When I left the house for my usual morning run, I didn't expect to run into Miss Rahmani.
I also didn't expect to find myself interacting with her and her cat, but when that furry creature circled my legs, looking up at me with those doe eyes, I couldn't resist.
What surprised me even more was sharing a piece of myself with Miss Rahmani. I never speak about Her with anyone, let alone a stranger.
I don't know what got into me, but I found myself sharing the memory of Zubi dropping those kittens into my arms. I am truly behaving out of character lately.
Shaking my head, I checked the time on my digital watch.
My "monkey brothers" would be up by now, and if I'm late, they are bound to destroy the peace of my home.
As I opened the front door, I froze in my tracks.
My once neat and clean living room looked like a war zone. The cushions lay torn on the floor, feathers spilling out of them like snow.
The expensive vase in the corner was in pieces, and the floor was littered with chip wrappers and chocolate foils.
What the hell happened here? I thought. I was just seconds away from disowning the two creatures I call my brothers.
The culprits of this chaos, who were mid-bicker, froze at the sound of the door opening. They took one look at the state of the room and went stiff, likely terrified of my reaction.
Controlling my rising anger, I glared at them.
"Koi humein batayega, humaara living room kyun war zone ban chuka hai?" I asked, trying to remain calm.
("Will someone tell me why my living room has been turned into a war zone?")
These two always test my patience. Gathering his courage, Zamir stepped forward.
"Bhaijaan, humein bhookh lagi thi. Kal dinner bhi light kiya tha aur aapne kitchen mein jaane se mana kar rakha hai. Toh hum humaare snacks khaa rahe the yaha baith kar, par ek mota sa chooha pata nahi kaha se aagaya. Hum useh hi bhagaane ki koshish kar rahe the."
("Brother, we were hungry. We had a light dinner last night, and you've forbidden us from entering the kitchen. We were sitting here eating our snacks when a big, fat rat appeared out of nowhere. We were just trying to chase it away.")
Zaim tried to explain further, but I just stared at them in disbelief.
"Tum dono ne mere living room ka yeh haal sirf ek chote se choohe ko bhagaane ke liye kiya hai!"
("You two destroyed my living room just to shoo away one small rat!")
"Chota nahi tha bhaijaan, bohot bada aur mota tha. Khaufnaak bhi! Agar ghar mein rehta toh pata nahi kaun kaun si cheezein kharab kar deta." Zaim shuddered recalling the memory.
("It wasn't small, brother! It was huge and fat. Scary, too! If it had stayed in the house, who knows what else it would have destroyed.")
I didn't know what to do at this point. These two had dismantled an entire room because of a rodent. I took a deep breath and exhaled, attempting to center myself.
"Hum fresh ho kar kitchen mein jaa rahe hain nashta banane. Wapas lautne par yeh living room saaf milna chahiye."
("I'm going to freshen up and head to the kitchen to make breakfast. By the time I'm back, I want this living room clean.")
After a warm shower, I got dressed and walked into the kitchen. While I prepared the usual breakfast and set the dining table, the twins worked in the other room.
When I went to call them, the condition of the living room was much better than the disaster I had walked into earlier.
"Have your breakfast first, then finish the rest of the work," I commanded. They followed me immediately.
While we ate, I spoke calmly, "Let's talk about the punishment."
Zaim, who was taking a sip of his tea, choked.
"Bhaijaan, humne bataya toh aapko, ki humne jaan-bujhkar nahi kiya. Hum bas choohe ko bhaga rahe the. Isliye punishment na dein humein." Zamir whined, while his twin nodded frantically.
("Brother, we told you, we didn't do it on purpose. We were just trying to get rid of the rat. Please don't punish us.")
"This incident proves that neither of you can handle a panic situation well," I said seriously. "I will train you both personally so this never happens again. You need to learn to use your brains instead of throwing things blindly the moment you get scared."
Both of them wanted to argue, but they knew better than to push their luck.
"Also, for one week, you will join me for my morning runs. You are both getting lazy, and your eating habits are becoming very unhealthy."
------------------------------------
After breakfast, the house finally settled. I'm currently working from home during our stay in London, and I was preparing for a virtual meeting with my clients when my phone rang.
I glanced at the caller ID, and my pulse quickened; my mood shifted instantly.
"Assalamualaikum," I greeted, my voice low.
"Walekum assalam...How are you, Zoh?" the voice on the other end asked.
"I am good, Alhamdulillah. And you?"
"Well, if you are good, then I am good," the person said sincerely. There was a pause before he got to the point.
"Did you get the information?"
"I'm working on it," I replied, pacing the length of my study. "It's incredibly difficult to pull records after all these years, but the deeper I dig, the more our suspicions get confirmed."
"I hope we find the truth before her birthday," he sighed. "I want the misunderstandings to be cleared. We've already lost too many years blaming each other."
"Me too. I want the truth to come to light. Just be careful, no one can know we are in contact. We can't afford to let the mastermind get suspicious."
"You be careful too," he warned. "We've already lost too much."
I hung up, staring at the blank screen. I was grateful to have this person back in my life.
