Bismillah hir Rahman nir Raheem.

"Jesima?"

"Jesima?"

"Jesima! Wake up."

A warm hand caressed her cheeks with a small loving kiss on her forehead, it felt as if the dewdrop falling over the petal, a feather falling over-sand.

She opened her eyes. Her fingers tried to shoo away the darkness that clouded her vision and when the black clouds that hovered over the night sky of her irises cleared away to let the sun conquer over her kingdom of vision, she saw him. She saw Aashiq.

"Aashiq?" She asked, flabbergasted. "Is that you?"

"It's me, Habibti." Aashiq moved forward, taking her hand in his, he led it towards his lips, kissing it ever so lightly. The breeze caused a shiver to run down her spine and it chilled her to no extent.

As his lips pulled away from the back of her palm, she twisted it and caressed his cheeks, not believing the sight. Not believing he was actually in front of her. Like always, his beard prickled the insides of her palm. When her fingers reached his chin, she stroked the pink smudge of his lips. Feeling the tickles of the rough hair of his beard and yet to reach for the territory inside those curls—to feel the warmth of his skin.

What if my eyes are deceiving?

She let her hand move to the back of his face, reaching his hair, touching them, holding those midnight curls to the extent of their length, slowly, she pulled his face towards her. In the silence of the night, in the darkness that it contrasted, she didn't know she could be this bold but her next act confirmed that if she will, she could be.

Aashiq quietly let her dictate him, and as their face met, his lips conquered hers. It was featherlight. It was slow. It was passionate. And it was enough to prove to her that indeed he was near. Their breathing intermingled along with their heartbeats. It felt too tangible but very true. It felt raw but very ripe. It felt too false to be valid. Yet intricately truthful. Perfectly mended. Valuable felt.

Jesima pulled away with tell-tale fringes of her hair hiding her blush and her heart raised to beat like a drum when Aashiq moved those beach curls that hid her face quite precisely, away from obscuring the view of her beautiful face.

"I have missed you." He cupped her face.

"Not more than me."

"I know." His reply was as soft as a whisper. Hushed. Unreal.

Jesima didn't know what took over her, she leaned towards him, hearing the melodies of his heartbeats, she placed kisses all over his face, sitting so close to him that all of her forms were pushed to crash the wall of his hard abdomen.

"What do you know, Aashiq?" She choked, "You can never imagine what I went through. Hard would be a very small word to describe it."

Aashiq pushed the hair strand that fell over her face to go behind her ear. "I know and I am so very proud of you for enduring it," he lulled in her ear, "That's why Allah handed you the test paper, not me. I will never have the strength to breathe in a world in which you are not a part of."

"Aashiq." She pulled away from his face to witness the golden-green of his eyes, golden-green molded in a grey ponds.

He kissed her cheeks, "Yes, Habibti?"

"Are you now a part of the world I breathe in?"

Silence.

Sometimes the silence in the air, the silence in the other one's tone, the silence that stretches between the lips of the one's sitting across us, tears us apart. Jesima's eyes started to pool, the black well of irises began to pull out water, the crescent in the middle suddenly commenced floating in those black waters.

She was anxious, exasperated, and craving for a reply, for his lips to part and words to depart. The words that will be the confirmation she has sought all this while. But when they didn't, the water flooded her ray of vision, intricately falling through the corners.

Her full body was hugging him like he was the only blanket they had to safeguard themselves from the cold. Just for a millisecond, if Allah pulls away the only blanket you have is only for two reasons: to make your skin cold to the cold or to make you survive through the storm.

A sudden flicker in her belly pushed him away, making him surprised. His devouring eyes landed over her protruded belly and another round of applause went inside her stomach. The baby residing inside it, jumped up and down at the mere presence of his/her father, kicking and punching to come out and rest in Aashiq's arms.

It was the time for Aashiq to cry, sprinkles of gold washed away with his tears. Tears of love for the little one, he leaned in, his whole form shaking, his fingers trembled as he reached out to massage over her stomach, heart in his throat.

As if on cue, his fingers felt tiny little corners of legs touch the insides of his palm. He looked at Jesima and she choked, his dusk-colored skin turned pale as she grinned ear to ear. "Yes, we are pregnant."

Jesima pulled Aashiq's face close to her, crying over his hair, the midnight curls tingling her face. Aashiq sniffed under her hold, hiccupping as he laid heartwarming kisses over her stomach, holding it as if his whole life depended on it. They both cried and also cherished the exact moment.

