Azlan had not seen Shahana's face; otherwise, he would have surely noticed the anxiety on her face.
Shahana didn't want this matter to come out openly just yet. She herself was still in a state of doubt and disbelief. A tinge of embarrassment washed over her, and she felt a surge of anger towards Azlan.
Fahad, his eyes wide with disbelief, stared at Azlan and then at Shahana.
It was already shocking enough for him to know that Azlan and Shahana hadn't divorced. And now Shahana's pregnancy. He was utterly confused, unsure of how to react.
With a gentle touch, Fahad ran his fingers through Shahana's hair and asked, "Is this true?"
Shahana lowered her head, tears streaming down her face in silent trails.
Azlan felt a jolt. He was enveloped by apprehensions.
Is she not happy about her pregnancy?
Azlan thought to himself. He hadn't even considered what Shahana wanted in this matter. Silently, Azlan slipped out of the room. He wanted to give Fahad and Shahana some space. Perhaps Fahad's return into Shahana's life would bring about positive changes in her circumstances and mindset.
He settled onto a bench outside the room, his hands clasped together. Azlan's thoughts drifted to him and Shahana.
What mistake had they both made to end up in this situation? Was there a lack of love between them?
There was no lack of love.
Was there a lack of trust?
No. They both trusted each other. Then what mistake had given rise to such severe misunderstandings created by others' conspiracies that led to such distances between them? That separated their paths?
That forced them to erase love. That succeeded in creating hatred.
Azlan was lost in his thoughts when he heard screams and shouts from the adjacent cabin. At first, Azlan tried to ignore it, but when the noise of things breaking increased, he got up and went to the cabin.
Azlan's eyes fell upon an elderly woman behaving like a child, her cries echoing through the room. Her actions struck him as erratic, unlike anything he had seen before. Standing beside her was an elderly man, gently trying to calm her down. A nurse approached, attempting to administer an injection, but the woman recoiled in fear. The elderly man, perhaps her husband, tried to reassure her that the injection was harmless, but his words fell on deaf ears. Lost in her delirium, the woman clamped her teeth down on her husband's hand, drawing blood. Yet, the man remained silent, bearing the pain without complaint. At that moment, the nurse swiftly injected the woman.
As the woman's grip loosened, her anger resurfaced. She grabbed a steel glass from a nearby table and hurled it at her husband's head. The room fell silent in shock. The elderly man clutched his head, wincing in pain as blood trickled down his face.
Unable to bear the sight, Azlan rushed inside. The nurse administered another injection, and the woman gradually drifted into a state of sedation.
Approaching the elderly man, Azlan inquired with concern, "Uncle, your head is bleeding. Nurse, look here!"
"Oh, it's nothing, son," the man replied with a reassuring smile. "Just a small cut, nothing serious."
As the woman lay sedated, the elderly man gently placed a pillow under her head, his actions filled with tender care.
The nurse instructed not to take the injury lightly and bandaged the wound. Azlan stood there for a while and then returned to his previous spot outside.
A short while later, the elderly gentleman from the same room emerged, closing the door behind him with a cautious hand. He approached Azlan and settled into the seat beside him.
"I brought my wife to the hospital under the pretense of going to the park. That's why she reacted so violently when she got the injection. Otherwise, she remains very calm," the elderly man explained.
Azlan turned to face the elderly man, his gaze filled with curiosity. "Uncle, what happened to Aunty?" he inquired gently.
"My wife has autism," the old man replied, his voice carrying a hint of sadness. "She's been like this since childhood."
The old man's words surprised Azlan a bit. Despite being elderly, it was evident that he was quite handsome in his youth. Looking at the aunt, it was clear that she was quite plain in appearance. This made him curious as to why he married her.
Perhaps the old man sensed the curiosity on his face.
"You must be wondering why I married her," the elderly gentleman said with a gentle smile, his eyes twinkling with understanding.
Azlan felt a tinge of embarrassment as he caught the elderly man's gaze. "No, Uncle, I wasn't thinking anything like that," he replied, trying to mask his discomfort.
