The sterile scent of antiseptic hit Faqair the moment he burst through the hospital doors, his arms cradling Inaya's limp body. Her head lolled against his chest, her face drained of color, lashes resting like fragile threads against her skin. His breath came in shallow gasps — each step a desperate plea for time not to run out.
"Doctor?! Is there anyone here?" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Please, help!"
The echo of his cry bounced down the empty hallway until a doctor, alerted by the urgency, appeared at the far end. One glance at Inaya was all it took for him to spring into action.
"Bring a stretcher, now!" he barked.
Two nurses hurried over, pushing a stretcher that clattered across the polished floor. Faqair lowered Inaya onto it with trembling hands, brushing a strand of hair away from her pale face as if afraid she might shatter.
The doctor checked her pulse, then her heartbeat. His expression tightened.
"Her pulse is dangerously low," he said sharply. "We need to start treatment immediately."
Before anyone could move, a uniformed guard approached — the same one who had seen them leave earlier that day. He leaned close to the doctor, lowering his voice.
"That's the patient who ran away earlier… and the man with her helped her escape."
The doctor's eyes flicked briefly toward Faqair. But the young man wasn't listening. His world had narrowed to the faint rise and fall of Inaya's chest, to the fragile warmth of her hand in his.His thumb brushed against her knuckles in helpless circles.
When the doctor asked what had happened, Faqair's voice came out strained, shaking with panic.
"She… she fainted in the car," he said hoarsely. "I was driving her back after—after she saw something. She just… went still. I called her name again and again, but she wouldn't wake up…"
His voice broke, and he looked down at her face, his own guilt carving lines deep into his features. "Please… just save her."
"Go," the doctor ordered, snapping the guard out of hesitation. "Tell the nurse who treated her before to prepare an IV. Now."
"Sir, they broke the rules—this could—"
"A patient's life comes first!" the doctor cut in, his tone like steel. "Everything else comes after. Go!"
The guard blinked, startled, then rushed off.
Minutes blurred together. A nurse appeared with an IV kit, her hands steady, eyes focused. Faqair helped them transfer Inaya into a private room. The fluorescent lights above flickered faintly, bathing the room in a cold, clinical glow.
The doctor adjusted the IV line, his movements quick but precise. "Please," he said softly, catching sight of Faqair's tear-streaked face, "try to calm down. The IV will stabilize her for now."
Faqair's voice trembled, his words breaking like glass. "It's all my fault… everything…"
"This isn't the time for blame," the doctor replied gently but firmly. "We need to operate. Please wait outside."
Faqair shook his head, his voice rough. "No… I won't leave her.Not like this."
"You'll only make it harder for us to help her." The doctor's tone hardened — not unkind, but commanding. "Please."
For a long moment, Faqair stood frozen. Then, shoulders slumping, he stepped back. His voice was barely a whisper.
"Okay… but… she'll be alright, won't she?"
The doctor placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Yes. You can trust me."
As the doors closed, the sound of machines and hurried footsteps faded behind them. Faqair remained in the hallway, staring at the door as though sheer will could hold her together on the other side.
---
Hospital Hallway – Moments Later
The waiting room clock ticked too loudly. The air was heavy with the low hum of machines and the muted chatter of nurses down the corridor. Faqair sat slumped on a plastic chair outside the operation room, elbows resting on his knees, fingers clenched so tight his knuckles had turned white. His eyes were rimmed red, exhaustion carving deep shadows beneath them.
Then — footsteps. Rapid. Urgent.
He looked up just as Meher came running down the hallway, breathless and wild-eyed. "Inaya!" she gasped. "Where is she?"
Faqair jumped to his feet. "The doctor's operating on her," he said quickly. "Please, you have to wait—"
"No!" Meher pushed past him, desperation sharp in her voice. "I've already left her once. I can't do that again!"
He caught her by the arm, not forcefully, but enough to stop her."Please… just give them a few more minutes—"
The crack of the slap cut through the hallway like a gunshot.
Faqair's head jerked to the side. For a second, the world went still.
Meher stood there, trembling, eyes blazing with tears and fury.
"It's your fault!" she shouted. "The guard told me everything. I trusted you with her! Is this how you take care of someone?"
Faqair didn't raise his head. He didn't defend himself. His gaze dropped to the floor, his lips trembling.
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "It's all my fault."
Meher's breath hitched, a sob catching in her throat. "She was already unwell, and you knew that. So why?" Her voice quivered, cracking under the weight of disbelief. "Where did you even take her?"
He hesitated, guilt slicing through him like a blade. "I… I took her to Nabeel."
Her eyes widened. "What?!"
The word exploded from her lips.
Meher's whole body went rigid, disbelief warring with rage. "Are you serious? I told you he wouldn't come! I told you for a reason!" Her voice shook, half fury, half heartbreak. "I thought you understood what kind of person Nabeel really is. I trusted you… I thought you'd help Inaya understand too."
Faqair's voice was barely audible now. "I'm sorry…"
A new voice — deep, steady, and commanding — cut through the tension.
"Why are you sorry?"
Both turned.
Zayn stood at the end of the corridor, tall and composed, his arms crossed over his chest. His presence filled the hallway like a sudden stillness before a storm.His eyes, calm but edged with fire, locked onto Faqair.
"Saving someone," Zayn said, his tone firm, deliberate, "isn't something to be sorry for. I hope I haven't raised you to apologize when you're not wrong."
Silence fell.
Meher's gaze shifted from Faqair to Zayn — her eyes glistening, full of rage and pain. Zayn met her stare, unflinching, his face a mask of quiet control.
Two people — both angry, both grieving, both fighting for the same fragile soul behind that closed door.
And in the middle of it all stood Faqair — torn between guilt and love, drowning in the echoes of choices he could no longer undo.
***
To be continued...