Third person's POV

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Sayyid felt like the very essence of his being had been stripped away, leaving behind nothing but sheer helplessness. Uselessness. The weight of the word crushed him, every letter an insurmountable mountain. He was supposed to protect her, to shield her from pain, but here he stood, utterly powerless, watching Aidah—his love, his heart—suffer.

She lay there on the hospital bed, dressed in nothing but the blue gown that seemed to mock the vulnerability of her situation. It had been an hour since they arrived, and still no doctor. Time stretched on, thick and suffocating, as Mami, Ammi, and he waited in silence. Mummy and the rest of the family were at home, trying to stay out of the way.

"Where is the doctor?" His voice cracked with frustration as he turned to the nurse. His hands clenched into fists, his mind desperate for answers.

"I'm sorry, sir," the nurse replied, her voice soothing but helpless. "Dr. Greyson should be here any moment." She moved towards Aidah, checking her vitals, writing something in her folder before quietly stepping out of the room.

Sayyid's heart was a storm. He rushed to Aidah's side, his trembling fingers brushing through her soft hair, as if trying to gather some strength from her.

"Aidah," he whispered, his voice barely audible as he called her name.

Her face was buried in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks, her sobs tearing through him like a blade. She was muttering duas through her broken breaths, her body wracked with pain, and it was as though every sob she let out was a jagged shard of his heart. It killed him, seeing her like this. Helpless.

"Aidah, please," he begged, his voice shaking with the force of his desperation.

She lifted her tear-streaked face, her eyes raw and bloodshot, her body still trembling. Her lips quivered as she gasped for air. She stared at him, and for a moment, it was as if she didn't recognize him, as if the pain had taken her away from him. "What?" she cried, her voice raw.

Every part of her was covered in tears, and Sayyid couldn't stand it. He reached out to her, wiping her tears away, but the sight of her pain made him feel even more useless.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words barely escaping his mouth.

"You should be," she sobbed, her voice breaking even more. But despite her pain, she reached for his hand, gripping it with a force that terrified him. "It hurts, Sayyid."

Before he could respond, the door to their small world creaked open. The doctor, Dr. Greyson, entered, followed by a nurse.

"Where have you been?" Sayyid's words shot out like a lash, his anger boiling over in the most unlikely of moments.

Dr. Greyson smiled faintly, as though the storm inside him didn't affect her. "I'm sorry I'm late. I was asleep," she said, the calm in her voice somehow making Sayyid even angrier.

She moved to Aidah, taking in the scene before her. "How are you doing?"

The pain was clear in Aidah's voice as she gasped, "The contractions are so strong. I feel like I want to push."

Dr. Greyson took a seat at the end of Aidah's bed and positioned herself to examine her. The room seemed to hold its breath, as if even the walls knew the gravity of the moment.

"Alright..." the doctor murmured, her face calm as she looked up at Aidah. "You're only 4 cm dilated."

The disbelief that flooded Aidah's face was like a punch to the gut. She looked at the doctor as if she were begging for a miracle. "How?" she whispered, her voice trembling with hopelessness.

Dr. Greyson gave her a warm, but steady, smile. "I know it's hard, but you must remain as calm as possible."

She turned to Sayyid, offering him something to do. "Take her for a walk around the floor. I'll check on her in an hour."

Sayyid nodded numbly. At least it was something. Something to do, anything to keep his mind from breaking.

"Baby, why don't we go for a walk?" he asked gently, his voice full of the tender hope he knew she needed, though he didn't know if it would make a difference.

Aidah hesitated for a moment, her hand instinctively going to her swollen belly. The pain was evident in her eyes, but after a long silence, she nodded. "Okay."

He wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her to her feet, guiding her toward the door. Ammi gave them a silent nod of encouragement as they made their way out.

The hallway stretched out before them like an endless path, and Sayyid could feel every step dragging his soul down. He could see another woman, walking with her nurse, her face strained with pain.

Aidah's grip on him tightened as they walked. She kept breathing in deep, long breaths, trying to keep the panic at bay, but her body betrayed her. Every step was a battle, every breath a fight.

The next seven hours felt like an eternity, a slow march through the darkest of times. They walked, they stopped, they sat, they walked again. The pain never stopped, only intensified.

Dr. Greyson checked in on them every hour, but there was nothing she could do until Aidah's cervix was fully dilated. She offered the option of an epidural, but Aidah refused. She wanted to feel every moment of this journey, even if it broke her.

