Yours, Eventually

Chapter Seventeen

Seventeen

The hours after Lubna’s accident were a blur. When the ambulance arrived, Asma jumped in to accompany Lubna to the emergency room. She stayed by her side for as long as she could until she was ushered out to join the family in the waiting room, a nurse placing a heavy blanket around her shoulders when she saw that her clothes were still wet from tending to Lubna in the water.

The minutes passed, the emotion in the room as taut as piano wire. It felt as if, at any moment, something might snap. Farooq paced, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Saba texted furiously, looking up from her phone every time the doors to the ER swung open. Maryam sniffed loudly, then moaned, then sniffed loudly on repeat—an elaborate mixture of both show and genuine worry. Asma sat still and prayed, less for divine intervention than to occupy her mind; she couldn’t stop thinking about the worst-case prognosis. So many things could go wrong with a head injury. Lubna might never be the same, if she survived at all.

Finally, it was Lubna’s doctor who emerged from the swinging ER doors. Everyone stood up.

The doctor, a small, slight man, took off his glasses and his scrub hat. “Her hip is fractured and she has an intracranial bleed. She hasn’t yet regained consciousness.”

Maryam collapsed into a chair while Saba put her hand to her mouth, speechless. Farooq bent over, his head in his hands.

“I should’ve stopped her,” he mumbled.

Asma was the only one who remained calm enough to ask for more information. Where was the bleed located? Were they considering a craniectomy incision? What blood pressure medications had been administered? The doctor patiently answered her questions, clearly relieved to be talking shop with a fellow professional. But it all boiled down to one simple message.

“For now,” the doctor said, “it’s just a waiting game.”

—

Asma was in the hospital cafeteria sipping a cup of coffee when she received Hassan’s text. Farooq had had Lubna moved to one of the VIP suites on the top floor of the hospital. The rooms were absurdly expensive and were not covered by insurance.

She walked down the hall, her unfinished cup of coffee still in her hands. She was at Lubna’s suite, about to enter, when she heard whispers inside.

Asma pushed open the door to find Lubna in bed, hooked up to a ventilator, a heart rate monitor, and a central line. Her head was wrapped in bandages and the bottom half of her body was encased by blankets. Asma could make out the rise and fall of her chest, her breathing assisted by the whirring ventilator at her bedside, next to where Maryam and Hassan sat.

“Oh, it’s you,” Maryam said. “I thought it was Saba. I’m so ready to chew her out. These girls and social media, I’m sick of it. And look, it is actually dangerous.”

“Maryam, now’s not the time,” Hassan said.

“She was acting stupid,” Maryam replied. “She brought this upon herself.”

Maryam handed her phone to Asma, her screen open to Instagram and a picture of Farooq and Lubna taken at lunch. It was captioned with a heart emoji. And had seven thousand likes.

Asma felt her heart nearly stop. Lubna took her page seriously—she never would’ve posted something like this unless there was something official between her and Farooq. And “official” was very different in their community than simply becoming exclusive or putting a label on it. Were they engaged?

“She posted it literally five minutes before she fell. She basically invited nazr.”

“It was an accident,” Hassan said. “It didn’t happen because of the evil eye.”

Farooq came into the room. Asma couldn’t look at him. She stared at Lubna’s enshrouded body and her eyes filled with tears. Lubna adored Asma and had never been anything but kind and loving. She was lying in a hospital bed and Asma was jealous about some picture on Instagram? What was wrong with her?

“The car’s outside,” Farooq said. “I’m taking Saba home to get Aunty Bushra. Maryam, I can take you too.”

“I’ll stay with Hassan.”

“Maryam, the boys—” Hassan began.

“Asma can take care of them,” Maryam said. “You really don’t want me around Saba right now.”

