So much more was said in the unsaid.

- Bridgett Devoue

Tuesday - 5:49 am

The first few filtered rays of sun hit Ibrahim's face as he exited the white Mercedes, his eyes dropped down as he locked the car with slowness that was foreign of him. The red and golden reflected from his face in utmost gentleness, the brown of his irises twinkling merrily under it.

Sighing heavily, he let the lids slide upwards but the heaviness he felt was almost physical. Having been sleep deprived for almost three days and nights now, he didn't look anything like the exuberant and well refined Ibrahim Yazdani he was famous for within the confines of conference halls and business world.

Dark circles beneath the eyes, dark stubble grown, shirt creased and boots dusted, Ibrahim Yazdani no where resembled the man who came to Abbottabad less then two weeks ago. This man was absolutely broken in absolute ways, his every breath adding to the burden that crushed his heart into a multitude of pieces.

Everything that had happened in the course of past few days was majorly his fault - the accident, the outcomes. A hundred years would be far too less for him to come to forgive himself for the condition his mother was in right now, for the pain his mother was enduring as she battled for life.

A cold gush of light wind fiddled with the black hair of his and Ibrahim blinked rapidly, as if waking up from a troubled sleep, before raising his head to look at the enormous building of the hospital spreading before his eyes. Inhaling deeply, he took slow but long steps towards the entrance, the crowd of people at the hospital reduced to minimal at this hour.

He had not yet reached the large door when his mobile vibrated in the pocket of his jeans, indicating a call he had no mood to attend. Taking out the phone from the back pocket, he declined to receive the call without as much as glancing in the direction of the caller ID. After a heavy night he had just witnessed, all he needed was to see his mother once and go home to rest for, Allah, he needed it.

Placing the hand on the door, he pushed it with little force, stepping inside the hollowness of hospital wards, the white of the walls casting a shade of pain in him, filling him in with a void he didn't know how to deal with. Eyes fixed ahead, he walked; his gait unhurried, broken and pained.

The mobile vibrated again and he didn't resist the groan that escaped past his lips. Stopping for a fraction of second, he raised his hand holding the phone and looked at the caller ID. The fraction of moment turned into long, heavy seconds as he gazed at the name of the person calling him at this ungodly hour.

Hadeed Khakwani.

Sighing heavily, he scrolled the green icon and placed the phone near his ear, resuming the walk through the dimly lit corridors towards the staircase. The sound of his ankle boots against the marble floor resonated around in the deep silence that prevailed around him, almost too loud.

"Hadeed?" Ibrahim began, ascending the stairs slowly, one at a time.

"Ah, yes. Ibrahim. How are you?" Hadeed fumbled at the other side, his voice dangling between loud and low with each uttered word.

"I'm fine, you?" Ibrahim said, his voice low and unhurried.

"Where are you?" Hadeed questioned hurriedly, instead of replying, and Ibrahim's eyes narrowed infinitesimally in confusion.

"Hospital. I came to see Ammu. Why?" Ibrahim reached the first floor and began his walk deeper into another dark corridor.

Stopping in the middle of the lit corridor, confused and worried at the same time, Ibrahim waited for a response from the other side but it didn't come. A strangled sob, however, came that made Ibrahim shiver slightly as coldness finally found home in him and his eyes widened - in fear.

"Can we meet right now?" The panicked voice of Hadeed after a moment didn't settle well with Ibrahim at all, whose own eyes squinted in alarm as he tightly pressed the phone against his ear.

"What's wrong, Hadeed? Is everything alright?" He asked, his heart's palpitations rapidly rising.

Allah, he can't bear anymore bad news that he already had. The past few days had been heavy on him, almost too heavy, and he knew one more bad news and he surely would have a mental breakdown. The heaviness, depth and magnitude of the incidents occurring in his life were, as of now, getting out of hand and he wasn't sure if he had the energy left in him to survive them.

"No, nothing is fine. I'm coming to the hospital." Ibrahim swore it was wetness that he heard in Hadeed's voice, making knots tie in his stomach as he anticipated the worst.

"But tell me what's wrong." Ibrahim began as he hurriedly took steps forward towards the end of the corridor where his mother's room was located.

He had only reached halfway when a thought came to him and he stopped, all together, in the coldness of the corridor, and prayed and wished and hoped that it was false. Despite everything and nothing, he still hoped it was wrong.

