By the time we got into the car to return home, we were utterly exhausted. Yet, looking at my friends, I felt a familiar wave of gratitude. I am truly blessed to have them in my life.
My friendship with Kritika and Isabelle began when we joined LSE; we are classmates, while Safiya is my childhood bestie.
We grew up together in the same neighborhood, our lives intertwined from the start. Safiya is currently studying medicine at UCL Medical School.
Our lectures had ended earlier than expected, so we decided to hang out at a cafe near campus. Safiya joined us since she was nearby for work.
We never expected the day to take such a turn-ending up in a hospital after saving a life. We just happened to be in the right place at the right time for him.
Flashback
"Hey, baby girl!" Kritika chirped as Safiya walked into the cafe.
"Yaar, kabhi kabhi aisa lagta hai, Kritika ki body mein kisi ladke ki aatma hai, jis tarah yeh hum sab se flirt karti hai," I exclaimed, shaking my head.
"Inny, please use English! You know I can't understand your language properly," Isabelle pouted.
"I said that sometimes I feel like there's a boy's soul trapped in Kritika's body, judging by the way she flirts with us."
"Bhalaayi ka toh zamana hi nahi hai," Kritika muttered, earning a pointed look from Isabelle.
"You guys are boring," Kritika announced. "You and Safiya barely interact with the opposite gender, so I have to keep things interesting!"
I didn't know whether to laugh or smack her.
"You know how these boys are; I just don't feel comfortable interacting with them," Safiya said seriously.
"Let's go shopping!" Isa suggested excitedly.
"Izzy, we don't have the energy for the heist. Last time we went, you took an hour just deciding on a shade of lipstick for your birthday." Safiya said remembering our last shopping trip.
"Exactly," Kritika added. "For her, pink was either too pink or wasn't pink enough...salesgirls looked like they wanted to throw us out for taking so long over one lipstick."
I was about to join in on the teasing, but the laughter died in my throat. My gaze drifted to a table a few feet away.
A boy-not much older than us-was clutching the edge of the table so hard his knuckles were white. His face was flushing a terrifying shade of purple, and he was gasping, a high-pitched, wheezing sound whistling through his throat.
"Wait... look," I whispered, my heart starting to thud.
The girls turned. Before we could even process the sight, the boy's smoothie tipped over, spilling across the table.
He reached for his throat, his eyes wide and panicked, darting around for help that wasn't coming fast enough.
"He's having an anaphylactic shock!" Safiya's medical instincts took over instantly. She was out of her chair before I could even blink.
We rushed to his side.
He was slumped over now, his breathing becoming shallow and ragged. "Check his bag! See if he has an EpiPen!" Safiya commanded as she knelt beside him, checking his pulse. Her voice was calm but sharp with authority.
I grabbed his backpack, my hands trembling as I unzipped the pockets, tossing aside notebooks and pens.
"It's not here! I can't find it!"
"He's losing consciousness," Safiya said, her face pale. "His airway is closing. We can't wait for an ambulance-traffic in this area is a nightmare. We have to move him now."
"My car is right outside the alley!" Kritika shouted, already fumbling for her keys. "Inny, grab his other side!"
In a blur of adrenaline and fear, we hauled him up. I remember the weight of him-the terrifying reality that a life was literally resting on our shoulders.
We navigated through the crowded cafe, ignoring the stunned stares of other customers.
"Clear the way! Emergency!" Isa yelled, pushing open the heavy glass doors.
We practically shoved him into the backseat of Kritika's car. Safiya climbed in with him, keeping his head elevated and checking his breathing every second.
Kritika didn't even wait for us to pull our seatbelts on; she shifted into gear and peeled away from the curb.
Isa checked his ID card for any details. "Zaim Mirza," she said.
"Keep him with us, Zaim! Stay awake!" Safiya urged, her voice strained.
I sat in the front, my hands gripped together so tightly they hurt. I looked back at Zaim, then at the road. Every red light felt like an eternity.
