Ruhi Aziz
The last bell of my university career echoed, a bittersweet symphony of endings and beginnings. Four years, countless all-nighters fueled by chai and dreams, had culminated in this moment. Next semester, only an internship stood between me and my degree. I'd already landed a spot at NYP Ltd., starting July 2nd—just over two weeks away! Excitement bubbled inside me, a heady mix of relief and anticipation. And to top it all off, my sister's engagement was just around the corner! I was so thrilled for her; she deserved all the happiness in the world. My small group of friends decided to have a small get-together after our last day, as we wouldn't all be together again. So, I got a little late.
After freshening up and having lunch, I found out my bestie, Safiya, is back! So, here I am, getting ready to meet her. Abba's been nagging me, saying, "Koi chhod dega tujhe, akela mat ja, Ruhi..." (Someone will drop you, don't go alone, Ruhi...), to which I've replied, like a hundred times, that I can manage and go alone. Finally, I leave, keys in hand, a sense of anticipation bubbling inside me.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Everything was a blur – the screeching tires, the sickening thud, the woman's cries. One minute I was hurrying to meet Safiya, excited to share my good news, the next I was caught in a whirlwind of chaos. No one was helping. People just stood there, gawking, their faces etched with morbid curiosity. I couldn't just stand by. Ignoring the tremor in my legs, a dull ache I’d acquired recently, I flagged down a rickshaw, practically dragging the driver to help. My own leg throbbed, a painful reminder of a recent stumble, but I pushed it aside. The injured woman needed help more than I did. At the hospital, everything moved so fast. Doctors and nurses rushed around, their faces serious and focused. I gave them the little information I had, my hands shaking as I recounted what I'd seen, the images still replaying in my mind, a horrifying loop of screeching tires and pained cries. Then, Bilal Bhaijaan was there. His face was a mask of worry, his eyes searching mine, a flicker of panic in their depths.
"Ruhi, idhar kya kar rahi ho? Yeh accident tumhare wajah se hua hai, kya hua Ruhi, batao bhi..." (Ruhi, what are you doing here? This accident happened because of you, what happened Ruhi, tell me!) His words stung, a sharp, unexpected pain. Because of me? A wave of indignation washed over me. I hadn't caused the accident. I’d just… tried to help. Tears welled up, hot and stinging, but I blinked them back fiercely. This wasn't the time for tears. "Bhaijaan, maine kuch nahi kiya," I choked out, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and indignation. (Brother, I didn't do anything.) " Main bas apne friend se milne ja rahi thi toh raaste mein accident hua. Dekha koi unki madad nahi kar raha tha isliye maine ek rickshaw wale ko zabardasti se roka ke idhar leke aagayi" (I was just going to meet my friend when the accident happened on the way. I saw that no one was helping her, so I forced a rickshaw driver to stop and brought her here.)
Bhaijaan's worry softened into concern, his initial accusation forgotten. "Tum theek ho na? Tumhe kuch laga?" (Are you okay? Are you hurt?) He searched my face, his eyes filled with questions, his brow furrowed with worry. "Bhaijaan, main bilkul thik hu " (Brother, I'm perfectly fine.) I tried to reassure him, but my voice wavered, betraying my bravado. I wasn't fine. I was shaken, scared, and my leg was throbbing painfully. And suddenly I feel I like I am going to fall but someone stabilized me, I saw it was some girl and Then, a man I didn't recognize was there. He was calm, collected, his presence a soothing balm in the midst of the chaos. He looked at me with kind eyes, a gentle smile gracing his lips. He didn't dismiss my fear, didn't minimize what had happened. He just saw me, saw my distress, and offered comfort. "It's okay," he said gently, his voice warm and reassuring. Bilal was about to say something, but that man cut him off and said to the girl, "Afi, help her sit in our car. Bilal, mere car mein first-aid box hai, tum ja ke leke aao, jaldi karo!" (Little one, help her sit in our car. Bilal, there's a first-aid box in my car, go get , hurry up!) She helped me towards their car, her brow furrowed with concern. As I limped along, I glanced back at him. He was watching me, his expression thoughtful. He then turned his attention back to me and said, "It's okay. Main Bilal ka cousin hoon and doctor. So is it okay for me to look at your wounds? It's just going inside will take some time, and I will just see if it is serious or not." (It's okay. I'm Bilal's cousin and doctor. So I will treat your wounds, don't worry!) His words were both reassuring and slightly unnerving. Serious? My leg was hurting, yes, but surely it wasn't that serious? A fresh wave of anxiety washed over me. I was already shaken and worried about Abba's reaction; the thought of being hospitalized made everything seem so much worse.
"We're waiting for Arti's family; they've been informed. I just found out her name is Arti, and she was in labor. She delivered a baby girl! A baby girl! The thought brought a smile to my face, even amidst the chaos. Suddenly, I realized I don't have my phone or purse with me. Seriously, Ruhi, what is wrong with you today? I was asking Afiya, the same girl, "Hey, kya tumne mera phone dekha?" (Hey, have you seen my phone?) when Bilal Bhaijaan arrived. He had my phone and purse! Thank God! "Ruhi, call your friend," Bhaijaan said, handing me my purse. "I think she called your Abbu and Ayesha since you haven't reached there yet." I was about to call Safiya, my heart sinking at the thought of worrying her and Abba, but then I remembered my scooty. Before I could even ask Bhaijaan about it, he said, noticing the unspoken question on my face, "Anas has gone to get the scooty. He just called and said he found it, okay?" Anas? So, that's his name. The thought echoed in my mind, a small, almost secret smile playing on my lips.