Asma didn’t have the strength left to argue. Between Lubna’s current condition and her undefined, and rapidly fading, relationship with Farooq, she felt a deep weariness overtake her. Part of her would gladly see Lubna and Farooq together if it meant that Lubna would recover. But the other part—the part of her that had reawakened since Farooq had reentered her life—would be devastated to see Farooq with anyone else, much less someone in her family. She immediately kicked herself for being selfish. Her mind flashed to Farooq onstage, tilting his head as he talked about his aunt. All the pain that she had put him through. He deserved better.

“Asma?” She flinched as Farooq said her name. “You ready?”

“I’ll meet you downstairs in a minute,” she managed to whisper.

The sun had set on the city. The fog and moonlight cast a gloomy shadow on the skyline. It was the complete opposite—in all ways—of the start of the day.

Farooq opened the front door of his car for Asma as Saba climbed into the back seat. They drove away from the hospital in silence. Farooq gazed straight ahead without a sideways look.

As they entered the freeway, out of the city traffic, Farooq hit the accelerator. He glanced back at Saba in the rearview mirror.

“You okay back there?”

“I guess. This day has been surreal. I can’t get the image of Lubna floating in the water out of my mind.”

“Me neither,” Farooq said.

Asma looked out the window and bit her lip to prevent herself from crying. She could feel the adrenaline rush that had sustained her through the day wearing off. And, unlike the comedown after an intense shift in the ER, where she could shut off her brain and try to relax, Asma was now left to deal with the fallout of the day’s events on her own family. And the waves of regret hitting her. It was an entirely different feeling, and one she was unprepared to handle.

The rest of the ride unfolded in interminable silence. When they arrived at the Qureishis’ home, they were greeted by a flurry of activity as Bushra and Saba ran about, hurriedly packing bags for themselves and Lubna. Farooq and Asma stood at the foot of the stairs.

“Asma, if you hadn’t been there today, I don’t know—”

Farooq was interrupted by the doorbell. Asma couldn’t help but be grateful that Farooq couldn’t complete his sentiment. She was afraid that the slightest kindness from him might make her go to pieces right now, after the stress of the day, and the last thing she wanted was to put him in the position of having to comfort her.

Asma opened the door to find Tariq.

“Saba texted me.”

At the sound of the door, Saba ran downstairs carrying a duffel bag and Bushra emerged from the kitchen carrying stacks of Tupperware.

“Hospital food is garbage,” she explained.

Tariq took the Tupperware from Bushra’s hands and headed out to his car, Saba and Bushra on his heels. For the first time in two days, Asma and Farooq were alone.

“Asma, we haven’t had a chance to talk,” Farooq began, but Asma cut him off.

“I can’t,” she said, feeling tears prick her eyes. “Not right now…”

She rubbed at her eyes before the tears had a chance to fall. If Lubna recovered, she would need Farooq’s support. A brain injury could mean months of rehab, maybe more. Her speech might be affected, or her fine motor skills. She might have to relearn how to walk. If she recovered at all. Asma thought of the private hospital room, the state-of-the-art rehab centers that weren’t covered by most insurance. The kind of care that Farooq could afford, that Lubna’s family could not. And no matter how exhausted and desolate Asma was at the thought, she knew that right now, Lubna needed Farooq more than she did.

“I mean,” she began, unsure of the exact words. “We’ve been dancing around each other for weeks now, but it’s just rehashing the past. Our relationship was over a long time ago. You moved on, right?”

She could see Farooq hesitate at her words, something like agony playing over his face. He said nothing.

“And all of this back-and-forth isn’t fair to Lubna. She doesn’t know anything about what happened between us, and finding out that we’ve been reminiscing about the past would hurt her terribly. And she’s had enough hurt, now.”

“Right,” Farooq said, the word harsh and clipped, as if Asma were being cruel. Farooq agreed? Did that mean what she thought it meant? She had to ask to be sure.

“So you’re with Lubna?”

Farooq was quiet for a long, excruciating pause. “Yes,” he finally replied. “I’m with Lubna.” And then, without another word, he turned and left.

Asma felt all the air rush out of her body as Farooq walked out of her life, again. She fell to the floor as the door slammed behind him, her heart shattering into a million pieces.