I placed my hand on my chest, feeling a sharp pain. It was as if my heart was about to burst. I could hardly breathe or speak. Tears had long filled my eyes.
I heard Islam’s voice:
“Hello, sister…”
I turned to look at her, but I couldn’t say a word. Aysha held my hand and said gently:
“Be patient, Baby… it’s fate. Pray, and Allah will ease your heart.”
I stayed silent. Just then, Dad walked in from the mosque. I glanced at him and saw the weariness on his face. In my heart, I thought:
“Even Dad feels pain… imagine mine.”
He sat close to me, softly stroking my head.
“Hello Baby… may Allah grant you patience. May He comfort your heart.”
The doctor came in, handed Dad a discharge form, and instructed him to care for me properly at home.
---
At Home
When we entered the house, we went straight to the living room. Islam held my hand, and Aysha carried our bags. Everyone greeted me, but I didn’t respond. I leaned against Mom, tears streaming down. She gently wiped my back.
After a few minutes, Aunty Waheeda arrived. She took me to my room, brought me hot water, and helped me remove my clothes so I could bathe. Afterward, I put on a long robe and hijab, sat on the prayer mat, and completed my prayers. I prayed for him, asking Allah to forgive his sins and grant him mercy.
Aunty brought tea, and Aysha brought some food, but I couldn’t eat. I managed to drink the tea but left the food untouched. People kept visiting, greeting me, but I only responded to Aysha.
---
Five Days After Nabeel’s Death
I lay on my bed, feeling numb. Islam and Nabeela were nearby, talking quietly. Fu’ad, Aunty Waheeda’s son, came in smiling, reminding me of Nabeel. He climbed onto the bed, tugging at my robe, and asked,
“When will Uncle Nabeel come back?”
I just stared. He said:
“Abbah said he won’t return…”
My tears flowed uncontrollably. I held Fu’ad tightly, crying for hours. Ummy stopped everyone from trying to comfort me, saying,
“Let her cry — it will ease her heart.”
Eventually, I fell asleep.
---
Everyday Care
For weeks, I cried day and night. Everyone tried to comfort me: Dad, Mom, Islam, Aysha. Even Nabeel’s family visited. I stayed silent, avoiding conversation. His pictures and messages were all I could look at. Sometimes, just looking at them would make me cry. Other times, I prayed endlessly for him.
---
Two Months Later
Gradually, my heart began to heal. I could speak a little. I moved to Dad’s house and stopped isolating myself. Still, at night, I would think of Nabeel and pray for him. I made a promise in my heart:
“I won’t marry anyone else. Without him, there is no one.”
BABY KHAUSAR —
I placed my hand on my chest, feeling a sharp pain. It was as if my heart was about to burst. I could hardly breathe or speak. Tears had long filled my eyes.
I heard Islam’s voice:
“Hello, sister…”
I turned to look at her, but I couldn’t say a word. Aysha held my hand and said gently:
“Be patient, Baby… it’s fate. Pray, and Allah will ease your heart.”
I stayed silent. Just then, Dad walked in from the mosque. I glanced at him and saw the weariness on his face. In my heart, I thought:
“Even Dad feels pain… imagine mine.”
He sat close to me, softly stroking my head.
“Hello Baby… may Allah grant you patience. May He comfort your heart.”
The doctor came in, handed Dad a discharge form, and instructed him to care for me properly at home.
---
At Home
When we entered the house, we went straight to the living room. Islam held my hand, and Aysha carried our bags. Everyone greeted me, but I didn’t respond. I leaned against Mom, tears streaming down. She gently wiped my back.
After a few minutes, Aunty Waheeda arrived. She took me to my room, brought me hot water, and helped me remove my clothes so I could bathe. Afterward, I put on a long robe and hijab, sat on the prayer mat, and completed my prayers. I prayed for him, asking Allah to forgive his sins and grant him mercy.
Aunty brought tea, and Aysha brought some food, but I couldn’t eat. I managed to drink the tea but left the food untouched. People kept visiting, greeting me, but I only responded to Aysha.
---
Five Days After Nabeel’s Death
I lay on my bed, feeling numb. Islam and Nabeela were nearby, talking quietly. Fu’ad, Aunty Waheeda’s son, came in smiling, reminding me of Nabeel. He climbed onto the bed, tugging at my robe, and asked,
“When will Uncle Nabeel come back?”
I just stared. He said:
“Abbah said he won’t return…”
My tears flowed uncontrollably. I held Fu’ad tightly, crying for hours. Ummy stopped everyone from trying to comfort me, saying,
“Let her cry — it will ease her heart.”
Eventually, I fell asleep.
---
Everyday Care
For weeks, I cried day and night. Everyone tried to comfort me: Dad, Mom, Islam, Aysha. Even Nabeel’s family visited. I stayed silent, avoiding conversation. His pictures and messages were all I could look at. Sometimes, just looking at them would make me cry. Other times, I prayed endlessly for him.
---
Two Months Later
Gradually, my heart began to heal. I could speak a little. I moved to Dad’s house and stopped isolating myself. Still, at night, I would think of Nabeel and pray for him. I made a promise in my heart:
“I won’t marry anyone else. Without him, there is no one.”