Forgetting Love (Dublin Sisters #2.5)

Chapter 6

                  

This chapter is dedicated to my mother who lives thousands of miles away but is close to me as my next heartbeat.

Heaving, perched on the bed, tears of frustration fell on her big protruding stomach. How much longer? This was torture. Everything hurt. Every single muscle hurt. She couldn't sleep anymore. Each position was uncomfortable whether she lay on her sides or lay on her back. She couldn't eat much, the heart burn had reached its peak and again the bloating sensation had returned with vengeance. The children were driving her crazy. She pursed her trembling lips. This baby should have been born two days ago. But the doctor said it was fine if she went a little overdue. She had tried everything to induce labour. Spicy food, walking and even being intimate which had pleased Faraz a lot. But nothing ... not even a slight indication of any labour pain. She had been feeling Braxton Hicks from start of the 37th week of pregnancy. This had delighted her that perhaps, she would go into labour early. But this was a myth yet again. No signs of labour at all now that she had crossed her 40th week.

Now she was beyond frustration. She was going crazy. Rubbing her hand over her face, she sighed. Patience was needed at a time like this. No wonder, in Islam the Prophet Muhammad (Peace be Upon Him) had stressed upon the importance of a mother. A mother's role and position has been elevated three times of the father and that Paradise lies under the feet of the mother. So much pain, discomfort and stress a woman goes through all for her child. Her baby, her blood, sweat, love and heartbeat.

Closing her eyes, she gripped the edge of the bed and tried to control her breathing. She had become breathless in the last few days because of her sheer size. In simple words, she was fed up.

Casually Faraz sauntered in the room. It was a Saturday and it was his day off. He had been helping with house chores as he could sense Samreen's grumpy mood. Now after washing the dinner plates, he had thought of taking a bath, he stilled, eyeing Samreen. Something was not right. He cautiously touched her shoulder. She whimpered.

He knelt down so his face was at Samreen's face level, "What's the matter?" he asked softly.

Her head bowed, shoulders hunched and shaking in silent sobs, "Everything."

His eyebrows knotted and he sat gently beside her on the bed, rubbing her back, "Just few more days. Maybe inshaa Allah by tomorrow we will have our bundle of joy in our arms."

Her head shot up and her furious wet eyes met his, "So easy for you to say this." She gulped in air, "Easy for you to say this. Everything hurts. I am fed up." She deeply inhaled, "Do you hear me? I am fed up." Her eyes blazed in anger, "Don't ever think coming near me without proper protection. This is the last baby I am giving birth to." She again heavily breathed.

If it was some other situation, Faraz would have laughed. But right now he was concerned, she was breathless unable to utter a single sentence properly. His hand lingered on her back and then he realized part of the problem. His hand went under her shirt, up her back and to her bra strap. Samreen was too exhausted to bother to realize what Faraz was doing.

"Why do you wear such a tight bra? Look at you, you can't even breathe properly." He muttered flicking the bra hooks open.

"I had packed the new ones in the hospital bag. And this is the biggest size I had. I have become too big everywhere." She complained but it felt far better now that she was not tightly confined.

"We will get you more new ones then," His thumb lightly traced her back muscles where the strap had dug into her and left a bruising mark.

"Oh Faraz," she wept and leaned into his chest.