"You have no reason to feel embarrassed," the elderly man continued, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. "When people learn that Sharmin is my wife, they all stare at me with these bewildered expressions. But I've grown accustomed to it by now."
Hearing this, Azlan fixed his eyes on his hands.
The elderly gentleman seemed lost in his own thoughts, reminiscing about his past. He was perhaps at that stage in life where he found solace in sharing stories with anyone who would listen. Azlan, sensing his desire to connect, fell silent, allowing the old man's words to wash over him.
"I married Sharmin at my mother's insistence," the elderly gentleman began, his voice laced with a hint of sadness. "My mother was gravely ill at the time, and she was genuinely concerned for Sharmin's well-being. Sharmin is my aunt's daughter, and my aunt passed away when Sharmin was just a child. Since then, my mother had been her primary caregiver. Sharmin has autism, perhaps the reason why her own family couldn't accept her. I was happy that my mother had found a daughter, as I was an only child, and after my intermediate exams, I moved to Canada. It was there that I met and married Ayesha. But just a year after our wedding, Ayesha died in a tragic car accident. I spiraled into depression and returned to Bangladesh. My mother urged me to remarry, but I couldn't fathom the idea of taking another wife after Ayesha. Then, one day, my mother's health took a sharp decline. She sensed that her time was short, and on her deathbed, she implored me to marry Sharmin."
He fell silent, his eyes lost in the depths of his memories.
"Didn't you feel resentful towards your mother?" Azlan asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Yes, I did. But now, after Allah, I am most grateful to my mother because before leaving, she gave me a purpose in life."
"Purpose?"
"Yes, a purpose. After Ayesha's death, I had lost all zest for life. Nothing seemed to hold any appeal anymore. I was utterly disillusioned with the world. That's when my mother arranged my marriage to Sharmin. Perhaps she wanted to secure Sharmin's future before she left this world. And now, looking back, I realize she was right. If I hadn't been married to Sharmin, my family would never have accepted her living with me after my mother's death. But back then, I was too grief-stricken to think clearly.
"Just a few days after my wedding to Sharmin, my mother passed away. I immersed myself in my work, hiring a caretaker to look after Sharmin during the day. However, I was oblivious to the fact that my negligence was causing Sharmin immense suffering. The woman I had hired was an ignorant brute who would physically abuse Sharmin in my absence. This shocking truth came to light one day when I returned home early from work. To my horror, I witnessed Sharmin falling from the roof."
Tears streamed down the elderly gentleman's face as he removed his glasses and wiped them away. Azlan, unsure of what to say, remained silent.
They sat in quiet companionship on the bench, the late-night hospital corridors echoing with the hushed sounds of doctors and nurses tending to their patients. Azlan glanced towards Shahana's room, catching a fleeting glimpse of her through the window. She was curled up against her father's chest, sobbing inconsolably. Azlan's heart ached for her, and he averted his gaze, turning his attention back to the elderly man.
"How did Aunty fall from the roof, Uncle?" he inquired gently, his voice laced with concern.
"In an attempt to escape, she fell from the roof," the elderly gentleman explained, his voice trembling with emotion. "Her caretaker was in cahoots with our guard. Perhaps they were planning to rob the house together. But the guard's malicious intentions turned towards Sharmin. That day, when he entered her room, Sharmin, in her fear, ran towards the stairs. Her foot slipped, and she plummeted down.
"When I saw Sharmin lying there, drenched in blood, her head bleeding uncontrollably, something stirred within me for the first time. The thought of losing the woman I had never wanted to acknowledge filled me with despair. Suddenly, I realized that without Sharmin, I was truly alone in this world, with no one but Allah by my side.
"I don't know how I managed to get her to the hospital. I feared she would follow Ayesha's fate. As she lay in the operating room, memories of our conversations flooded my mind. We had spent a part of our childhood together, and even after our marriage, I maintained a connection with her. She would follow me around, taking care of me, trying to do everything in her power, but I always pushed her away. To be honest, I considered her a burden. I thought she was incapable, a liability in my life.
"When the doctor emerged from the operating theater, he informed me of her critical condition and urged me to pray to Allah. He also revealed that Sharmin's body bore marks of physical abuse and burn wounds."
