twenty three #TheSurvivors

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Please note that I've refrained from explicitly mentioning medical information in this chapter and future chapters, because sometimes research done isn't as reliable and I've only learnt what I've learnt from the Internet. There is always room for error and I don't want to write about anything misleading.

Comment loads, tell me what you think at every twist and turn! I don't find the time to reply but I do read through all of them. Thank you

Chapter 23 | A Piece Of Your Heart

There were many things Wahdan had dreamt of being

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There were many things Wahdan had dreamt of being. Professional video game player at the age of 13, master orator at the age of 16, cricketer who could wow the girls at 18, and lawyer at 27. But being made a fool by the sister who couldn't give up on her antics even when she was lying motionless on a hospital bed-the thought beat Wahdan down.

He felt the horror creep up to his face-the corners of his mouth turning down, his eyes widening a barely noticeable fraction, his heart plummeting to the ground. All the while, a hint of a smile appeared on Mubaraka's parched lips. It was tilted, it wasn't the same, but the essence of it was.

It took quite a bit of effort from Mubaraka, but after gruntled sighs and a little help from the female nurse, Mubaraka tilted her body so while one hand was clasped around Vajeeha's, the other reached for Wahdan's.

When Wahdan refused to move out of place, even his soul still and unmoving, Mubaraka's smile grew wider. Water lined her eyes and he could see it was taking a lot of her to be in such a position, the tilt clearly uncomfortable, but she smiled.

"How can I forget you?"

Wahdan didn't know he had it in him to burst into tears. He'd always found it too dramatic and cliché-how could one just burst into tears? Wouldn't their emotions spill out of them like gravy, wouldn't sentiments crawl out to freedom? How much pain could one heart hoard to be able to break out into cries so unlike it?

That day, Wahdan found his answer as he reached for his sister's forehead and dropped a gentle kiss, the terror in him slowly ebbing away. He didn't trust the waters just yet-each new turn had a history of putting a lot at stake, but Mubaraka's eyes, so unlike the rest of her, danced in playfulness and the warmth of recognition. This was really his sister.

"You evil little brat," Wahdan whispered, rubbing the crook of his arm over his face. "That wasn't funny."

"But the look on your face was," Mubaraka spoke, her voice low and a little shaky. "Ask Bhabhi."

Wahdan turned to Vajeeha, who was already staring at him with a smile that could melt the embers over his heart. Wahdan put an arm around her.

"Was it?"

Love, MubarakaDove le storie prendono vita. Scoprilo ora