Three hours had passed. And still no news. She was neither alive nor dead, hanging in between the two. And there was nothing he could do, except pray that she not be punished for his sins, she be given her life, so they could build a happy married life together, start anew, leave the the hurting past behind them in their new journey.

Soon after dawn, the doctors had informed them that Mayra was being shifted to the ICU. There they would wait and watch. Hope that her condition would improve to allow them to progress with the treatment. They still wouldn't allow Aamir or anybody else to go in and see her. It was pointless, they had said as she was in a deep coma, oblivious to her surroundings, and they couldn't risk causing her infection by sending visitors inside. Aamir had nearly begged for her to be shifted to the bed that was directly in front of the huge glass window. The glass was sealed, but he would be able to see her, clearly. After an hour or so, the curtains had been rolled back and he got the first glimpse of his wife's battered body. Tears flowed down his face as he took in the tubes that were inserted into her hands and legs, she was breathing through a mask and her head was wrapped in a turban of white bandage. The doctors had said that she was alive, but was making no progress.

Aamir alternated between moments of hope, where his heart urged him to pray, and pray hard, for her to miraculously survive this, and moments where he had numbly accepted that his future was going to be dark and shadowed, a future without Mayra. His future, his life had never looked so dark, so pointless.

He gazed at her still form lovingly. He thought of the words he wanted to say, but knew that even if he shouted them she wouldn't hear. She couldn't. She was in a deep coma, removed from the world around her, removed from him.

He paused mid-thought. No. He couldn't believe that. Mayra hadn't believed it when he was paralysed, and her belief had brought him back. Now, he wouldn't believe it. He wouldn't give up. How could it be that fate would hand Mayra a chance to bring her love back to health, and not give him the chance he desperately needed to fight for his own love. He would fight. He would bring Mayra back.

Wiping away the remnants of his grief from his face, he walked to the doctor's room. A sliver of hope hammered in his chest, while his rational mind screamed stupid. But for the first time in his entire life, he would listen to his heart, he would do as his love dictated, rational or not.

He walked into the doctor's room and without preamble uttered, "I want to see my wife."

The doctor looked up, startled. "But Mr Hassan, you can see her, through the glass..."

"No. I want to meet her in person, let me inside the ICU."

The doctor sighed. "I can't. It's the hospital rule. You'll risk causing her, or the other patients infection."

"I'll scrub before I go in. I'll wear the gown and gloves. But I will go in. I need to see her."

"Mr Hassan, I understand your sentiments. But there is absolutely no need for this. She is in coma, she can't see or hear anything!"

"I don't believe that." Aamir glared at the doctor stubbornly. Sighing, the doctor got up and led Aamir to the doors of the ICU. He instructed a nurse to help Aamir scrub and wear the appropriate attire.

Half an hour later, Aamir was duly scrubbed and dressed in the blue sterilised disposable hospital gown, with a mask covering his face, cap covering his head and gloves over his hands. He walked through the ICU as he watched the numerous patients behind half-shut curtains. Some conscious, others who appeared to be sleeping. Some looked content, others were in the deepest of pains, groaning and thrashing about in bed. He passed by a bed in which a young man lay surrounded by doctors and nurses who were trying to resuscitate him. The flat line on his monitor was proof that the man was gone. The nurse escorting him informed Aamir that he too was brought in because of an accident, massive internal bleeding. Three days the man had struggled and today he had given up. He watched as the doctors declared him dead, and withdrew from him, a man now nothing more than a lifeless body.

He hurried over to his wife's bed, not willing to see anymore of anybody else's suffering. There was only so much that his already aching heart could take. He approached her bed silently, as if trying not to wake his wife from her peaceful sleep, and he reminded himself that the reason why he had come was to do exactly the opposite. He had to wake her up.

Suddenly, he felt himself taken back in time, when he was the one in bed, and she had come to see him.

She walked towards him nervously, as if his paralysed form was just as scary to her as he was when healthy. She knew he couldn't possibly hurt her, and yet the fear of being slapped kept her guard up. She stood in front of him, her shaking hands held together and her head lowered to the ground.

She had never looked at him straight in the eye. He had demanded that. His instructions and the fear of punishment had kept her mute long enough, her eyes never taking in the sight of her husband as was her right being his wife. She kept her eyes lowered as she whispered, "the doctor said that you can't hear me. He says you won't even feel my presence. I.. I don't b...believe him. You.. you must know that I'm here, even if.. even if my presence angers and d..disgusts you.

I'm sorry I can't go away. I can't leave you like this. They say.. they say you need a nurse. Someone to look after your.. your needs. I.. I.."

She broke off, as if the words themselves hurt her as she said them. Wiping away her tears, she hiccuped and continued, "I will take care of you. There's no need for a nurse, is there? 'Special needs' they say. You don't have special needs, because what you are going through isn't incurable. I can take care of you better than any nurse because I know what you want and need everyday. And..and I don't believe the doctor. I know you can hear me."

She raised her head, her eyes pleading with him to respond, to validate her beliefs, but he couldn't move, no matter how hard he tried. Instead of feeling disheartened by his lack of response, he was amazed to see determination shine in her big brown eyes as she said in a tiny voice full of all the strength she could muster, "I will take care of you, and you will be all right again, Bi Idhnillah! I will do it whatever it takes."

