sand slipping through his fingers. Still, he took a step forward. Then another. Slow, deliberate, as though she might vanish if he moved too quickly.

"Arham needs you," he said, his voice softening, each word laced with something raw, something desperate. "He just had surgery. He needs his mother. He needs you."

She loosened her grip on the railing, just barely. Her head shook, her breath hitching. "I'm not strong enough. I've tried, Arsalan. I've tried so hard. But the pain... it's too much."

He was closer now, close enough to see the anguish etched into every line of her face. "You don't have to be strong every moment," he murmured. "But don't leave them. Don't leave them to face this world without you. You're their anchor. Don't let go."

For a long moment, she teetered between the edge and his words, her body swaying like a leaf caught in a tempest. Then, a small voice, thin and weak, cut through the night.

"Ma..ma... wh...at are you do...ing?"

Sahira froze. Slowly, she turned. Arham cradled there in Karim's arm, his tiny frame so fragile, his face pale, eyes wide with confusion and fear.

Her breath caught in her throat. His gaze—pure, innocent—held her in place, a mirror reflecting everything she was about to abandon. The enormity of what she had almost done crashed over her like a wave. How could she have thought of leaving him? Leaving them all? How could she betray the trust she had placed in Allah, the faith that had once been her lifeline?

Suddenly, the mother in her roared to life, fierce and unrelenting.

Arsalan seized the moment, closing the distance and gently pulling her away from the edge. She didn't resist. She stumbled into him, her body trembling, the fight gone. He held her, arms strong, unyielding.

She sank to her knees, the dam breaking. Sobs wracked her body. Karim stepped forward, placing Arham gently into her lap. The boy's small arms wrapped around her neck, his voice soft, uncertain. "Don't cry, Mama... it makes me sad."

She clung to him, her tears soaking his tiny shoulder. For the first time in years, she let herself feel everything—the grief, the guilt, the love. It all poured out, and this time, she didn't hold it back.

Karim watched, wide-eyed. He glanced at Arsalan, who leaned against the wall, his face unreadable, hands clenched into fists.

"She really was going to..." Karim's voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Arsalan exhaled, his gaze distant. "Yes." The word was heavy, almost a whisper. "She was going to leave us. Forever."

Karim shook his head, bewildered. "But she seemed fine all day. Catherine was with her."

Arsalan's eyes drifted to the city lights reflecting in the darkness of his gaze. "Pain doesn't always leave marks you can see, Karim." His voice was flat, almost cold, but something flickered beneath the surface. For a man who couldn't name his emotions, Arsalan carried them like an invisible burden, heavier than any words he could ever say.