When at last Aashiq pulled away to look at her face, Jesima's voice was hoarse yet she let the words in her heart bleed out, "Are you now a part of the world I breathe in?"

Biting his bottom lip, Aashiq made her lay her head over the soft pillow and laid down beside her, keeping his hand intact over her stomach, drawing soothing circles over it, and guiding his other hand to close her eyes.

"I am always a part of the world you breathe in," he whispered into her ear.

Jesima opened her eyes the next instant, her hands searching over her stomach to find Aashiq's fingers, her other hand flying to the bed that dipped with his presence. She sat up, breathing heavily. It all felt too true to be false.

Her eyes roamed across their room, the curtains that danced nearby the window, the half-moon that shone through the gap, the stars that twinkled, and the galaxy they ordained.

She gulped down the sob that wanted to perish her entire form...

It was just a dream.

The back of her hand reached to her cheek, she felt the coolness of the tears that she had shed looking over her lover, they were still intact even though they were shed during the dream except for the loved one she saw in it was nowhere near her in reality.

She gradually moved forward to the foot of the bed, her enlarged tummy made it harder for her to move and she felt spasms of pain in between her thighs. She shook the alarming bells in her head, assuring them that these cramps may be the indications of false labor.

She took deliberate steps towards the walk-in closet, opening the sliding glass doors, she let her slender fingers run through the rich costumes of her husband. Seeking comfort in one particular color, she unwrapped it from the hanger, pushing her both hands inside the armholes, she wore his shirt.

She sniffed a whole breath of his scent.

You are near.

She then placed her hand over her watermelon-sized stomach.

If not you, someone from you, will always be a part of the world in which I breathe.

It became difficult for her to walk the next instance, the cramping started to come in a blow, startling her, panicking her.

Are you missing your father too?

She sat at the edge of the bed, clutching her stomach. She felt moisture roll down her lower limbs as well as her orbs. I miss him too.

"Anjum," she tried to muffle out loud in the silence of the night.

"Allah!" She screamed when the cramps raised to the highest of peaks, "Ammi!" her voice mingled with cries. She looked at the door with teary eyes, face scorching with agony. A white flicker rounded the corner, "Aashiq?" She whispered to herself when she noticed it, standing up, she clutched her belly.

With tired steps, she slowly crawled with her legs towards the threshold, holding the door for moral support.

"Aashiq," she called.

She saw it again. The same flicker passed through the long hallway, beneath the lush chandeliers, she held the wall as she walked towards the direction because, with each tickling second, it was becoming difficult for her to hold the ground.

She didn't know how she passed the alleyway, drops, and drops of amniotic fluid fell over the path she walked. She tightly clutched the curve of her stomach for the baby to not fall out of her tummy, precisely, she felt that it would fall if she didn't hold it. She fought against gravity to reach the door. A room's door in which the flicker vanished in.

Her fingers trembled but she clenched them into a fist, banging the door.

"Aashiq, open the door."

There was shuffling inside making her heart tug its beatings. He is here.

He is here.

The blackness of the night still hovered over her and as the door opened with a creak, it caused a shock wave to run down her spine, causing her to stumble back. The opener of the door moved forward, grabbing her wrist in time, balancing her fall.

Her vision couldn't perceive the view of the opener of the door. It was too fogged up for it and the contractions of her stomach didn't let her be sane. She crossed the last of her sanity by letting out a nervous chuckle when she connected the dots.

Her next words confirm her thoughts. "Aashiq?" She asked flabbergasted, "Is that you?"

Yes, she was reliving the dream or so she thought.

...

"Shabna," Maahi called his wife, managing to hold Jesima upright. "Shab," he called her again, grabbing his wife's attention this time. Shabna put down one-year-old Muhammad from her lap and ran towards Maahi.

"Jessie," she shrieked, panic morphing her face when she looked at the state of Jesima.

Shabna rushed to the boot of the room, giving a hand and sieving in the gap between Jesima's arm, she helped Maahi to let her sit on the nearby couch. Shabna saw the slippery water on the white marbled floor and understood that Jesima's amniotic sac had broken and started to leak.

"Maahi, call Anjum and Aashiq's mother," she ushered her husband, while she patted Jesima's shoulders. "Jessie! Hold on, we are going to take you to the hospital."

