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There wasn't a single person in the crowded waiting room of the hospital that wasn't praying hard. But nobody was going through the agony that was eating Aamir alive. This was madness - utter, sheer madness! He had to stop the doctors, they couldn't operate! Mayra would die! Then he would never get to see his beloved, to hold her, to love her.

"Bhai," Zara whispered walking up to him and gently patting his arm, "have faith. Pray for her. At least that's what she would do."

An odd laugh devoid of any humour escaped his lips as he gazed at his sister. "That's Mayra we are talking about Zara. She is light, and I'm the worst kind of darkness there is."

His eyes welled up with tears and Zara moved away from him, sobbing quietly herself. He wanted to see Mayra walk out the doors, screaming at him, cursing him or even hurting him exactly the way he had. Anything but the uncertainty and unawareness of her condition. His head pounded as the stubborn headache from his sleepless nights made itself known, his mind in a state of utter chaos.

He wanted to cry.

He was crying, he realised as he walked up to his mother and knelt before her. Like an innocent child who would blindly believe that his mother could chase away all his troubles, he sought reassurance, "she'll be alright, won't she? She.. She'll come back to us, right mum?"

No mother should have to endure the sight of her child in pain, she thought as she gazed at her son's tear-stricken face. No mother should have to witness such agony. Her son was on the brink of madness, she knew it. His love for his wife was consuming him, as was his guilt and shame.

But today she was the luckier mother, she thought as she looked across the room to where Mayra's mother was seated. She couldn't bear to see Maimoona's face, as she had her eyes squeezed shut, her hands clasped together and her lips moving in a constant prayer ever since her unconscious daughter was wheeled in to surgery. Since that moment she had watched as Aamir paced the room nonstop, grabbing a seat for a few moments before he sprang to his feet and started pacing again. She couldn't bear to see her son on the brink of utter insanity but there was little she could do. Had she done anything sooner may be, things would be a bit different. Had she refused to pretend that everything in her home was fine, then may be things today would have been alright.

She knew that she would never forgive herself for the role she played in Mayra's misery.

"Of course, sweetheart," she murmured to her son soothingly, "of course she will. We're all praying for.."

"No, she won't!" His father growled from behind him. Aamir spun around to watch his father's face contorted in fury as he glared at Aamir. "For her sake, I hope she is rid of you forever! Why the hell do you want her to live? So that you can torture her some more? Isn't the monster inside of you satisfied with her condition, or is there more damage left to do?"

"Father, I.."

"Shut up!" He cut short Aamir's whimper. "You are no son of mine! My daughter is in there because of you, and I will never forgive you for what you've done to her!"

Unable to bear this father's fury, and his dire hope that Mayra and he be separated, Aamir fled the room. His father's accusations were right and pierced his heart as poisoned arrows, but still he couldn't imagine a life without his Mayra. Against all the warnings of his rational mind, his heart had started to hope. In his heart of hearts he drew visuals of their future together after Mayra would walk out of the hospital healthy again.

He could see them in the future as he held her in his arms as she closed her eyes at night to sleep. He would make sure that every morning she would awaken to his smile, a kiss on her cheek and the first words she would hear, day after day, would be of how beautiful he thought she was, and of how much he loved her. He would have breakfast with her, hug her before leaving for work and count the moments before he could return to her. They would have candlelit dinners, he would take her shopping and buy whatever she desired, spoiling her as badly as he could. They would travel the world together, with their children that they would have someday. He would be the perfect husband, the perfect father. He would lay the world at her feet.

Or so he hoped.

He paced the corridor praying and after what seemed like hours of painful torture, he sank on a nearby bench and buried his face in his hands. He could hear the annoying argument between a mother and her daughter on the opposite bench, and he wanted to yell at them to shut up. Yet there was something in what was being said by both women that made him listen in.

"He is your husband! You swore to be by his side in sickness and health! You cannot abandon him like this.."

"Oh please, mother!" Her daughter interjected. "Blackmailing me with my wedding vows will not work! Do you think I'm that stupid? My husband is not sick! He is paralysed! Do you have any idea what that means? He's become utterly useless! He can't do anything anymore! He can't even work! What am I to do with such a man?"

"But it isn't his fault." the mother tried to reason miserably. "If you leave him at a time such as this who will look after him? Who will take care of him?"

The daughter turned to her mother, horrified. "You expect me to take care of him! What am I, a nurse? You realise what all I'll have to do? Feed him, bathe him, clean after him? Yuck! No way am I going to do that! Hire a personal nurse for him! I'm going to see the lawyer and file for divorce as soon as I can!"

Aamir stared, stunned, as the daughter stomped away. Is that how wives these days were supposed to be like? If yes, then why wasn't Mayra anything like that? How could she be so selfless, caring and loving, even in the face of all the hurt?

Pride swelled in his chest as he thought of his wife. Life had thrown test after test in her face, and she passed gloriously in all of them. Her own husband had been paralysed, she could have done what this woman was about to do and filed for divorce. Least of all she could hire a nurse to look after him. Her words rang in his mind.