"Is..is Hemayal okay?" He mouthed, heart beating for dear life and another strangled hiccup reached Ibrahim's ears and he closed his eyes slowly, in absolute affliction.

Thoughts evaded him for a moment, a small fraction of moment when no stimulus triggered his impulses and no heat warmed his brain. A small fraction of a second and possibilities that went through his brain were humongous in magnitude and devastating in depth, all horrifying.

"I'm waiting for you, Hadeed." He whispered slowly, lids closed, heavy and pained.

With that, he ended the call and sighed, a deep, troubled sigh that tore through him and made his heart shiver - in fear, in worry. They hadn't been in contact, he and her, for the longest of times and yet it felt like yesterday when he last saw her - standing outside the gate of her college at dispersal time; wearing a neat but creased uniform while the autumn wind played with it; talking to a friend, totally oblivious of her surroundings.

After all the years of silence on both parts, he didn't want to break it in this way. Allah, he was not even ready to break the silence as of yet. Diving willingly in an ocean that he knew would only add to his problems and aches was something he did not look forward to; gulping down the water of knowledge at this moment was something he wished he could avoid.

After the previous three days, all he wanted was to be as far away from miseries as possible and yet, somehow they always found a way back to him, crawling underneath his skin and invading his heart till nothing was left of it. The tone and words of Hadeed Khakwani rang in his ears and Ibrahim sighed heavily, steeling himself for yet another heartbreaking news, he could almost feel it from a mile away

Shaking his head a little, Ibrahim ran a hand over his face, palms against the well refined cheeks and short, stiff facial hair that had grown to almost a full beard as a consequence of going without a shave for two days straight.

For Ibrahim, a man who was always stern and calculating in appearances, this state came as quite a shock to Mustafa who walked out of his mother's room a bit ahead from where he was standing. Mustafa's eyes widened a little as he took in the site of his younger brother, whom he hadn't seen since yesterday morning, and walked slowly towards him.

"What happened to you?" Mustafa asked, surprised, on reaching close to him.

In contrast to Ibrahim, Mustafa was fairly well dressed and looked thoroughly fresh right now. Walking towards him, although Mustafa looked surprised at Ibrahim's appearance, but the relief and contentment that filled his features was not something that could go unnoticed by Ibrahim's small eyes. A small fire of hope ignited in his heart, making his heart beat rise with each tick of the clock.

"Is Ammu fine?" Ibrahim asked, voice not more than a whisper and yet the hope that laced it spoke volumes.

"She is fine now, conscious and talking." Mustafa's words filled Ibrahim's heart with a contentment he had never felt before, a kind that threatened to explode his heart with pure joy.

"Oh, thank God." Ibrahim breathed before hurrying deeper into the corridor towards the room from which Mustafa had exited.

Placing his hand on the door knob, Ibrahim pushed it open, adrenaline rushing through his blood as his heart pumped nothing but sheer euphoria. The door creaked open and he stepped inside the private room, steps now faltered as his eyes went around the room, finally to come landing on his mother.

Mahwash Yazdani sat on the hospital bed, leaning against the pillow placed behind her - weak, fragile, bandaged, pale but conscious nevertheless and Ibrahim knew that it was enough. A small smile was touching her lips as she conversed with Safaa and her husband, sitting on the chairs beside the bed and Ibrahim stopped in his tracks.

Relief that washed over him at this moment was something he knew he'd remember for the rest of his life.

"Ammu!" Ibrahim breathed, voice small, controlled but breaking.

At the voice of her younger son, Ammu slowly turned her head around and the small smile widened reflexively as her eyes landed on Ibrahim. Ibrahim was rooted on his spot, too bewildered to move, too euphoric. It was his mother who understood his state, just like she always had, just like she always will.

"Come, child. Where have you been?" She extended her hand towards Ibrahim, an act that caused her pain, he could tell by the flinch of her eyes, but the smile on her lips was bright.

Ibrahim did not wait anymore and acted on impulse, quickly walking towards the bed, sitting at the edge of it and taking his mother's hands in his own, showering kisses at the knuckles as wetness accumulated in his eyes. His heart, which was previously overjoyed at the consciousness of his mother was now breaking into pieces as he witnessed her weak and vulnerable state.

