kholun jo baahein

bas g̣ham ye simat rahein hain

aankhon keh aage

lamhein yeh kyun ghat rahein hain

jaane kaise koi sehta judaiyan

Present.

With the setting sun casting a warm, golden light over the mountain top, I saw her walking towards the edge, her figure outlined against the fading sky. "Abeer!" I call out again, my voice desperate, echoing in the stillness. She doesn't respond. She just keeps walking, her steps slow and deliberate, as if she's drawn to the edge by some invisible force.

I start running, my feet pounding against the ground, but the distance between us remains, an unbridgeable chasm. No matter how fast I run, she remains out of reach.

"Abeer, please, stop!" I scream, my voice hoarse from continuously shouting, calling out to her and somehow trying to make her stop.

She turns to face me as she reaches the edge of the mountain. The gut-wrenching sight, a hollow reflection of the girl I once knew. Her tear-stricken face made my heart stop as her swollen, lifeless eyes bore into mine. She had gotten weak and pale, barely recognizable. She looks at me with such longing as a broken smile forms on her chapped lips. With that she falls back.

I wake up gasping, my heart pounding in my chest and my body drenched in sweat. Every night, it's the same. The same helplessness, the same loss. The echo of her name lingers in my mind, poignant and relentless.

My hand shakes as I reach for my phone, the light blinding me as I check the time, it's 3 a.m. I sit up, breathing heavily, my mind replaying the nightmare on an endless loop.

Therapy was supposed to help, but I gave that up 2 years ago, convinced that nothing could help me anymore. Every passing day, I feel myself slipping further from life and myself. The weight of the dream lingers, a heavy cloud that follows me throughout the day, everyday.

I push myself out of bed, heading to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. As I look up, my reflection stares back, a stranger's face with hollow eyes and dark shadows beneath them. I don't recognize the man I've become, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if I ever will again.

I go back to bed, the luxury of getting normal sleep always far out of my affordable reach. The sleeping pills have stopped working as well and I know I can't keep increasing their dosage, given how my health isn't ideal either anymore. I don't fight the thoughts that come with a soul crushing hug. I let them tear me apart, until it's time for the morning to start.

Just like everyday, I drag myself to the office, my body on autopilot. As usual, on my way, I got myself some coffee and a cupcake. I reach the office before everyone else and go straight towards my cabin.

Soon the day begins, as I hear the steady hum of computers and the soft chatter of employees fill the office, a comforting rhythm that helps dull the constant noise in my head.

ITrendz Gaming—our company, Shahzain's and mine. We built it with nothing but grit, late nights, and countless sacrifices. Sometimes it feels surreal to see how far we've come, from the small team we started, to the thriving network of professionals, all hustling together. We're the underdogs in a competitive market and the stakes are high. But as I look around the bustling office, I can't help feeling that even at this success, the gnawing emptiness inside me never leaves.

As our company grows so does the competition, we now have some serious competitors right at our faces. The biggest threat? DigiCrest Technologies. They've been expanding aggressively, and their recent move into game development puts them directly in our path.

Gerard Bates, the CEO of DigiCrest Technologies, is known for his merciless tactics, and he doesn't just aim to win—he aims to crush anyone standing in his way. To him it's not just business, it's personal. Just about last week, DigiCrest snatched a deal from right under our noses, a major project we'd been conscientiously and devotedly working on for months. Just thinking about it makes my blood boil.

My phone vibrates, snapping me out of my thoughts. My grandma's message is showing on the screen, it's been over a month since I last talked to her. I remind myself to call her everyday, but it always skips my mind. I miss her deeply and I know I need to call her soon, as Shahzain told me she hasn't been doing well quite lately.

I'm at my desk, surrounded by papers and open tabs on my laptop, my eyes scanning the numbers on the screen. My head feels heavy, the weight of sleepless nights pressing down on me. The office buzzes softly around me, but it all feels distant, like I'm watching the world through a fogged window. The hum of work, the faint murmur of conversations—it's all just white noise.

The door to my office swings open, and Shahzain strides in, a cup of coffee in hand. He takes one look at me, and I can already see the disapproval etched across his face.

"Rehman, meeting in ten, you ready?" he asks, his tone casual but with that underlying concern I've grown used to.

I nod, closing my laptop. "Yeah, just let me grab my notes."

As I stand, the room tilts slightly, and a wave of dizziness washes over me. My hand instinctively shoots out, gripping the edge of the table to steady myself. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, willing the nausea and spinning to stop.

"REHMAN!" Shahzain's voice is sharper now, laced with panic. He's at my side in an instant, his hand on my arm. "What the hell, man? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I mutter, brushing him off, but my grip on the table doesn't loosen. My heart pounds in my chest, and I take a few deep breaths, waiting for the spinning to subside.

