Don't leave me (Part 2)

Guilt kicks in and I start to see,
The edge of the bed, where your nightgown used to be.

It's been three days, and you're still in a coma. Your surgery went well, considering the two fractured ribs, internal bleeding, punctured lung, bleeding ears, and brain trauma. The surgeons had to call in more doctors because the surgeries took so long. It freaked us all out when they did that. They said you're weak, that your body took a lot of damage, and they don't know what will happen now. I didn't move away from your bedside, and I still can't look away from you when I sit here. I'm waiting for you to wake up or move a tiny bit. It feels weird to not hear your voice, and I don't want to listen to the voice mails you left me. That's the kind of thing a person does once someone dies, and you're not dead. You're not leaving me here, not like this. You know how much I need you, but you don't even see me.

When I fell asleep after the first day, I was hoping I'd wake up to see you looking at me. But that hasn't happened yet. I just have to keep waiting and praying. Our friends texted us, hoping you get better soon, and I couldn't help but go through pictures we take all the time. I need you to wake up soon, so I can take another picture of you. Knowing you, you'll want to delete the picture at first, but you'll come around to keeping it. Relatives kept stopping by, giving flowers and trying to comfort your parents, but their eyes have a haunted look, one that even I haven't been able to do anything about. If you were awake, you'd probably have an amazing idea about what I could do for them.

I went home yesterday to get some fresh air and check on our puppies myself. My brothers have been keeping an eye on them, but you know what dogs are like; they'll get sad if one of us isn't around. It took a while before they calmed down enough to let me do anything around the house. I kept looking at my phone, hoping it would ring, hoping it would be either of our parents, letting me know that you had woken up. I took a nap after cleaning our place, and I dreamt of you. It was just the two of us, on vacation, and we had gone back to your house in India. It was really hot and humid in the dream, and we kept buying water everywhere we went, but I was with you, and it felt so real that I didn't want to wake up.

I decided to stop by the dealership on my way to the hospital today. Your car was totaled, but insurance is taking care of your new car. I keep talking about other stuff because I really need you to wake up. I'm trying to stay busy and do something or another, so I don't think about life without you, because being without you is something I can't deal with. We promised each other that we would always face life together, no matter what, and I need you to hold your end of the bargain. I know you won't leave me here, not like this, not without saying goodbye first. I have faith in you.

Don't leave me (Part 1)

I smiled as I walked into the building where my office was. Today was a good day; it was raining, I had gotten paid last night, and I had found out this morning that my body fat percent had fallen by another percent. I took the stairs to my floor-sixth floor, not that much exercise-and was pleased once again at the fact that I wasn't out of breath at the top. I checked the mailbox outside my door; a letter from my department manager congratulating me on my performance last month, and a letter from the engineering department, reminding me that convocation was in two days. Today was indeed a wonderful day, and I said a prayer thanking God for all His blessings.

I had just taken my coat off when I felt my phone vibrate; I looked at it, and it showed three voice mails from her. I wasn't that surprised; my office was one of the few places in the building that got reception, so I must have missed her calls while I was coming to the office. I opened the first voice mail, and my blood ran cold when I heard it. I was on the phone with her instantly, and ran out as after telling my supervisor that I had an emergency. She was scared, she was crying, she didn't know what to do. I kept talking to her, and while running down the stairs, I dialed 911 from my other phone.
"Hi, my fiance has had an accident, she's at Greenville and Richmond, black Pontiac Solstice, she's been hit badly."

My building was two minutes away, so I pulled up behind her car just as the ambulances and police cruisers did. I remember seeing the EMT's run to her before I could, and saying that she was unconscious; them putting her on a stretcher and rushing her to the ambulance, and an officer calling for a shroud for the other car's driver. The other car had run a red light, hit her, and flipped over. I remember an EMT guiding me to the back of the ambulance, then staring at her while she fought to breathe, and getting out at the hospital and staring at the doctors waiting for us. It was only then that I called her parents and then mine, letting them know what had happened.

I'm sitting in the ER waiting room right now. The waiting room feels cold, like it's an uninviting, forbidding place, but then, no one wants to ever be here. I've been sitting here for the last four hours, praying and just waiting. I just want to hear her voice again, hear her laugh, see her smile at me, I just want to know she's okay. Both our families are here, stressed out beyond belief. No one is talking, because we're all praying, quietly, having faith that God will grant us our wish.