"Don't you dare close your eyes," I whispered under my breath, a silent prayer forming in my heart. Please, Allah, just let us get there in time.
Kritika drove like a possessed woman, weaving through the thick London traffic while Isa hung out the window, waving her arms and shouting for cars to make way.
Inside the car, the air was thick with the sound of Zaim's struggling gasps.
"His pulse is weakening!" Safiya called out, her voice tight with clinical fear.
"Kritika, if we don't get him there in the next two minutes, he's going into respiratory arrest!"
"I'm driving! I'm driving!" Kritika yelled, swerving around a bus.
I looked at Zaim; his head was lolling against the seat. I didn't know who he was, but seeing someone so young fighting for their life made the world feel incredibly fragile.
We skidded into the St. Thomas' Hospital ambulance bay, tires screeching against the pavement.
Before the car had even fully stopped, I was out the door and sprinting toward the sliding glass entrance.
"Emergency! Anaphylactic shock! We have a student in the car!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
Two nurses and an orderly appeared with a stretcher almost instantly. They rushed to the car, skillfully sliding Zaim onto the bed.
Safiya was already listing his symptoms to the medical team in rapid-fire jargon-pulse rate, skin tone, time of collapse.
"Great job, girls. We've got him," one of the nurses said, pushing the stretcher through the double doors.
The silence that followed was deafening.
The four of us stood in the bay, breathing hard. Kritika leaned against the car, her hands still shaking as she clutched her keys. Isa stared at the doors, and Safiya wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, her medical composure finally cracking.
I looked down. My cream trousers were stained with the smoothie Zaim had spilled. But as I looked at my friends, I realized none of that mattered.
"We saved him," Safiya whispered, a small, shaky smile appearing. "Alhamdulillah, Inny we saved him!" She hugged me tightly.
We moved to the waiting area, settling into the uncomfortable chairs. We didn't know his family, so we just sat there, bound by the shared trauma.
It was only when a nurse asked for his belongings that we found his student ID and, eventually, a phone that led us to Zohaib Mirza, his brother.
Flashback Ends
Kritika dropped Safiya and me near the park, and we began the short walk home.
"Today, When we were planning to hang out, did you ever think we'd end up saving someone's life?" Safiya asked, giving me a tired smile.
"No, but it was definitely worth it."
"What was Mr. Mirza saying to you?" she asked, referring to the moment Zohaib Sir called me over to give me his card.
"He was grateful to us for saving his brother. He gave me his card and told me to reach out if I ever needed anything. From his tone, he felt indebted to us. But I don't see it that way." I looked at her for a moment, then continued.
"We saved him because we couldn't just stand by and watch the show. That's not who we are. Making someone feel like they owe us for saving a life... I don't think that's right." I sighed.
"You're right...If it were one of our family members, wouldn't we want someone to run for them the same way?"
"Exactly. It's basic humanity, though it feels rare these days. People would rather take out their phones and film than help. Those videos go viral, but what about the person in need? The first instinct should be to help, not to record without consent."
"Well, we can't change everyone's mindset," Safiya said. "But we can lead by example."
When we reached my house, I hugged Safiya and said goodbye. I had already texted my parents that I was stuck in an emergency and promised to explain everything once I got back.
As I walked in, Mom and Dad rushed toward me, taking in my disheveled appearance.
"I'm fine, don't worry!" I blurted out, seeing the panic on their faces. "Let's sit in the living room; I'll tell you everything."
As I recounted the day's events, I could see the mixture of concern for Zaim and immense pride for us in their eyes.
Dad pulled me into a side hug and kissed the top of my head. "I am so proud of mera baccha."
I smiled at him. "I'll be back; I need to freshen up."
They both nodded, and I headed to my room, the weight of the day finally starting to lift.
----------------------------------
Zaim was kept under observation for eight grueling hours. Once discharged, Zamir and Zohaib carefully helped him into the backseat of the car.
