18th March, 2021

Kinza looked up when she heard footsteps approaching. She was seated outside the operation theatre on the hard plastic chairs in the corridor, wringing her hands and silently praying for the unknown man's safety.

As the footsteps grew louder, she saw her parents rushing toward her. She stood up instantly, walking straight into her mother’s arms like a child who had been holding in her tears too long.

“I was so scared,” Kinza whispered, eyes shut tight.

“But you showed immense courage. I’m proud of you, Baba ki jaan,” her father said, gently stroking her head. Kinza looked up at him and gave a tight-lipped, weary smile.

“I didn’t know what else to do… I’m sorry for worrying you both,” she said softly.

“You went out with Shahmeer, so how did you end up returning alone in a cab?” her mother asked, her brows knitting together in a familiar blend of concern and curiosity. At the mention of Shahmeer, Kinza stiffened, the memories of the night flooding back all at once—sharp, confusing, and unsettling.

"I… uh… I..." she stammered.

“What is it, Kinza?” her mother prodded gently but firmly.

“I’ll tell you everything. But can we please go home first?” she asked, glancing at her father, who nodded in understanding.

“Alright, let’s head home. It’s already so late,” he agreed.

“What’s going on, Kinza?” her mother pressed again as they walked.

“I’ll explain everything, I promise. Just not here,” Kinza replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Her mother gave her a look that said This conversation is far from over, but let it slide for now.

They were just about to step out of the hospital when Kinza paused. “Maa, you both go ahead. I just need to return this guy’s stuff real quick. I’ll catch up.”

She turned and walked back to the reception desk.

“Hey, hi!” she greeted the receptionist, trying to sound casual. “These belong to the patient currently undergoing surgery. His coat, cellphone, and, um… his ring.”

The receptionist looked up and blinked. “But… isn’t he your husband, ma’am?”

Kinza froze. Her brain screamed, Excuse me?! but her mouth said, “That… it’s… well…” She fumbled.

“Any issue, ma’am?” the receptionist asked, mildly confused but still polite.

Snapping out of her internal spiral, Kinza shook her head with a small, awkward smile. “No, no problem.” She scooped the items back up and bolted before she dug herself any deeper into the grave she’d accidentally jumped into.

Outside, her parents were waiting.

“Why’d you bring all his stuff back with you? Weren’t you going to return it?” her mother asked, eyeing the bag.

“I did, but since I had…” Kinza hesitated, staring at the ground like it had all the answers.

“You had what, Kinza?” her father asked, voice calm but curious.

“I swear I didn’t mean to—but I had no other option.”

“Kinza.” Her father’s tone was still patient, but she knew he wanted the truth.

“The doctors refused to operate without consent from family, and his condition was deteriorating fast. I didn’t know how to reach his family… so… I signed the documents. As his wife.” Her voice trembled slightly. “It was the only way they would agree to the surgery.”

“You did what?!” her mother exclaimed, eyes wide in disbelief. Kinza winced.

“Mom, I’m sorry—”

“This could become a police case, Kinza! Are you even thinking this through? What if they hold you legally responsible?!”

“I just… I couldn’t let him die in front of me,” Kinza said, her voice cracking with the weight of everything. She met her parents’ eyes, desperate for some understanding.

Her mother’s expression softened instantly. She turned to her husband, who nodded reassuringly.

“We’ll handle it. Right now, what matters is you helped save someone’s life. We’ll deal with the rest later,” her father said, and just like that, the storm in her chest settled. His calm was her anchor.

“Let’s go home.”

***

Later that night, Kinza stepped out of her wardrobe in a cozy pair of pyjamas. She stared at the bloodstained clothes in her hand, folded them, and tossed them into the laundry basket like she was disposing of evidence in a crime thriller.

Back in her room, she walked over to the couch, her eyes falling on the stranger’s belongings. She picked up his phone and pressed the power button—nothing. Dead. She tucked the phone and the ring into his now-cleaned coat, folded it, and slid it into a bag.

“I’ll return these tomorrow. Get well soon, mystery man,” she murmured with a faint smile.

She shoved the bag beside her desk and pulled a shawl around herself before heading to her parents’ room. She knocked gently and peeked inside.

“Can we talk, Maa?”