For the first time, he felt humbled by her. For the first time it struck his heart that she was stronger than him. The strength and domination that he exerted over her had only proved to him how weak he was, because he was too weak to control his anger, to weak to not give in to doubts, too weak to hope. But Mayra was strong. She hoped and prayed that he would get well, and when all others around him, including himself, had given up all hope, she had been strong enough to hold on even then.

"Mr Hassan? Mr Hassan!"

The nurse's raised voice snapped him back.

"S.. sorry."

"I understand. But please hurry. We cannot allow you to stay in here for long."

Aamir nodded as he gently made his way to her bed. Her skin was pale and he noticed that her chest was barely moving as breathed. She was on the verge of death and it looked as if her body had already donned that appearance.

"Salam Mayra." Aamir whispered to her. His eyes desperately searching her face for a response. "They say that you can't hear me. They say that.. that you are not going to make it. I don't believe them Mayra. I don't believe that you are not going to give me a chance to make things right between us. Everybody deserves second chances, remember Mayra? You used to say that all the time!"

He reached for her hand desperate to touch but the nurse didn't allow him to do that..

Aamir sighed and turned to Mayra with a sad smile. "You were right, love. What goes round definitely comes round. There was a time when I did not let you touch me, and now when I can do damn near anything to hold you once, I'm not allowed to touch you." Rubbing his chest, he looked at his wife as tears clouded his vision. "This is how bad it feels, isn't it sweetheart? This is how bad it feels when you love someone and you can't even touch them, hold them when they are hurt? Or comfort them when they are in pain? This is how much I hurt you, isn't it Mayra? Wake up, honey! Wake up and tell me that I hurt you! Wake up and punish me! Wake up, Mayra. P..please wake up."

He trailed off, shutting his eyes tightly against the tears that flowed, his heart aching deeply as he finally understood her pain, at least a taste of it, and he reminded himself that it could very well be too late.

"Wake up, Mayra. I'm begging you. There's so much that I have to tell you. So much I have to apologise for. I promise I'll be the best husband ever. I'll lay the world at your feet. I'll do whatever you ask of me. Please come back. I can't live without you. Mayra, sweetheart, I love you!"

He broke down again, crying inconsolably. He hated himself with a vengeance. If only he had uttered those words to her, at least once, then she wouldn't be here, battling for her life.

"Mr Hassan, please, we must go now," the nurse said, her heart breaking at the sight of this man declaring his love to his woman, who was most likely going to die, and was beyond their reach already.

Aamir got up without a word and left from there. Leaving the ICU, he dumped the gown, gloves, mask and cap and turned to his family. They had probably seen everything since he had gone in, but he couldn't care less. His brother stepped in and said, "listen, I'll stay here for a while. Why don't you all go home and rest a bit.."

"No," Aamir cut through even before Khalid had finished.

"Listen! At least freshen up and come! Look if bhabhi wakes up, she wouldn't want to see you like this!"

"Khalid is right Aamir," his mother gently patted his shoulder, "for Mayra's sake, let's get home. We'll be back here soon."

Aamir walked back mechanically, sat while his father drove them back. He didn't trust himself with anything right now. His mind went through the simple instructions. Home - dress - hospital. He knew his family was going to insist that he sleep a bit, or grab a bite, but just the thought of him eating or sleeping while Mayra breathed her last at the hospital made him want to throw up.

He went up to his room - their room - silently. He didn't bother listening to what anyone was saying. He kept repeating to himself. Home - dress - hospital. The moment he stepped inside his room, her scent engulfed him. He nearly fell to his knees as he could feel her in the room. Her combs at the dressing table, her slippers by the door, her clothes folded neatly and kept at the top of the corner table waiting to be put back in her closet.

He rubbed his chest again. He wondered if he would ever be able to go back to living with this pain, if Mayra wouldn't survive. Angry with himself at the direction of his thoughts he went up to the closet and yanked the door open to pull out fresh clothes.

At the bottom of the closet were her things - her clothes, some of her books and a large box. He grabbed her shirt and brought to his face. Her smell lingered and he felt a thousand emotions at once as he hugged her shirt to him, imagining holding Mayra herself. Pain. Grief. Hope. Anger. As stuffed her clothes back in his gaze fell on the box. Out of curiosity he picked the box up. Setting it at the table he removed the lid and peered inside. With a jolt he realised that these were his wedding pictures. Their wedding pictures. He slammed the wedding album shut. He knew he couldn't bear to see this, now of all times. In a hurry he stuffed it back only to have it get stuck up every time he pushed. Finally he saw the book that kept obstructing the album. He picked it up and opened to a random page. In a neat handwriting it read,

15th October.

Dear Diary,

Everyday I sit and wonder what the reasons will be for his anger towards me for that particular day. Today, I didn't even have to do that. He came before time today. As usual I greeted him with Salam and had my head lowered to the ground. He says that I'm too ugly to be looked at. That my face makes him want to punch himself for marrying someone as ugly as me. I keep my head lowered not because he will slap me if I raise it. It's because of the hurt his words cause me. They stab me right in the heart, and hurt me much worse than any of his kick or slap or punch can.

Anyhow, he started yelling at me as soon as he walked into the room. I still don't know why. I stood still as yelled, then slapped and then punched me. From that moment when he started hitting me to now when I'm writing this, there's only one thought in my mind.

I love him so much, but he hates me and hurts me so.

Aamir fell to the ground as he realised what he had in his hand.

Mayra's diary.

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Bi Idhnillah - With Allah's (God's) Permission

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CrazyPunter