I had been drowning in guilt and loneliness for so long, but now, I had a purpose.
Together, we would find justice for our families and finally reunite them.
I shook off the heavy thoughts, fixed my hair, and logged into my meeting. By the time the call ended, it was already lunchtime.
I knew the twins would be eating at the cafΓ© near their campus. Despite my constant lectures on healthy eating, they lived on a diet of junk food. I sighed and tossed together a salad as I didn't really have much of an appetite. After having lunch, I went back to work.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated violently against the desk, shattering my focus. I picked it up, expecting a nagging reminder from my assistant.
Instead, the screen displayed an unknown number.
"Hello?" I answered cautiously.
"Is this Zohaib Mirza?" A female voice asked, her tone sharp and breathless with urgency.
"I'm calling from St. Thomas' Hospital. Your brother, Zaim, has just been admitted."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis.
"Zaim? What happened? Is he okay?"
"He's had a severe anaphylactic reaction," she replied. "Some students brought him in just in time. You need to get here, sir."
I didn't wait for another word.
I was out the door and sprinting toward my car, my own lungs feeling tight, as if I were the one having the allergic reaction.
Zaim wasn't just my brother; he was the one I had promised my parents I would always protect.
The drive was a blur of red lights and white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.
By the time I burst through the emergency room doors, I was a mess of adrenaline and sweat.
"Zaim Mirza! Where is he?" I demanded at the desk.
"Observation Room 4, sir. The doctors are-"
I didn't let her finish. I rounded the corner and stopped dead.
Standing outside the glass partition were four girls.
One of them turned around, and my breath hitched.
It was her. Inayat.
Her cream trousers were stained with more than just mud now- there was a faint smear of what looked like antiseptic, and her face was deathly pale.
When she saw me, her eyes widened in recognition.
Before I could stumble over my words, she stepped forward.
"He's stable, sir," she said. Her voice was a calm anchor in the middle of my storm.
"The doctors administered epinephrine. He's breathing on his own now."
The tension locking my shoulders finally snapped.
I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes for a moment as a wave of sheer relief washed over me.
I looked at Inayat and her friends, realizing they were the ones who had saved him.
"How did it happen?" I asked, my voice cracking.
Inayat's friend (Kritika), spoke up, her voice still trembling.
"We were at a cafΓ© near campus...He ordered a smoothie, but there must have been cross-contamination with berries. He started wheezing almost instantly. He couldn't even reach for his bag. We didn't want to wait for an ambulance, so we drove him straight here."
I looked through the glass at Zaim.
He looked so small under the hospital sheets.
Then I looked back at Inayat.
Twice now, this girl had stepped into my life to save a Mirza from a disaster.
"I don't even know how to thank you," I said. The cold and reserved persona was completely gone, leaving only a grateful, broken-hearted brother in its place.
-----------------------------------
I pushed through the double doors of the observation ward, the sharp, sterile sting of antiseptic hitting my senses.
Zaim looked smaller than usual against the expanse of the hospital bed. His face remained slightly puffy, but the terrifying blue tint had finally faded from his lips. He was breathing-shallow, but steady.
"Zaim," I whispered, reaching for his hand.
His eyes fluttered open, groggy and red. "Bhaijaan..." he croaked, his voice as rough as sandpaper. "Did someone get the... the license plate of that truck?"
I let out a shaky laugh-the kind that is mostly a sob in disguise.
"It wasn't a truck, you idiot. It was a smoothie."
"Always... the dramatic one," he murmured, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips before his eyes drifted shut again.
The door burst open with a force that made the IV stand rattle. Zamir practically flew into the room, his hair a frantic mess. He looked as though he'd sprinted the entire distance from his campus.
"Zaim! You little-" Zamir choked on his own words, his face pale as he rushed to the opposite side of the bed.
He gripped Zaim's shoulder, his eyes darting frantically across the monitors. "If you wanted to get out of your economics midterm, you could have just asked for a fake doctor's note! You didn't have to stop breathing!"
"Missed you too, twinnie," Zaim wheezed.
I stood back for a moment, watching them. Zamir was usually the loud, playful twin, but seeing him vibrate with such raw terror made the gravity of the afternoon sink in even deeper.
"Where are they?" Zamir suddenly turned to me, his eyes fierce. "The girls who brought him in? I heard they basically hijacked a car to get him here."
"They're outside," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "It was Inayat. Inayat and her friends."
Zamir's eyebrows shot up.
"Inayat? Jinhone aapki innocence prove ki thi party mein?"
("Inayat? The one who proved your innocence at the party?")
I nodded slowly. "Wahi."
("The very one.")
I stepped back out into the hallway, Zamir trailing behind me like a restless shadow.
The four girls were huddled in the chairs of the waiting area, looking entirely out of place against the clinical white walls. Inayat stood up the moment she saw us.
"He's awake," I told them. I watched the tension drain from her shoulders instantly. She glanced at Zamir, then back at me, realizing the family was finally whole again.
Zamir didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and gave a deep, respectful nod.
