Back in the harshly lit hospital corridor, Hasan's mother clung to the doctor's words. "What's the good news, Doctor?" š
"Asifa gave birth to a healthy baby boy. You have a grandson."
A surge of elation flooded the older woman's face, but it was heartbreakingly brief, chased away by dread. "And... the bad news?" š„ŗ
The doctor's composure faltered. "We tried everything we could. I'm so sorry. Asifa... she didn't make it. The strain was too much; she couldn't pull through."
The words were a physical blow. A raw, guttural cry tore from Hasan's mother's throat. She clutched her chest, her eyes wide with shock and agony, and collapsed to the cold linoleum floor. The doctor shouted for help, but it was too late. A massive, sudden heart attack, triggered by the violent swing from joy to devastation, had claimed her life instantly. š„
In the span of minutes, a newborn boy had entered the world, only to be orphaned, his grandmother gone beside him. The hospital staff, sombre and efficient, eventually handed the infant over to regional social services. The police were notified, beginning the arduous process of searching for any next of kin for the child born of tragedy.
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That same morning, a different kind of news was blossoming in the Singh household one of life and celebration. Kirana and Yusuf, after fourteen months of happy marriage, discovered they were expecting their first child. The house filled with laughter, tears of joy, and the warm, bustling energy of a family celebrating a true blessing. It was a world away from the silent, empty nursery and the cold administrative questions now surrounding a little boy with no name and no home, his life a stark counterpoint to the joyous one just beginning next door. ā¤ļøāš©¹