Far Away

I don't know how people do it. Even staying busy doesn't help anymore.
Above everything else, above my hopes, dreams, daily routines, there's always this thought at the back of my mind-and it's about going back home.
The feeling is in the fresh breeze, it's in everything I wear-most of my clothes are either made in Pakistan or bought while I was there, it's in most of my music, it's in the snapchats my friends back home send me, and it's even in the pictures my out of state friends post when they're going back home.

Nothing works, not even with the constant reminders that I'll go home one day. Even the struggle to remind myself to be patient doesn't help. For the fifth time today, I looked up a flight home, indulging my fantasy that I'll be booking it sometime soon. I've done this before, I stayed here for a year before going back. I did it again after a year at Rutgers and kept going. It's been two years, two months, and twenty four days since I saw home. I know that number because it's the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. I can't even fall asleep properly now; I have to totally exhaust myself or study a lot before I can fall asleep.
In trying to distract myself, I've been working on this short story bit by bit, and here it is. This is a work of fiction and has no relevance whatsoever to any person, alive or dead.


He walks into the bookstore quietly; he's looking for a particular book, and he doesn't notice people around him. There aren't a lot of other shoppers today; it's a Sunday, and sundown is in about half an hour. He walks down the aisle, and he finds what he's been looking for. He smiles and savors the moment; he's waited two year after the second book came out, and the third was finally in front of him. He picks it up, resisting the urge to open it and start reading-that would have to wait until he got back home. He turns, and almost bumps into someone who was texting on her phone and didn't see him until the last second.

She looks up at him; he's still just as tall as he ever was-thinner and grimmer, now-but she still has to look up at him. She stops in shock; she hadn't realized he was in town, and for him to be in this bookstore, at this time, so calmly, meant that he was back for good. It's been years since she last saw him, and when he left, she hadn't even acted like she cared-it was much easier that way. She doesn't know what to do, and the realization roots her to the floor.

He smiles, nods at her, and moves around her. He doesn't say anything; he doesn't want to hear her voice, because he knows that he won't be able to stop thinking about her if he does. The voices inside his head are going crazy, one side terrified that he'd see her again, and the other, angrier side, reminding him that no one gets a third chance. He hurries to checks out and leaves the bookstore, but the cool wind stops him in his tracks, because it's the same breeze he's waited years to feel, the same feeling of being back in his favorite city. It was a moment to savor, to feel happy and proud about everything he had accomplished and the long roads that had let him back here, but he wanted to be far away from her first.

She watches him leave in a hurry, and knows that it was because of her. She frowns; even now, she was able to make him avoid her. She doesn't know what to do, and it makes her angry, and her anger grows when she realizes that her day just went from good to bad-and he caused it, just like he always did. She stalks out of the store, and sees him all the way across, almost out of the door. That's when she smells the fresh breeze and it makes her stop, too.

He's just gotten into his car when he gets the urgent texts on his phone-Code Orange, mass casualties expected, all doctors to emergency wings. He doesn't hesitate, training taking over, and races to the nearest emergency center. He can see the ambulances tearing out of the parking garage as he gets closer. When he arrives, the television is airing the disaster, but he doesn't pause-he's used to emergencies and he knows how to stay calm. Some of the nurses have stopped to stare at the news, but he gets everyone's attention and makes them focus, the same calm way that he always has. He's the most senior doctor, and he reassures the staff. The calmer, firm expressions tell him he's done it right, one more time.

She works with the other doctors, making sure her nurses have everything ready. She's still trying to steady her nerves; she hadn't known that he was a doctor now, and for him to be in this wing, at this time.. she shakes her head, trying to clear her mind. He had totally thrown her off, and the way that he had calmly taken control reminded her of the last two times he had done it, even though it was a long time ago. A waving hand gets her attention; it was him, making sure each doctor was ready, and she can see the focus and-was that doubt in his eyes? It definitely wasn't trust, but she doesn't need him for any of this. She can do this.

He can hear the sirens getting louder, and it takes all of his control to not run outside. The staff needs to see him walking slowly, so they are as calm as possible. The first stretchers are rushed inside, and the ambulances rush off, back to the scene. Soon, there's a steady influx of stretchers and every doctor working quickly with the nurses, some inside the operating rooms, some on the side of the hallway, other doctors rushing in to help and getting straight to work. A nurse runs outside suddenly and pukes, and she calls for an extra nurse. There aren't any available, so he rushes to take the nurse's place. He nods at her. It's a race against time, but they're all working together.

Dare I hope?

Each path that I can take is as treacherous as the next, and no path has a guarantee of success.
It's like jumping into a void without knowing what's at the bottom.

The way down is still going to be exciting, though.
Let's see how this goes.