IMPORTANT: PLEASE READ BEFORE PROCEEDING!
For those who don't know, I updated last week. If you have not read Chapter 37: And In Her Eyes I See A Canvas Of Stars, in which confessions were whispered and passion was ignited, then I suggest you read it before continuing on with this chapter! There was a Wattpad problem in sending notifications, so please make sure you are up to date. :D PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE COMMENT!!!! It takes some serious motivation to write long chapters. ;)
"Achoo!" I sneezed for the seventh time in the past two minutes.
My eyes were bloodshot and watery. The aqueous humor teared up more and more with each heart-wrenching exaltation of air. My head felt mindfully heavy, as if it weren't filled with brain matter but heavy weights instead. I was severely cold and slightly hunched over due to the cold that swarmed over my body even in the long sleeve shirt I wore underneath my scrubs and lab coat that I wore on top.
"Here you go," Anam pulled a thin moisturized tissue and handed it to me from the floral print Kleenex box on the shiny white counters of the nurses station.
"Thank you," I groggily murmured as I put the ballpoint pen down and discreetly blew my nose. My voice was heavy and deprived of sleep and filled to the brim with mucus.
Being sick was not a pretty sight.
"Aww! You look like Rudolph," Anam cooed and flicked the tip of my bright pink nose.
I glared at her and discarded the tissue. I squirted some hand sanitizer on my now thawing palms, and the thick methyl smell of the puree cleared up my nostrils.
"When is your next appointment?" Anam asked as she and I walked to my office.
"In two days, and Izhar insists he come with me. I keep telling him it's just a cold, but he won't listen."
I sat in my puffy and shiny black leather chair and dropped my head on the headrest while closing my irritated eyes. The seat shifted backwards, and I groaned in frustration from the pounding headache implanted into the core of my diencephalon.
My hands were numb and dry, fingers thin and frozen, head torturously pounding, hair pulling from the roots underneath my cotton hijab, and whole body burning one minute and shaking in the next. I felt like the jitters from my wedding day were coming back but ten times worse if that was even possible.
"He's just worried, that's all!" Anam said before biting into her apple.
The thunder from the gloomy evening sky erupted on the glass windows of my office, pounding and shattering like thin shrapnel shards of ceramic. The drizzle poured from the irrevocable azure and indigo sky and coated the lands of earth with mist and dew. Each bolt of lightning zapped my head, the migraine starting to come in from the right side of my cerebrum and to the left.
"He gets too worried sometimes, and after all, it's just a cold. That's it," I murmured as I surreptitiously brought a cool hand to my clammy forehead and massaged the crease in the middle of my furrowed eyebrows.
"It is not just a normal cold Nourie. You threw up twice since your shift started, and you haven't eaten anything except for one slice of apple," Anam argued.
The mention of food turned my stomach upside down and inside out, scalding my dry and parched throat of all its nomadic tastebuds. My face probably had turned sickly green when I opened my eyes and covered my mouth with the back of my hand.
I dry heaved, and Anam quickly handed me my transparent tumbler that had small red hearts all over it with a red straw. She ran to my side of the desk and soothingly rubbed my back in small circles while the water slushed down my throat like a small waterfall hidden inside the abandoned caverns.
YOU ARE READING
She Is My Hayaat
SpiritualI walked down the white hallways filled with the smell of bleach and chlorine. The lights above were too bright, too luminescent. I can't think. I can't look straight. I can't breathe. Everything was blurry. I touched my cheeks and felt tears cascad...