Jesima held her stomach, gritting her bottom lip, "Call Aashiq, please. It's so painful," she withered in Shabna's grip making Shabna's eyes cloud with water.

"He is going to come, Okay?" Shabna cried, "He is with you, Jesima, He is with you, Habibti! Hold on."

Through her peripheral vision, she saw all the housemates rushing towards them. "The water broke, we should rush to the hospital."

Chaotic. That's how everything went, from taking Jesima to the car to taking her to Ahmed and Samra's clinic. Rubbing her hands, Shabna whispered soothing words, Anjum tried to guide Maahi to Ahmed's clinic which fell before the selected hospital for delivery. Aashiq's mother was scorching in agony at Jesima's feeble state, her other daughter's mumbling words addressed towards her dead son broke her in so many ways that she felt she would faint any moment.

The past ten months went smoothly, they enjoyed themselves as a family by being there for each other and making the other smile. Bringing one another back from the tragedy was the main task, it was like pulling water from a well; putting so much strength on holding the rope, each passing day, they pulled each other, at least they tried their level best. Sometimes they even reached the peak of the well only to fall with all the force into the deep waters of the love they had for Aashiq. His memories, his actions, his care, his presence, all of him was required for them to breathe. He was like their oxygen and suddenly the ventilator they all breathed in was found empty—making each one of them gasp for air.

...

She saw him.

She had been with his presence, whispering love confessions, letting the tears mingle, letting the smiles collide, letting the heartbeats merge, touching his skin, feeling his soul, brushing her lips with his, feeling the caress of his lips all over her form. Though for a moment, though in a dream, she let him ruin her in ways she could burn. Burn with the flame of his intoxication. Exhaust until there were no more dances of orangish blue hues. Deplete with no smoke left in her to let out.

She had touched his arm, his hair, his cheeks, his lips, his forehead, his chest, his shoulder. She felt him real.

Where did you go?

"Aashiq," she cussed as the pain turned immeasurable. The contractions towering her petite form, giving punches after taking small breaks. Break-pain-break was their formula.

During the breaks, she saw him, living through the memories of him, her brain showing the movie "Tears of Love." And then the pain hit her, it was worse because it hit her body and soul. Body with the contractions and soul with the reality, the reality in which there was no him.

"You have made my investment of time worth.." The lights of the stage blinded her vision, the chorus of applause deafening her ears as she stood with gold medals hanging in her neck.

"I don't know who to praise, the butterfly or the beholder of the butterfly..." Through the mirror of her eyes, she saw him standing a few feet away amid the forest, admiring her beauty, cheeks painting with an adorable blush as he took his mobile to capture the moment. To freeze it in the time frame.

"You are my happiness, Jesima..." Aashiq confronted taking her hand in his, running towards the ocean with her by his side, running over the lapping waves, letting go of all the fears that tried to push them down, falling inside the Turkish blue water, and seeing the land of the ocean with their eyes, hand-in-hand, heart-in-heart.

"Can we pray in congregation?.." Aashiq asked, peeking inside her room, biting his lower lip like a kid, and then leading her in prayer like a man. How could anyone not fall for this cuteness?

"To your favorite place..." Aashiq took her to Shabna's house just to see her smile. There were so many moments she cherished. Each one of them caused havoc inside her. Made her legs jelly, along the side, her family led her inside the labor ward, making her lay in the bed. Samra rushed for the scrubs and she could see a panicked Rafa walking inside the room. They were all bickering, conflicting on what to do but Jesima could no longer hear their chain of words, her eyes only seeing the images-flashes of Aashiq and the days she spent with him.

"I love you more..." Aashiq whispered, lying on her lap, locking his green pearls of pupils with her charcoal black ones, golden truth glittering on them.

Jesima choked, "No! I love you more," she gasped as she sat for a second before collapsing back on the bed. Shrieks of her friends were finally audible and she looked at them in confusion. "Where is Aashiq?" She questioned, anguish lining her voice.

"Where is Aashiq? I need him, Now." She wailed angrily and they all stood limp. A teardrop leaked from her eyes and rolled down, reaching the flare of her ear.

He is no more. He has been dead for ten months now.

Just as her brain uttered those words, just as they registered on her brain, her hands that were putting pressure on both sides of the bed due to continuous contractions, to push the baby out of her, fell in defeat.