Sayyid had never seen her like this—broken, desperate, consumed by pain.

"I need this baby out!" Aidah screamed, gripping the blanket with all her might. Her body trembled violently with each contraction, and Sayyid felt each wave of agony as if it were his own.

The morning light began to seep into the room around 8 am, but it brought no comfort, no relief. Meera, Mummy, and Mairam had arrived about forty minutes ago, but they stayed in the waiting room, not wanting to crowd the space. Only Mami and Ammi remained in the room with them.

Aidah was no longer just in pain. She was in agony. She grunted, shifting from side to side, her body writhing on the bed. Every sound she made tore through Sayyid's heart.

Dr. Greyson walked back into the room, gloves on, the calm in her demeanor like ice to the heat of the moment.

"Let's take a look," she said quietly, moving to Aidah's side.

"I can feel the baby's head," Dr. Greyson said, her voice filled with both authority and compassion.

Her eyes met Aidah's, and she spoke with the kind of soothing calm that Sayyid wished he could offer. "Alright, Halima, it's time for you to push."

Aidah nodded, her face a mask of both fear and determination, her hand reaching for Sayyid's as if she needed him to ground her.

"Give me your hand!" she cried, her voice thick with desperation.

Sayyid was instantly by her side, gripping her hand as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

"Keep pushing, Halima," the doctor urged. "You're crowning."

But Aidah didn't hear her. Her world had shrunk to the excruciating pain of pushing, her entire body shaking with the effort.

"You're almost there, babe," Sayyid whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he tried to keep his tears at bay.

She locked eyes with him for a brief moment, and in that split second, he saw it: fear, exhaustion, and a love so raw it took his breath away.

"Okay. Uhhh!!!" she screamed, pushing again with all the strength she had left.

Sayyid's hand was numb, but he didn't care. He could endure anything if it meant she was okay.

And then, after what seemed like a lifetime, the baby came.

The doctor held him in her hands, cleaning his mouth with a bulb syringe, and then the room was filled with the sound that made Sayyid's heart soar—his baby's first cry.

Alhamdulillah, ya Rabbi.

"Would you like to cut the cord, Mr. Remawa?" Dr. Greyson asked, her voice soft yet expectant.

Sayyid could hardly speak, the lump in his throat so thick it threatened to choke him. He nodded, moving slowly, his hands shaking.

He cut the cord, and as the nurse took the baby, cleaned him up, and wrapped him in a soft blanket, she handed him to Sayyid.

The baby was tiny in his arms, so fragile, so perfect. Sayyid gazed down at him, his heart swelling with overwhelming love. He caressed his cheek, and the baby stopped crying, as if sensing the warmth of his father's love.

Sayyid turned toward the Qibla, whispering the adhan in his baby's right ear and the takbeer in his left. Alhamdulillah for this precious gift.

The baby's tiny features, his nose, his mouth, his eyes—closed in peaceful slumber—were the most beautiful things Sayyid had ever seen.

"Let me see him," Aidah whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.

Sayyid carefully placed the baby in her arms, and she gazed down at him with tears in her eyes.

"He's so beautiful," she whispered. "So beautiful, Sayyid."

Sayyid smiled, kissed her forehead, and whispered, "Yes, he is."

The nurse came in to take the baby for his check-ups, and Sayy

id couldn't tear his eyes away from Aidah. She looked so fragile, so worn, but in her exhaustion, she had never looked more beautiful.

"Thank you," he whispered, pressing his lips to hers.

"I love you," he murmured against her lips before pulling away.

As the doctor took care of the placenta, Aidah looked at him, embarrassed by the state she was in.

"I must look horrible," she said softly.

Sayyid smiled at her, his heart full of adoration. "You look beautiful."

She asked for a cup of water, and he quickly brought it to her lips, helping her drink, filling the glass again when she finished.

They spent the next few hours waiting, talking quietly with Mairam and Meera as they waited for their baby to return.

When the nurse brought him back, Aidah was asleep. Sayyid, holding the baby, whispered, "Aidah, baby."

Her eyes fluttered open, and the moment she saw the baby, her face softened, her exhaustion forgotten for a moment. Sayyid gently handed their son to her.

The softest smile played on her lips as she cradled him close. "He's so perfect."

"Yes, he is," Sayyid whispered, watching them with a heart too full for words.

Their son, Muhammad Rayyan, was everything. He completed them in ways they never could have imagined.

Alhamdulillah for this gift. Alhamdulillah for Rayyan.

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