Earlier, Zohaib had insisted Zamir to go home and rest and prepare for Zaim's arrival, but the younger brother's anxiety hadn't faded.
Zohaib took the wheel while Zamir sat in the passenger seat, his hands trembling slightly.
"Hum bohat dar gaye the, bhaijaan," Zamir whispered, his voice thick with vulnerability.
("I got so scared, brother.")
"Zaim had told me to meet him at the cafe, but my lecture ended late. By the time I got there, the staff told me he'd suffered an anaphylactic shock and was struggling to breathe. They described everything-how those girls jumped into action and rushed him to the hospital. I couldn't find peace until I saw him with my own eyes."
"It's okay, Zamir. He's okay now," Zohaib said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"I feel so miserable," Zamir choked out, a stray tear escaping. "My twin was fighting for air while I was stuck in a boring lecture... completely unaware."
"It wasn't your fault, twinnie. Don't blame yourself," Zaim muttered weakly from the back, his voice still strained.
Zohaib pulled the car over to the curb and turned fully towards his younger brother.
"Look at me, Zamir," Zohaib said softly. When Zamir finally met his gaze, Zohaib continued firmly,
"It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known. Even if you had been there, you aren't a doctor- it was a freaking accident. Stop punishing yourself."
Zohaib wiped a tear from Zamir's cheek, then glanced back at Zaim before looking at them both.
"Listen to me carefully, from now on, you will take your lunch from home. If you have to eat out, you tell the staff about your allergies immediately to avoid cross-contamination. We can't undo what happened today, so I want the guilt to stop right here. But we can prevent a next time. Just be careful from now on."
With a final nod of collective understanding, Zohaib restarted the engine and drove toward the safety of their home.
After the chaos of the hospital, the silence of the house felt heavy yet healing.
Zamir and I moved like a well-oiled machine, getting Zaim settled into the familiar comfort of his own bed.
Once he was tucked in, we retreated to our own rooms to wash away the sterile scent of the wards.
The steam of the shower cleared my head, but my mind stayed on my youngest brother.
I headed to the kitchen to prepare the dinner, the soft thud of my footsteps the only sound in the house. I kept it simple: a pot of golden, comforting Khichdi. The aroma of toasted cumin and ghee filled the air, a domestic balm for the day's stress.
I added some roasted papads and that spicy vegetable pickle we'd found at the Indian grocery store, a small taste of home.
Since Zaim couldn't handle anything heavy, Zamir and I didn't even question it; we ate the same.
If one of us was recovering, we were all in it together. I fed Zaim with my own hands and gave him his meds. Later Zamir and I had our dinner peacefully in Zaim's room keeping an eye on him and making sure he was really okay.
After washing the dishes and the utensils and tidying up the kitchen, I made my way back to Zaim's room. I wasn't leaving him alone tonight.
As I entered, Zaim's tired eyes found mine. "Bhaijaan, aap yahan?" He asked groggily.
("Brother, you here?")
"I'm sleeping here tonight, just in case you need me," I said firmly, leaving no room for an argument as I lay down beside him.
He looked at me with that characteristic guilt he carries.
"Bhaijaan, aap aaj waise hi bohot thak chuke honge humaari wajah se. Hum ab thik hain. Aap apne room mein aaram se so sakte hai, humaari fikar mat kijiye."
("Brother, you must be exhausted because of me. I am fine now. You can sleep peacefully in your room, don't worry about me.")
I reached out, my hand finding his hair. "Aap humaari fikar mat kijiye, beta ji," I murmured softly.
As my fingers ran through his hair, his resistance melted. He snuggled into my side, his breathing soon evening out into deep sleep.
A moment later, the door creaked. Zamir stood there, looking lost. One look was all it took- I knew he couldn't settle in his own room either.
I gestured to the empty space on my other side. He climbed in, mirroring Zaim's movements by tucking his head against my chest.