"Jesima," Samra came by her side at once and patted her cheeks to regain her friend from the numbness that started to freeze Jesima's form. "Jesima, can you feel anything?"

Two big teardrops leaked from both of Jesima's eyes as she shook her head in a no.

As if someone did magic on her, all the cramps, all the contractions, all the pains, vanished.

"Samra, it may be due to Stalled labor," Rafa whisper-yelled across from Jesima, "Due to continuous depressive thoughts, her contractions may have stopped."

Samra put a hand on her mask-covered mouth, a bead of sweat paused-stilled from falling from the side of her forehead.

"Prepare the anesthetic, we need to operate her," Samra muttered audibly, guiding her staff nurse to prepare for the surgery in a hurry while Rafa attached the heart monitor of the baby into Jesima's stomach. Their Clinic was small but Alhamdulillah! Was furnished with an Operation Theatre for emergencies and given their record of half a year of the practice, three births had already taken place before Jesima.

"The baby's breathing is faltering," Rafa pointed out, her lips shivering with each syllable.

"What the hell is happening inside? Why am I not allowed?" Ahmed yelled from behind the curtains.

"No," Jesima shrieked. "Please don't let him in." Her modesty acquired her brain cells, and slowly, slowly, her heart tugged at its beatings. I have already lost Aashiq, I will not lose my baby too.

Her eight months journey, starting from the day she came to know about the pregnancy brought her focus back. She has lost her everything but not her everything. She has more to lose but this time, she is unwilling.

"I am ready for the surgery," she confirmed and they all ran in all directions to do the necessary actions.

The anesthetic nurse prepared the spinal block injection and walked up to Jesima.

After the injection, her lower body felt numb. Rafa connected a urinary catheter to Jesima's bladder to drain out the urine and side by side, Samra cleaned her abdomen.

Uttering a Bismillah, Samra put a low horizontal incision of the skin and then on the subcutaneous fat and muscles, reaching the uterine wall. Rafa helped Samra to retract the skin with retractors, she and the other staff held the operating site open for Samra. She incised the uterus, and very little amniotic fluid gushed out as most of it had already leaked out.

Even though her hands were covered with pristine green gloves, Samra could feel sweat moistening her palms inside, making the plastic stick to her like a second skin. The chills that ran down her spine wanted her to run away from there. No wonder why they said the doctors should not treat their own friends and family.

Jesima looked at the ceiling, calling her Rabb to aid her with success as He had blessed her all the times before Aashiq's death. She shushed her mind to shut off the button of negativity. Allah blessed her with pregnancy only to grant her a child and she trusted Him that He will not show her a dream only to be deprived of it. The white lights that lighted over them looked almost blurry.

Samra could already feel the baby in her own stomach somersault when she took hold of the head of Jesima's baby and with her heart beating in a fury, she took the baby out. Rafa clamped and cut the umbilical cord immediately while Samra held the baby in one hand and with the other, she took the suction bulbs the nurse was handing. She sucked the secretion in the mouth and nasal passages. That's it, She breathed out the breath she was holding all this while.

Heavenly cries filled in the room and Jesima's face turned to them, her face looked otherworldly like she was given redemption after being dead. Like a tree, she bloomed as if someone nurtured her with water. Like a barren land, she turned green as if someone blessed her with rain.

Samra choked in her breathing when she looked at the baby in her hand, covered with blood and mucus but still, it looked like the world her friend was granted. The cries filled each corner of her heart and she couldn't be thankful enough towards her Creator. How can you be so Merciful? She let a tear roll down through her eyes and handed the baby towards Rafa, who mirrored similar emotions.

"It's a girl," Samra grinned, meeting Jesima's eyes. "Your wait was worth it all," she bit her bottom lip when she saw Jesima's trembling lips. If only she was anywhere out, other than an operation theatre, she would have choked Jesima with a hug.

"Rafa, recite Ayatul Kursi and blow over her," Jesima finally worded out.

Rafa vehemently handed the baby to the nurse to weigh and clean because she wanted to keep her to herself. After the placenta came out, they started the procedures to stitch Jesima up. Completing that, they draped the bed cover over her abdomen, and the staff nurse wheeled her to the next room, where she was helped into a patient bed and administered an IV.

Jesima's vision clouded, her consciousness in and out as she felt the weakness take over her. She couldn't feel the pains just yet, but her low energy reserves told her that she had indeed had a lot of blood loss. However despite the fatigue filling each fiber of her body, the half crescent on her lips refused to waver. She was a mother now, she had birthed the fruit of Aashiq's seed.