Feeling a wave of relief, I said, "Thank you, Bhaijaan. But, apne Abbu ko kuch bola nahi abhi tak?" (But, haven't you told Abbu anything yet?) He replied, "You know you can't keep this secret, right?" "Yeah, I know," I sighed, a knot of worry tightening in my stomach. "It's just that if Abbu's home and finds out he would be worried too much and take tension, he won't let me leave the house alone. I mean, it wasn't even my fault!" The thought of Abba's reaction made my stomach clench. He was going to be furious. Not only had I been involved in an accident (even though I wasn't at fault), but I'd also disobeyed him by going out alone. I braced myself for the inevitable storm.
Anas came with my scooty, Alhamdulillah! My scooty was there; if it had gotten lost or been taken, it would have created another scene. Lakh lakh shukriya Allah! . But now, the question was how I was going to go home. I mean, I could try to drive the scooty, I thought, testing my weight on my injured leg. Ouch! It was still hurting, a throbbing reminder of my earlier tumble. This wasn't unnoticed by Bhaijaan and Anas as they came in front of me. "You are not going to drive the scooty, Ruhi. Don't even think about it," Bhaijaan said, a little frustrated, but his voice softened at the end, gentle with worry. They both discussed something; it seemed Anas would take my scooty and follow us while Bhaijaan would drop me home. We were just about to leave when Anas got a call. He stopped and listened patiently, then replied, "Yeah, Bro, come fast, I am waiting downstairs only!" He turned to Bilal. "Bilal, actually, my friends wants a ride something happened in his house, and he lives near Bhabhi's house, so he can drive the scooty, and they are two people so we can't take them in the car as Afiya and Ruhi are there, so…?" Did he just say my name? And it sounded so good from his mouth. Ya Khuda, ya main kya soch rahi hoon, Astagfirullah! Allah, please forgive me.
I was lost in my thoughts, but everything was settled here. Anas's friend was going to drive my scooty till my home, and Afiya, me, Bhaijaan, and Anas would take the car. Throughout the drive, I learned that Afiya and Anas are Bilal Bhaijaan's cousins from his mother's side. Afiya and I became fast friends; she is also a K-drama lover! We even exchanged numbers. I was too conscious, though, I noticed that Anas looked my way twice, or was it just my wishful thinking? Maybe he was just checking on his sister, as she was close to falling asleep. I am not much of a talkative person, but talking to Afiya wasn't awkward at all. I learned she just finished her 12th, so I shared my experiences as an engineering student. I was looking out of the window and saw we were near my house, so I prepared myself for a lot of… hearing (from Abba). Maybe even maar (scolding/light hitting) from Di too. A mix of dread and anticipation churned in my stomach.
As I stepped inside, the warmth of home did little to ease the tension in my chest. The scent of chai filled the air, but Abba’s steady, unreadable gaze held my focus.
"Baitho," (Sit) he said, his voice firm yet calm.
Bilal and Anas followed in, with Afiya trailing behind. Ayesha glanced at Bilal before offering, "Chai toh pi kar jao." (Have some tea.)
Bilal hesitated but nodded. "Bas ek cup." (Just one cup.)
I sat quietly as Ayesha handed him tea, their fingers brushing slightly. A wordless exchange passed between them. Beside me, Afiya whispered, "Dekha?" (See?) I nudged her in warning.
Anas, silent as ever, sipped his tea. Just as I looked away, his gaze flickered toward me—brief yet unsettling.
Ya Allah, yeh kya ho raha hai mujhe? (Oh God, what is happening to me?)
After tea, Bilal stood. "Chalein?" (Shall we leave?)
Afiya groaned but followed. "Shukriya, Ayesha," (Thank you, Ayesha) Bilal said, his voice carrying more than just gratitude.
Once they left, Abba finally spoke, his voice laced with exhaustion and something heavier—worry.
"Beta..." He exhaled, rubbing his forehead. "Tumhare jazbaat samajhta hoon. Tumhare dil ka naram hona tumhari sabse badi khoobi hai... lekin tumhare bina bata chale jaane se jo pareshani hui, woh samajh rahi ho?"
(Daughter... I understand your emotions. Your soft heart is your greatest strength... but do you realize the worry you caused by leaving without telling anyone?)
I swallowed, guilt pressing against my ribs.
"Madad karna zaroori hai, lekin tum kisi ko call ya message toh kar sakti thi, Ruhi." His voice grew taut. "Zara socho, agar tumhe kuch ho jata toh? Ek pal ke liye bhi socha ke hum kis haalat mein hote? Main kya jawab deta tumhari Ammi ko?"
(Helping others is important, but you could have at least called or messaged someone, Ruhi. Just think—what if something had happened to you? Did you even consider what state we would be in? What answer would I have given your mother?)
His voice broke slightly at the last sentence.
Ammi...
The mention of her lodged a lump in my throat. A strange, hollow ache settled in my chest. Abba rarely spoke about her like this.
I lowered my gaze. "Mujhe maaf kar dijiye, Abba." (Forgive me, Abba.)
