She Is My Hayaat

Chapter 20: I Was Dying

Hey, a quick update! You're welcome. ;)

Time passed by quickly once we came home two days after my birthday. Izhar made sure we went directly to my place before his parents' since Sabr had made him promise he would bring me without delay. I was swarmed with hugs, kisses, and gifts. One of Zarha Bhabi's presents had made Izhar chuckle and blush deeply as red as sun-dried tomatoes. Aside from the accessories she'd bought for me and our home, I had received two cute customized pillows. Though what was written on them was quite the catch. The pillows were similar but one had a crown that said King of the Bed, and the other had a tiara with sewed in rhinestones that said Queen of the House. I had hugged mine tightly and looked over at Izhar who thought of countless escape routes.

Once he gotten me alone as everyone prepared lunch for us, he hugged me from behind and whispered things in my ear that made my heart burst sporadically.

Bhaiya had cleared his throat from the French doors that opened into the kitchen, and we had jumped out of the embrace. Izhar scratched the back of his neck and smiled nervously while I covered my rosy cheeks with the thick curtain of my hair and ran into the bathroom. The kitchen not being an option unless I wanted to get teased even further.

His family greeted me with as much happiness and eagerness as mine had and showered me with more presents. I had declined politely, but they had insisted nonetheless reminding me they had the privilege of spoiling me as well. How I managed to get another loving family was beyond me, and I couldn't be more thankful to Allah.

As time passed from sunrise to sunset and the colors of the sky changed from hot to cool, the days passed to weeks and then months. Before we knew it, Izhar and I had been married for about six months. We were busy with our work when we weren't home, and there were days we rarely saw each other since our work demanded so much of our time. However, we made the most of every moment we spent together. No, we didn't always have perfect days. Yet, we learned to accept that it only made our relationship stronger. We'd get frustrated with one another only because we craved the other's presence, but it only made us more close and affectionate. Time passed like a shooting star, but we were uncannily worried about what our future would bring us.

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I smiled down at the white carnation that I had bought for Ms. Samantha, the 80 year old geriatric patient with Alzheimer's. I saw her about three days ago and before I left the shift, she had asked me to bring her a pure white carnation the next time I came to visit. I asked her if there was a reason why she asked for white instead of all the other colors and she'd said, "I want to reach purity, and I feel as if the white carnation will be a reminder of the good things I have done in life. Maybe it will help my heart be free of the bad things I've entranced."

She had been doing better lately. Since I had come back from the trip, I made sure to visit her whenever I had a shift and leave a different colored carnation each time though I rarely had a rotation there.

As I turned to the left, heading to her room on the second floor of the geriatric ward, I noticed it was unnaturally quiet. The nurses and doctors who passed me on the floor looked at me with sad faces. I looked around in confusion and quickened my steps to her room. A needle deep in my heart told me something bad had happened, but I wasn't ready to accept it.

The door to her room was wide open and the evening sun streamed rays of light outside of the door. I put an arm on the side of the door and gently swung in to be met with a young boy in gray scrubs stripping down the hospital bed and tugging on new fresh linen sheets. The cards made by the kids in the pediatric ward for the geriatric patients lay flat on the wooden table instead of standing up. The many frames around the shelves were nowhere to be seen. And the white crystal vase that was filled with all the carnations I had brought for the past six months was still filled to the rim. Not one carnation had been touched, and some were starting to burn under the sun, some wilted at the base of the head, and others stood straight.