Her mother glanced up from her book. “What’s with the formalities? Of course, come in.”

Kinza entered hesitantly. “Where’s Dad?”

“In his study.”

“Okay.” Kinza shifted from one foot to the other, clearly unsure how to begin.

“What’s going on?” her mother asked, picking up on her unease.

“I need some time,” Kinza said carefully, bracing herself.

“And by that you mean…?”

“I don’t want to get married. Not yet.”

Her mother’s brow arched. “Care to elaborate? What happened between you and Shahmeer?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Kinza. Please. I can tell when something’s bothering you. Spill.”

Kinza sighed and stepped closer, taking her mother’s hand. “You’ve always respected my space. Please do it this time too.”

Her mother looked at her for a long second. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Just… talk to Dad. Call off the engagement. I swear it’s best for everyone.”

“Does Shahmeer not like you?”

“Maa!”

“Alright, alright! I’ll try to talk to him,” her mother relented and got up to leave.

“I’ll come with you,” Kinza said, following behind.

***

The next morning, Kinza walked through the hospital corridors like she was gliding down a runway—unintentionally, of course. Dressed in a white balloon-sleeved blouse with a bow tie collar, a floral maxi skirt, and an oversized overcoat wrapped neatly around her form, she looked like the cover model for “Grace Under Pressure.”

Her heels clicked with each step, and heads turned. She did her best to ignore them and headed straight to the reception.

“Hi,” she greeted.

“Good morning, ma’am. How may I help you?”

“There was an emergency patient brought in last night—stab wound, rushed into surgery. Can you tell me which room he was moved to afterward?”

“Name of the patient?”

“Uh… I don’t know his name. But I was the one who brought him in,” she explained, praying this didn’t sound as shady as it felt.

The receptionist typed a few things and then looked up.

“He’s been discharged, ma’am.”

“What?! When?”

“An hour ago. His family came to collect him.”

“Oh… alright. Thanks.” Disappointment flickered across her face as she glanced at the bag of his things in her hand. Sighing, she turned around and walked out.

In the car, she tossed the bag onto the passenger seat with a frustrated sigh and began to drive, only to realize—an hour later—that she had driven to a painfully familiar address. Her stomach dropped as she stared at the gates of the Edrisi estate.

“Nope. Not today,” she muttered and reversed out of the driveway like a getaway driver in a rom-com.

Back home, she parked, stepped out, and called, “Maa, I’m back!” before heading to her room. She turned the doorknob, stepped inside—and stopped.

Her Spidey senses tingled. Something was… off. Then she spotted them: shoes, poorly hidden behind the couch.

A grin crept across her face. Gotcha.

Tiptoeing to her wardrobe, she grabbed her nerf gun. The second one was missing, and she knew exactly who had it.

She ducked behind a chair, peeked out, aimed, and fired.

“You think you can outsmart me? Not this time!” she declared like a villain in a cartoon. Her foam bullet missed.

A laugh erupted from behind the couch. “You caught me!”

“I saw your shoes! Rookie mistake,” Kinza said, flipping her hijab like a dramatic heroine.

“I still crack up remembering what happened last time.”

“Yeah, and I still hate you for that.” She pouted.

“Such a cry baby.”

“I’m not!”

“Oh yes, you are.”

“Bhai!!” she yelled, shooting him again as both of them burst into laughter. Her room turned into a battlefield of foam bullets, giggles, and goofy taunts—just the way it used to be.

And for the first time in a long time, Kinza didn’t feel the weight of the world pressing down on her chest.

Assalamualaikum!!

I know! I know! No update for 8 months! That's a lot I know but I had my reasons!

To those of you who don't know, I got engaged 6 months back Alhamdulillah and also I had a few stuffs going on in life that kept me from writing. Also I was having a huge writer's block for the first time ever!! I had the story in mind but had no appropriate words to jot down!

I would request you all to keep me in your duas. It will mean a lot.

Coming back to the story. How was the chapter? The mysterious injured guy was already discharged? Who all had thought that he might be the main lead?

Can you guys leave behind some beautiful comments? They might help in making me feel good and also energise me to write again?

I don't promise quick updates now and I'm telling this to you all beforehand. I'm still going to try my best and end both of my stories in this year if possible In Sha Allah but no promises though.

Until next time...Ma Salama!