"I'm Zamir. Zaim's twin. I... I don't have the words. If you hadn't been there, I wouldn't have a brother to argue with tonight. Thank you."
Inayat looked slightly overwhelmed by Zamir's kinetic energy. "We only did what anyone would have done, Zamir. We're just glad he's okay."
"No," I interjected, stepping closer until I was standing directly in front of her, maintaining a respectful distance. "Not anyone. Most people would have called an ambulance and waited. You took action. You saved a Mirza-again."
Our eyes locked. There was no cat between us this time, no crowded ballroom floor. Just the quiet hum of the hospital and a debt I knew I could never truly repay.
"We should probably let you get back to your brother," Inayat said softly, breaking the gaze. "He needs his family."
"Wait," I said, my voice low but urgent. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my card, offering it to her with a respectful nod, careful to maintain a polite distance.
"I know you didn't do this for a reward. But as a brother, I cannot let this go unacknowledged. If you or your family ever need anything-assistance with the university or any other matter-please, do not hesitate. This is my direct line."
Inayat hesitated for a fleeting second, then reached out. She took the card, ensuring her fingers didn't graze mine. She kept her gaze lowered, her expression one of quiet humility.
"Thank you, sir," she replied softly, her tone formal and dignified. "But it truly wasn't necessary. I'm just glad he's safe."
I stepped back, giving them the space to leave. "Nonetheless, the offer stands."
She offered a final, polite nod before turning to join her friends. I watched them walk away, struck by the grace she maintained even after such a chaotic afternoon.
As they disappeared, Zamir leaned into my shoulder, his eyes following them down the hall. "Bhaijaan," he whispered. "I think the Universe is trying to tell you something. That's three times in three days."
"Shut up, Zamir," I muttered.
------------------------------------
Zaim had fallen back into a shallow, medicine-induced sleep, and the resulting silence in the room felt heavier than the previous chaos.
Zamir was pacing the narrow strip between the bed and the window, his phone flipping nervously in his hand like a restless bird.
"We have to call them, Bhaijaan," Zamir said, his voice stripped of its usual humor. "Agar kisi aur se pata chala toh bohot pareshan ho jaayenge."
("If they hear it from anyone else, they will be even more worried.")
I rubbed the bridge of my nose, a dull ache beginning to throb behind my eyes. "I know. Give me a minute to gather my thoughts."
I didn't want to terrify them, but there was no way to sugarcoat the fact that their youngest had nearly stopped breathing in a public cafe.
I stepped out into the muted corridor, found a secluded corner by a window, and dialed my father's number.
He picked up on the second ring.
"Zohaib? Is everything alright, beta? You don't usually call at this hour." My father's voice was calm, but I could detect the sharp edge of curiosity and hint of worry underneath.
"Baba," I started, forcing my voice to sound firmer than I felt. "Listen to me carefully. Everyone is safe now, but there was an incident with Zaim."
The silence on the other end was instantaneous and terrifying. I heard a muffled sound in the background-my mother must have been standing right beside him, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.
"What happened to my son?" My father's voice dropped into that low, dangerous tone he reserved for when the world was falling apart.
"He had a severe allergic reaction-anaphylaxis-at a cafe near campus. He's at St. Thomas' now." I rushed the words out before his mind could conjure a darker tragedy. "The doctors have stabilized him, Baba. He's awake. He's breathing. He is going to be fine."
I heard my mother sob in the background-a broken, breathless sound that made my own chest ache.
"Ya Allah..." she whispered, her relief coming out as a prayer.
"How?" my father demanded, his voice finally trembling. "How did it get so critical? Where was his EpiPen?"
"He couldn't get to it in time," I admitted, the guilt gnawing at me afresh. "But Baba... he's okay because of Inayat."
"Inayat?" My father's tone shifted from panic to sheer disbelief.
"The girl from the party? The one who helped clear your name on Friday?"
"Yes. She and her friends saw him collapse. They didn't wait for an ambulance; they drove him here themselves. The doctor said three more minutes and... well, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
There was a long, heavy pause. I could hear the muffled franticness of my father relaying the details to my mother. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with an uncharacteristic fragility.
"We are booking the first flight to London," he said, the authority in his voice battling with raw terror. "Zohaib, beta, do not leave his side-not for a single second. And that girl... I know she could not wait for us to land, but you must find a way to convey our gratitude. I need to personally thank the person who stood by my son when we were half a world away."
"She's already gone, Baba," I said, my gaze drifting toward the empty chairs in the waiting area. "She wouldn't stay for a reward or even a formal thank you. But don't worry-I will handle it."
"Good," he breathed. I heard the sharp, decisive sound of a suitcase zipping shut over the line. "We will be in London by morning, Insha'Allah. Keep us updated, beta."
I hung up and leaned my forehead against the cool, dark glass of the window.
Standing there in the clinical quiet of the hospital, I realized that while Inayat and I were technically strangers, a bond of debt now bound our families together.
In the Mirza household, the name 'Inayat' was no longer just a name; it was
a debt of honor-one that would have to be repaid with the utmost respect.
___________β€οΈ___________
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[Word Count: 3060 words]
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