Puranay Rastay ✓

chapter ‣ 9

Aqib's Asfandyar bhai was nothing like him. With long hair in a ponytail, towering height and a scowl that didn't waver, he stood with an aura of authority that I hadn't seen before. I didn't want to assume, but I could see what Aqib meant when he said Asfandyar bhai chose not to get married; he seemed like a person who was decisive and didn't regret anything.

"Taya meet Rida," Aqib introduced me as we stood beside his uncle's bed.

"Assalamualaikum," I greeted, bending forward a little so he could hear me.

"Wa..wa-alykum S-s-salaam," he struggled to say, his voice was weak and disordered. "J-jeeti raho." (stay blessed)

I nodded, smiling at him from under my veil.

The older man sat upright in his bed with the help of several cushions supporting him. He resembled Aqib and Aqib's father in his broad shoulders, chiseled face—which were hidden behind countless wrinkles—and piercing amber eyes. Even in his sickly state which prevented him from performing daily tasks without help, he seemed to ooze confidence and a sense of independence, as if he was enough as a single man army.

The strained smile he tried to offer me was warm, like he was glad to see me. His warmth was a mirror of what radiated from Aqib, which confirmed my suspicions that Aqib's uncle had a greater influence on him than his own father.

"Taya we missed you at the wedding dearly," my husband told, sitting down on the edge of the bed to hold his uncle's hand.

Taya led out a strangled sound but his lifted lips suggested he had let out a chuckle.

A look passed over Aqib's face as if he recollected something, then he said, "I did, I promise," referring to something only those two understood without exchanging words. "Remember the time you said you'd help me climb my way up to my bedroom if the girls tried to make me pay for entering?"

The old man laughed, his chuckles sounding like he was choking.

Asfandyar bhai leapt forward to offer his father the oxygen mask along with the oxygen tank that rested next to the bed. As he neared I took a step back to avoid touching him, nearly knocking the things off the side table.

While Aqib's cousin helped his father, my eyes ran over the rest of the room. The side tables were littered with medications, half empty bottles of water, reading glasses and tissues. There was a wheelchair on the other corner of the room, countless packs of kitchen tissues stacking up on from the floor, and mechanisms that looked like feeding tubes resting atop boxes.

I wasn't familiar with Multiple Sclerosis, but I hadn't expected it to be so crippling for someone who merely looked sixty.

"Let him rest, will you?" Asfandyar bhai commented, his tone a little bitter. Taya let out a sound of disapproval, halting Aqib from getting up to leave.

"I'm right here, Taya Abu," he whispered, his voice so gentle it reminded me of how Phopo talked to me sometimes.

Tears pooled in my eyes as I saw Aqib with his uncle, sharing the same bond I shared with my aunt. It must have been crushing for him to see his beloved uncle in such a bad state.

Taya turned his head, his eyes meeting mine. He raised his hand a little, prompting me to step forward.

Aqib scooted away so I could squeeze in next to him, attempting to listen to what his uncle had to say.

"Beti, tell me if Aq-qib bothers you," he stuttered, pushing his mask down. I looked back at Aqib to confirm I had heard what he had, the smile on his face told me that I wasn't off. "I will...I will beat him."