"I'm so sorry, Ammu. It's all because of me." Ibrahim whispered, his voice husky, hoarse and broken as he cried out in the hands of his mother.

"Abi, Abi, it's not your fault. Nothing is your fault. Why are you thinking like that?" Ammu freed her one hand from Ibrahim's grasp and placed it on his head that was bowed in front of her, settled against her hand as he cried slowly.

Ibrahim, however, did not answer; he could not answer. It was his father who came to stand beside him, placing his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly, conveying messages to him he could well decipher.

Inhaling a deep breath, Ibrahim controlled himself in time; he did not want his mother to worry after him, after everything she had been through, he did not want to add to her troubles. Raising his head from his mother's hand, he smiled, a crooked smile that reached his eyes and Ammu was quick to wipe his tears.

"It's not your fault at all, okay? Don't think like that." Ammu placed her palm against his cheeks and Ibrahim gulped down the saliva as he shook his head.

"It is, I should have taken care of you. I'm so sorry." Ibrahim said, a sad smile stretching the curve of his thin lips.

"Abi, I think you should give it a rest. You've been repeating this since forever." Mustafa groaned from behind and Ibrahim chuckled, the contrast of his hearty smile and glassy eyes a beautiful one.

"Yes, give yourself a break." Safaa too joined in and Ibrahim turned his head to glare at them both before shaking his head, smiling ever so slightly.

After three days, this was the first smile that had touched his lips, having earned it after three heavy days and nights; after too much blood, sweat and tears; after too deep aches; after too many prayers. The stretch of his lips seemed to have done well to his heart which battled for normalcy and succeeded after a few moments.

"Don't cry again, okay? It pains me to see you like this. I'm completely fine." Ammu warned him gently and Ibrahim nodded his head, an embarrassed smile lifting one corner of his lips.

"Well, today's the day, people. Not only Ammu gets fine but the great Ibrahim Yazdani finally sheds a tear or two." Safaa's playful remark from behind made Ibrahim roll his eyes as he dropped his head.

"Don't exaggerate, Safaa. You load things so much, it's unbelievable." Ibrahim reiterated with a remark of his own which was only met with a scoff.

"I have never seen you cry in my entire life, Abi. Seriously, what happened?" Mustafa asked from behind, serious, concerned but mocking nevertheless.

"The past few days were too much for him. And above all, he kept thinking that it was entirely his fault. Crying comes natural here." Abbu defended his younger son as he resat himself on the seat beside the bed and Ibrahim nodded before turning his head towards his mother, away from his siblings who regarded him with teasing stares.

Crying was something Ibrahim Yazdani had never taken pride in, his male honor never allowing him to shed tears, however devastating the situation might be. But this time, it was his mother's life that was in question, and with that, his own sanity and peace of mind. Shedding a few tears might corrupt his honor to some extent but it would heal the wounds that were tearing at his heart, too long, too deep.

"Are you fine now?" He asked, eyes reduced as he scanned her face with concern-studded gaze.

"A lot better, Abi, a lot better." She smiled as she patted Ibrahim's cheeks slightly and he could only smile as he saw her - weak but smiling, pale but happy.

"You scared the shit out of me, Ammu. Seriously. Please don't do that again." Ibrahim sighed before embracing her again, relief and elation marking his features prominently.

Being able to take his mother in his arms was a treasure he never thought he would be blessed again with and yet, here he was, inhaling the motherly scent of his mother and coming to life. Mothers, after all, cannot only give birth, they can give life too.

"She can only try, Abi." Abbu said and Ibrahim chuckled, a rich laughter that vibrated his chest and eased his heart as he separted from this mother.

All of them were together, contented, relieved and ecstatic; his mother was fine and he knew he did not need anything more in his life. Right now, at this moment, he had everything and he did not wish for more, he could not wish for more.

After a long and tiring wait, he was finally seeing this day, a day he never thought he would be fortunate enough to witness again but well, life do surprise us sometimes, mostly yanking the ground from under our feet but sometimes breathe life in us too. It is all a matter of time and patience.

"When did you wake up? And why didn't you call me?" Directing the first question at his mother and the latter at his brother, Ibrahim moved his head between the two, eyes narrowed and demanding an answer.

"It was after midnight, I think." Ammu answered after a thoughtful pause and now, Ibrahim turned towards Mustafa, eyes reduced to a glare.

