67. JEALOUSY

Haroon sat motionless, the sterile smell of the hospital pressing in on him from all sides. His eyes were fixed on the swinging door that Taliya had been wheeled through, disappearing into the private room. She had looked so fragile, so cold—her lifeless body etched into his mind like a haunting image. He couldn’t believe it.

Taliya, the girl who had always met him with warmth and quiet strength, was now lying somewhere behind those doors, battling something far too terrifying: hematoma. The word echoed in his head. He hadn’t understood what it fully meant until the doctor’s somber explanation settled over him like a dark cloud.

Murad had been the one to fill out all the formalities, and Haroon barely registered it. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe properly. Every second that passed without knowing her condition felt like a lifetime.

He wanted to move, to scream, to do something—anything—but all he could do was sit and stare. His body felt distant, disconnected from his mind, as though the pain he was feeling was too much to bear. In his chest, the ache was growing heavier with every heartbeat.

"She’ll be okay... she has to be okay," Murad had said earlier, his voice trying to fill the void with hope. But Haroon couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness, the gnawing fear that perhaps things wouldn’t be okay. His heart was wrapped in a suffocating tightness, unable to see a future where Taliya wasn’t laughing with him, walking beside him, or even rolling her eyes at his jokes.

Each second in that cold waiting room dragged on for eternity. He looked down at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap. For the first time in his life, he felt completely and utterly useless. He had always thought he could protect her from anything, but in this moment, it was clear just how powerless he was.

The sounds of the hospital—distant footsteps, the beeping of machines—faded in and out of his awareness. All he could think about was Taliya. The way her face had lost its usual color, how her eyes hadn’t fluttered open as they took her away. His throat burned with the emotions he couldn’t express. What if she didn’t wake up? What if she was already gone?

Murad’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present, but Haroon couldn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to hear the useless comfort that everyone seemed to offer in times like these. Instead, he swallowed hard, trying to keep the pain from spilling over.

The memory of Taliya’s laugh, her teasing smirk, and the way she’d called him "oldy" in her usual playful tone replayed in his mind. The fear of never hearing that again was too much. His chest tightened further, a silent scream building in his throat. The tears that welled in his eyes threatened to fall, but he clenched his jaw, holding it all in.

He wanted to be strong, for her, for himself—but how could he when all he felt was unbearable sorrow? The world felt darker, colder, like it was closing in around him.

Haroon barely registered Sofia’s voice calling out, "Mr. Hero!" It was her nickname for him, one that always brought a faint smile to his face, but now, it felt distant—like a memory from a different world. He turned his head slowly, his vision blurred by unshed tears, and saw Sofia rushing towards him.

The moment she was close enough, Haroon’s restraint snapped. He closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her tightly and burying his face into her shoulder. The weight of everything—the fear, the pain, the helplessness—came crashing down on him all at once.

Sofia stiffened, shocked at first by the unexpected intensity of his embrace. She had never seen him like this—broken, vulnerable. Haroon had always been the one to smile through anything, the one who joked to lighten the mood, the one who everyone looked to for reassurance. But now, in this moment, all of that strength seemed to vanish. She could feel his body tremble as his sobs shook him, and though it felt strange—almost surreal—to see him like this, Sofia didn’t pull away. She let him cry, her own heart heavy with the weight of seeing someone she cared about in such pain.

Murad stood at a distance, watching the scene unfold with a pang of jealousy he couldn’t suppress. He understood the bond Haroon and Sofia shared, but seeing it now—so raw and full of emotion—tore at him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. If Taliya were here, she would be the one comforting him, offering him the quiet strength that only she seemed to possess. But she wasn’t. And that realization cut deeper than anything else.

Murad’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening as he tried to push the envy away. It wasn’t fair, none of it was. Seeing Haroon find solace in someone’s arms while the one person he needed wasn’t there filled him with a hollow ache. But in that same breath, he knew Haroon needed this—needed someone to hold onto while everything felt like it was falling apart.

As Haroon’s sobs began to quiet, Sofia gently rested her hand on the back of his head, her fingers combing through his hair in a soothing motion. She still wasn’t sure what to say, but words didn’t feel necessary right now. The weight of the moment, of the shared grief between them, was enough.

"How is she?" Sofia asks Murad cradling Haroon's face on her shoulder.

Murad gulped down, hisnthroat working up and down as he controlled his emotions and answers in his rigid voice.

"Doctor is treating her." That was it, this small sentence took him all the restrain to not break down infront of them. Because Murad never cried, not infront of anyone.