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 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."

He remembered how selflessly she had worked for him. She would be awake every time before he opened his eyes in the morning and he suspected that she had been awake for at least a couple of hours earlier than him. She would have everything ready for him by the time he woke. It started with her daily monitoring of his health. She would check his pulse, his temperature, his blood pressure and his reflexes, and record them all with date and time neatly in a book for his doctor's reference. Then she would bring a large bowl of water, his toothbrush and paste and brush his teeth. He recalled how difficult it was for her, for she would have to gather all her strength to get him to sit up.

Then she would feed him, move him onto his wheelchair and take him into the bathroom for a bath. She cleaned his entire body mechanically, clinically as a nurse, and refused to meet his gaze as she washed him. She was so incredibly shy. She would get drenched in the process, but always dressed him first and lay him back on the bed before tending to herself.

The first few days had been hell, he recalled. He would never forget the disgust on his siblings' faces. They had all gathered around his bed, trying to speak to him normally as had Mayra insisted they do. Then aving lost all control over his body, he had soiled himself. When the stench reached his family, his own flesh and blood couldn't move away fast enough. Yet Mayra had remained. She had waited till everyone left then shut the door, pulled the curtain and got to work. She undressed him and cleaned him.

Aamir had never felt more humiliated in his life. Never before had he felt as utterly useless and pathetic. He wanted to crawl away in his misery to a dark corner and die. Not only was his family running away from him, but the fact that Mayra - the person he hated the most - was looking after him, it was all unbearable. And for the first time in many many times to follow, it seemed that Mayra had read his thoughts.

She whispered to him as she cleaned him, her eyes lowered, "They left only because they don't know what to do. I asked them to leave so that I can work."

She was lying, Aamir knew. She was lying to spare his feelings. And for the first time in his heart, his hatred had given way to a sliver of doubt. Why was Mayra tending to him as such? Why wasn't she running away. This was the perfect tme for her to gain her freedom from this abusive relationship. Then what was making her stay?

After cleaning him, she pulled back the curtains, and sprayed some air freshener before any of his 'family' could come to see him. He watched her seating herself at the table and writing a list before calling out to his brother. Khalid appeared a while later looking extremely uncomfortable, as though expecting his brother to have done something disgusting again.

"Khalid," said Mayra, her head lowered and her voice small, yet firm. "These are some things that we need. Could you please get them?"

Khalid stared at her incredulously before snapping, "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Mayra looked up confused as Khalid screamed, "Look at him! Look at my brother! He can't even use the toilet! He's shitting himself all because he married a witch like you!"

Aamir squeezed him eyes shut, shame and humiliation washing over him.

"You stand there like some innocent, caring wife while we all know the kind of amoral and greedy and loathsome bitch you are! My brother never saw a day of happiness ever since he married you, and now he's in this awful state all because your lover wanted revenge!"

"Khalid!" Mayra shouted. The paper in her hand was crumpled now in her fist as she stared at her brother-in-law in anger, tears streaming down her face. She was shaking uncontrollably, as if she couldn't bear Khalid's accusations and yet knew she couldn't do anything about it.

"You know what, bitch?" Khalid sneered, "you want some things you 'need' then go do your own shopping. And now that my brother is in this state, feel free to use your clothes and lipstick and perfume for your lover!"

Mayra stared at his back as he stormed out, stunned. How could he.

It took her an hour to compose herself before she could face anyone. She knew she didn't have any money, yet she broke her own earthen piggy bank to retrieve whatever little savings she had and then she went out and got the things she had needed. Aamir saw as she unloaded the packet of her purchases - a large pack of adult diapers, and tubes of anti-rash cream.

She had religiously avoided Khalid after that, Aamir remembered. She would never be in the same room with him. Whenever he entered their room to see Aamir, she would leave immediatley. Whenever Khalid tried to speak to her, she would ignore him and quietly walk away. Aamir knew that Khalid regretted it and sincerely wished to apologize but all they could do was wait for Mayra to get well enough to give them a chance to do so.

He resumed pacing, and paced for six hours straight before Zara ran out to him and said, "Bhai, its done!"

Aamir ran inside and intercepted the surgeon as he walked in, "Doctor? Mayra?"

The doctor gazed around the faces crowded around him and said, "We got the clot out."

Collective sighs of relief and 'thank God' s rang out as Aamir's face broke into a watery smile. The doctor however continued, "But please remember Mr Hassan, we do not know the extent of brain damage. She could become deaf, or mute or bodily paralysed. Only after she regains consciousness will we be able to tell."

Aamir looked at the doctor with defiance on his face and said with a voice that rang out clearly, especially to his father, "she was my wife when was in a coma for a week, she was my wife when she was in that room being operated upon by you, and when she walks out this hospital, deaf, or mute or blind or paralysed or all of them, she'll still be my wife, and I'll still love her."

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