"Don't give me that look, okay? I did call you, a million times. Check your phone." Mustafa raised his hands in front of him in the air and Ibrahim unlocked his phone to check the call log - million was a sheer exaggeration but Mustafa's calls were definitely there.

He was checking his phone for other calls, messages and emails when Mustafa's voice vibrated his ear drums, a question that made him freeze in his place all together before a sinking feeling began to grow in the pit of his stomach, his beats rising and blood rushing through his veins.

"Where were you last night, Abi?"

Memories, thoughts and scenes flooded him at once, his mouth turning dry as his eyes lost focus for a split second, looking without gazing at the phone held in the palm of his right hand, too bewildered for a second to make a move.

God, he had almost forgotten about her.

The phone call he had heard of Hadeed when he entered the hospital building, followed by the news of his mother's well-being, combined with the exhaustion he felt at the moment had made him almost forget about the woman locked up in the motel he owned.

"I was.. I had some work." Ibrahim stumbled on his words as he coughed uncomfortably, straightening in his place almost too hurriedly.

Much to his relief, he was met only with understanding eyes because everyone knew the workaholic man he was, knew how engrossed he could be in his work at times. Nobody questioned him, and in one way or another, it did more harm than good.

"I need to make a call." He said after a moment, getting up from the bed, gripping the phone in his hand a bit too tightly.

"I'm coming back in a second, Ammu." Ibrahim looked towards his mother who although had her eyes narrowed a little, did not say a thing and only managed a small nod.

Without looking anywhere else, Ibrahim exited the room with brisk steps, his hand already fumbling across the phone as he searched for a number in his contacts. Closing the door slowly behind him, Ibrahim placed the phone against his ear and waited for the call to connect. Fortunately, it didn't take much long.

"Let her go. Drop her wherever she wants." He blurted out as soon as the call was answered from the other side, too hurried to let the woman go, almost too desperate.

After hearing a positive reply from the other side, Ibrahim disconnected the call, unknown and foreign emotions rising in him as he studied the wall in front of him. Not being able to place a finger at the emotion that resided so deep in him, Ibrahim closed the lids briefly in utmost desperation as he sat on the bench against the wall.

Dropping his head in his hands, he had had his elbows resting against the knees as he studied the rise and fall of his dusted boots, the rise and fall of his beats, the rise and fall of his life. All his life, he had chalked out every single detail and never, not even once, had anything gone according to it. But at the end, he was always glad, a thing he had never appreciated.

Likewise, this time too, life had played a game on him, making his mother gain consciousness the second he had ordered the hired men to kidnap the woman. Different feeling rose in him as he thought more and more, different emotions.

The first emotion that rose in him was regret, a small stroke of the emotion that started in his heart and went all the way north to his brain. Had he waited for a few more hours, kept his patience for a little more time, none of this would have been necessary. Ammu woke up long before he had had the chance to encounter the wounded woman, all the efforts he went into to get a hold of the woman seemed irrelevant in totality right now.

Had he answered his calls in stead of getting rid of his mobile phone last night, nothing would have happened, absolutely nothing, and somehow, this thought did little to ease the regret that was steadily rising in him with each passed second.

After all, he was no professional kidnapper of any sort. He just wanted to make her suffer; to get back at her for hurting his mother and family like this; just wanted her to feel the same pain he was feeling at the moment; wanted her to realize what a terrible act it was that she had committed.

The second feeling, however, was contrasting to the former. It was a small one, almost invisible and yet it firmly clawed at his heart until he was forced to give it a thought.

Satisfaction.

Satisfied at the fact that he did get back at her for hurting his mother; for all the tears his family had shed over the course of three days; for the horrible act she committed on a Saturday morning; for everything.

Although his initial intentions were to let go of her at the same night of abduction, her unconsciousness and stubbornness had proved to be far more damaging for her than even his own anger. He was angry at her, yes, but he never thought he would do or say any of the things he had done or said, it was her own replies and failure to accept her mistake that had pushed him over the edge.

As he sat on the bench, he did everything in his willpower to find reasonable justifications for his actions and behaviours, but sometimes, justification and reasoning ruin the situations which could easily be handled by mere acceptance.

He had yet to understand that.

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Hello, lovelies!

Long wait and the chapter is short but I do have a surprise in my pocket for the future!

Do leave behind votes and comments.

Till next time,
Salam!