The elderly gentleman paused, his voice catching in his throat.
Azlan watched him intently, seeing a reflection of himself in the man's grief and a glimpse of Shahana in Sharmin's plight.
"You know, son? Some guilt stays with you forever. Maybe this guilt will stay with me until I die. I wronged Sharmin terribly. Now when I think about it, I feel very angry at myself. Because of me, Sharmin had to endure so much. I often wonder if I didn't consider her my wife, why did I keep her with me? Why didn't I set her free?"
Azlan listened carefully. He also asked himself why he didn't divorce Shahana if he thought she was unfaithful. Why did he delay the divorce process despite Grandma's insistence? Maybe it was his way of taking revenge for Shahana's perceived betrayal. He didn't let her go, perhaps because he wanted to punish her by keeping her in a state of isolation.
A lump of guilt rose in his throat.
"Sometimes, in our grief, we become so self-absorbed that we forget everything else," the elderly gentleman continued, his voice laced with remorse. "That day, when Sharmin lay unconscious, I was struck for the first time with the severity of my mistake. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said that the pen is lifted for three: a child until they reach the age of puberty, a madman until their sanity returns, and a sleeping person. I had considered Sharmin to be mad. But then, it dawned on me that the woman lying before me was pure and innocent. She had committed no sin. Yet, I had been given such a pious woman as my wife. I was genuinely terrified of facing Allah on the Day of Judgment."
The elderly gentleman turned to face Azlan, a faint smile gracing his lips.
"And that's when I changed. I begged for Allah's forgiveness and prayed fervently for Sharmin's recovery. And Allah answered my prayers. Sharmin emerged from her coma. That day marked a turning point in our lives."
A genuine smile now spread across the elderly gentleman's face.
Azlan smiled after hearing his words.
"Son, do you know why I told you all this in such detail?" He asked Azlan.
Azlan shook his head in confusion.
"I've been watching you since yesterday. You brought your wife to the hospital in an unconscious state. Seeing your restlessness reminded me of myself. I saw the same guilt in your eyes. Yesterday, when I was passing by your room, I overheard your conversation. It wasn't intentional, but I heard you asking your wife for forgiveness. You were trying to convince her with your words. And today, I saw you searching for your wife like a madman. I don't know what mistake you made, but I can confidently say that you love your wife very much."
"What's the use of love, uncle? She's in this condition because of me," Azlan said, looking at the ground, his shoulders slumped.
"Everyone makes mistakes. But not everyone loves. If you love her and you're remorseful for your mistake, first you need to forgive yourself. Only then can others forgive you."
Uncle smiled, but Azlan's lips remained uncurled.
Voices started coming from Uncle's room.
"Maybe Sharmin has woken up. I should go, son."
Saying this, Uncle headed back to his room. Azlan watched him depart, a sense of emptiness settling within him. Just then, Fahad emerged from the adjacent room.
Azlan approached him, standing upright.
"Shahana is asleep," Fahad explained. "I'm heading home now."
Azlan nodded silently and began walking towards his own room.
As Fahad was about to leave, he paused.
"Listen..."
Azlan turned to face him.
"This time, Shahana will make her own life decisions. And she has made up her mind. She wants to go with me to Turkey. And I will take her with me."
Fahad's words hung heavy in the air as he strode away, leaving Azlan standing there, numb and defeated. If Shahana had decided to go with her father, who was he to stop her? His gaze drifted towards Shahana's sleeping form on the bed.
He approached her gently, taking her hand in his own. "I know I've made mistakes," he confessed, his voice trembling with emotion. "I've committed sins. But why are you repeating my mistakes? Why do you want to leave me? Can't you forgive me? Please, Shahana, forgive me for Allah's sake. Give me another chance. You're the one who always said that Allah forgives those who forgive others. So forgive me, Shahana, for Allah's sake. Please, I beg you."
Azlan, overcome with remorse, buried his face in Shahana's hand, tears cascading down his face.
A single tear escaped from Shahana's closed eyes. But she remained silent. Completely silent. She had already made her decision.
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