"You don't look fine," he says, his voice firm. "When was the last time you ate? Or slept, for that matter?"

I don't answer, avoiding his gaze. I know the answer won't satisfy him—hours ago? Days ago? I've lost track. Work has consumed every waking moment, leaving little room for anything else. It's the only thing that keeps me from drowning in my own thoughts.

"Rehman, this isn't a joke," Shahzain presses, his grip tightening slightly. "You're going to collapse one of these days if you keep this up. Eat something, go home, and sleep. The meeting can wait."

"I said I'm fine," I snapped, my tone harsher than I intended. I shake off his hand and stand straighter, forcing myself to compose. The dizziness is already fading, replaced by the dull throb of a migraine lurking at the edges of my mind. "Let's just go."

Shahzain opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. "I'm fine, Shahzain. Let it go."

He sighs, his expression a mix of frustration and worry, but he doesn't push further. Instead, he follows me as I grab my notes and head for the conference room.

The meeting starts, and I'm on autopilot. The project leads are presenting updates on the game we're developing, their voices droning on as slides flash across the screen. I try to focus, but my vision blurs slightly, and the throbbing in my head grows stronger, spreading from my temples to the back of my skull.

I shift in my seat, my jaw clenching as I fight to keep my composure. The light from the projector feels like it's stabbing into my eyes, each flicker of the slides sending sharp pangs through my head. I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles white, hoping no one notices.

"Rehman," Shahzain's voice pulls me out of my haze. I blink, realizing the room has gone quiet, and everyone is looking at me. "You're up for the next presentation slide."

"Right," I say quickly, clearing my throat. I force myself to sit straighter, ignoring the pounding in my skull. "Sorry."

I stand, my legs unsteady, and make my way to the screen. My voice is steady as I go over the key points of the presentation, but it feels like I'm watching myself from a distance, detached and robotic. The migraine claws its way down my jaw, spreading throughout my neck, each word I speak sending sharp pulses through my head.

When I finally finish, I sit back down, exhaling softly. The team continues their discussion, but I barely register their words. I'm too focused on keeping myself upright, on not letting the pain show. My vision blurs again, and I blink rapidly, trying to clear it.

Shahzain glances at me from across the table, his eyes narrowing. He knows something's wrong, but he doesn't say anything—not yet. I can feel his gaze, heavy with concern, but I refuse to meet it. I just need to get through this meeting.

The meeting drags on, each minute feeling like an eternity. When it finally ends, I breathe a quiet sigh of relief as the team begins filing out of the room. I stay seated, waiting for the pounding in my head to subside enough for me to stand without stumbling.

Shahzain lingers, as I knew he would. He waits until the last person leaves before walking over to me, his arms crossed. "Are you still not going to listen to me?"

I let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back in my chair. "I'm fine. It's just a headache."

"It's not just a headache," he snaps, his voice rising slightly. "You haven't slept in days. You haven't been eating. You nearly passed out this morning. This isn't normal, Rehman. You're burning yourself out."

I don't respond, my jaw tightening as I stare at the table. I know he's right, but admitting it feels like defeat. I've been holding myself together with sheer willpower, and the thought of letting go, even for a moment, terrifies me.

"Look, I get it," Shahzain continues, his tone softening. "You're carrying a lot. But you can't keep doing this to yourself. You're not a machine, Rehman. You need rest. You need help."

The migraine is reaching its peak now, a relentless pounding that makes it hard to think. I press my palms against my temples, squeezing my eyes shut. "I just need a minute," I say, my voice strained.

"No," Shahzain says, standing. He pulls my chair back slightly, forcing me to look at him. "You need more than a minute. Go home. Sleep. Eat something. Take care of yourself."

I shake my head, but the pain is too much. It feels like my skull is being split open, the pressure unbearable. "Fine," I mutter, the word slipping out before I can stop it.

Shahzain exhales, relief evident in his expression. "Thank you," he says, his voice softer now. "Ask the driver to take you home."

I nod weakly, too tired to argue. As we leave the conference room, the weight of exhaustion settles over me, and for the first time in days, I allow myself to let go—just a little.

raatein dengi bata

neendon mein teri hi baat hai

bhoolun kaise tujhe?

tu toh khayalon mein saath hai

Apologies to everyone who's still reading this, I know I'm super late with this update but I'll try to update more often now. Thank you if you're still reading it, don't forget to tell me what you think about this update. Also, check out my pinterest (@wordswitch) and instagram (@_wordswitch) to know more about Abeer and Rehman. With lots of love <3

P.S. The lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are from the song 'Judaai', by Arijit Singh and the ones at the end are from the song 'Bekhayali', by Sachet Tandon.

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