In the other room Samra quickly strolled towards the bathroom to sterilize her hands, followed by Rafa. Once they were out, Samra pulled the curtain away, and faced Ahmed, whose face was masked with worry and the weight of the tribulations they had just encountered. Committing an emergency surgery in the wee hours of the morning was hard enough, but doing it on family was ten fold difficult and troubling. The look in his eyes told her that he wanted to hug her but she couldn't because all the family had poured into the clinic hallway, right outside the OT.

Happy tears clung to everyone's eyes as they circled around Rafa who held the baby, looking at the bundle of happiness that had brought joy to their hearts. Rafa grinned wide as she let everyone have a look without touching, before she walked through them and headed to the room where Jesima lay.

She entered the small patient room and handed the baby that was wrapped in white clothing to Jesima to hold for a second.

Despite Jesima's energy-drained hands reaching out to grab the child, her eyes sparkled as she looked at the newborn. The girl that laid beside her looked like her own childhood that she had seen in old photographs, that is, except her eyes. When her precious girl opened her eyes, the orbs that stared back at Jesima almost killed her. Because they were inherited from her father, Aashiq. Jesima's heart was already going to it, all her plans draining out the drain and now, after Allah, all that mattered to her was the one in her hands.

"Who is going to give the Adhan?"

"Maahi!" Jesima said, meeting Shabna's glazing eyes.

Samra took the baby from Jesima and walked up to Maahi in the clinic waiting room. She gave the bundle of joy to him who took her with so much affection.

"Bhabi! What about the name?" Anjum stifled her nose as she put forth.

As if her words stung, Jesima flinched and dived through a portal to a day when she lay opposite to Aashiq. She could literally hear the waves of the beach outside their room, the warmth radiating from Aashiq was felt even though he was laying on the opposite bed, and the salty scent of the ocean wafting through the spacious. They had been discussing children, her face red with a blush, her heart thumping wildly in her chest on the prospect of one day birthing Aashiq's baby. The day felt like a far away dream, so close, so tangible, yet already gone.

"Name her, Asma," Aashiq had said as he lay a few feet away from her. "Asma is the name that comes from both of our names..."

His face had held a dreamy look, full of glee and excitement towards the future. Anyone could have walked in on him then, and yet even the longest needle would fail to burst the bubble of love that immersed him.

Jesima was far too shy to react much back then, but recalling the memory filled her with love and longing, so much so that she felt like her heart would burst. Aashiq had looked forward to becoming a father, the mention of children alone plunging him into an ocean of bliss. While she had brushed off mentions and jokes about children back then when the friends had talked about whose child marrying whose, Aashiq had been the one taking it all so seriously.

Her heart ached, the cracks she had stitched again and again over the months since his departure tearing up one by one again. She was the one with their child, with their daughter, while he, the one who had been crazy about children, in a place where he could not even hear the cries of the evidence of their love.

"Jessie, do you wanna name her anything in particular?" Samra's question brought her out of the memory.

She nodded. With tears threatening to escape her eyes, she firmly said, "Name her Asma. That's what Aashiq wanted to name her."

He may not be here today. He may not be able to hear Asma's first wails, her first words, witness her first steps. But we will be together in Jannah. We will unite in Jannah, and none of these lonely moments will be of any significance then.

A sob escaped her throat, startling her best friend, but she shook her head. Her cries weren't of pain, they were of hope. She dearly missed Aashiq iatthe moment he would have cherished more than anyone. She and her daughter, Asma, Aashiq's Asma, would work hard, very very hard to reach the same destination as Aashiq, to reunite with him in an eternal land. It was only a matter of a few years, just a blink of an eye when they would be away from him, and then they would reunite with him forever.

"...the life of this world is no more than the delusion of enjoyment." (3:185)

She closed her eyes, tears, and fatigue blinding her vision, but her smile was more hopeful than it had ever been.

She was going to get to her Aashiq, and she would do so with their daughter right next to her, Him, her, and Asma, all together in Jannah, and that would be the perfect end to Aashiq's Aashiqui. 

***

Second last chapter.

I wish I can hold baby Asma in my hands.

I feel Grandma vibes *wipes happy tears*

So? Did you enjoy it?

Also, I am very thankful towards you people for making me reach this far. A Big Thank You.