There I was, sandwiched between my chaotic twin brothers, just like when we were little kids hiding from a thunderstorm. A small, tired smile tugged at my lips before sleep finally claimed me.
-----------------------------------
I woke up at 6:00 a.m. as usual, feeling like a heavy weight, my limbs numb from being the human pillow for two grown men.
I carefully untangled myself, tucking the blanket around their shoulders, and slipped away to offer my Fajr prayer.
The house was still, the pre-dawn peace offering a moment of reflection. Usually, I'd go for a run, but today my body demanded a ceasefire. I set an alarm for 9:00 a.m. and fell back into a dreamless sleep.
When the alarm finally shrilled, I was back in "Big Brother" mode. I prepared our breakfast and carried the tray to Zaim's room.
We had an unspoken rule about eating at the dining table, but rules don't apply when your brother's strength is flickering.
I set the tray down and shook their shoulders gently. "Zaim, Zamir, wake up. It's nine in the morning. Ammi and Baba will be here soon."
The mention of our parents acted like an electric shock. Their eyes snapped open. Five months. It had been five months of video calls and pixelated smiles.
Zamir helped Zaim to the washroom while I prepared the bed like a hospital ward, laying down a fresh cloth to catch any crumbs. Once Zaim was settled and fed, I handed him his meds.
"I'm just in my room," I told him, ruffling his hair one last time.
"Kuch bhi chahiye ho toh humein call kariyega...Aaj sirf aaram karo tum dono."
(If you need anything, call me. Just rest today.)
At 1:00 PM, the doorbell didn't just ring; it announced a storm.
I barely got the door open before I was engulfed. Ammi's hug was bone-crushing, her silent sobs vibrating against my chest.
"Assalamualaikum, Ammi," I whispered, holding her tight, trying to be the pillar she needed. I looked up at Baba. He looked older, his eyes reflecting a helpless sort of pain.
I pulled back slightly, wiping the tears from her cheeks, "Ammi, Zaim thik hai, sab thik hai, aap please rona bandh karein. Aapki tabiyat kharab hojaayegi."
("Ammi, Zaim is fine. Everything is okay now. Please, don't cry- you'll make yourself sick.")
"Hum bohot dar gaye the," she choked out.
"Humesha dil bhaari rehta hai humara... ke aap mein se kisi ko kahi kuch ho na jaaye."
(I got scared. My heart is always heavy... fearing something might happen to one of you.)
"Hum thik hai, Ammi. Aapke bacche bohot strong hai, aapki tarah. Aap ese kamzor nahi padh sakti. Aap agar himmat haar gayi, toh hum bhi bikhar jaayenge, aap humaari strength ho Ammi." I said, keeping my voice steady.
("We are okay, Ammi. We are strong. We are your sons, But if you lose your courage, we'll fall apart too. You are our strength.")
Baba cleared his throat, his voice thick. "Where is Zaim?"
"Upstairs. Zamir is with him."
I followed them up but stayed by the door.
Zaim's face lit up at the sight of our parents. Ammi hovered over him, her tears falling on his forehead as she kissed him repeatedly.
"Dara diya tha beta aapne humein," Baba muttered, his hand resting heavily on Zaim's head.
(You gave us a scare, son.)
"I'm sorry, Ammi, Baba," Zaim smiled, looking smaller than usual amidst their affection. "I'll be careful, I promise. Ammi please don't cry." Zaim said wiping her tears.
I backed away quietly, giving them space to heal the distance of the last five months.
I retreated to the kitchen. I had soaked Rajma the night before, a plan made in anticipation of this reunion.
I didn't want a grand feast- it felt wrong to cook Zaim's favorite dishes when he couldn't join in but Rajma Chawal was the ultimate soul food.
As I set the table, the clinking of silverware felt like music. For the first time in five months, the house didn't just feel occupied; it felt full. We were finally all together.
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