- What if the world told you 'men never change'. Would you still believe in redemption?
- What if your whole life is shrouded in secrecy. Would you shed your mask for one person anyway?
- What if an avatar intrigued you. Could you fall in love with...
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Ameerah
"What happened to Zain?" I tried to catch my breath while sliding into the passenger seat after rushing down the stairs of my apartment.
"Second degree burns on his arm and smoke inhalation injury," she responded while speeding towards the main road. "You probably know what that means better than I do."
I did, and each of those terms brought on a wave of anxiety as images of the worst case scenarios I had seen in my career came to mind. A second degree burn if large enough can cause scarring or get superinfected with horrendous bacteria. Smoke inhalation injury reminded me of the man who'd come into the very ER that we were heading towards when I was a medical student and died within hours because his airways were so damaged we couldn't even intubate him.
"Was his voice normal?"
"No. Slightly hoarse. Why?"
"His airway is affected," I told her solemnly.
He had been on a mission in the Northern part of Sindh clearing out a haven of human trafficking in a small town straddling the border of Sindh and Balochistan. A number of arrests had been made; other criminals killed. By all means the mission was a success.
Yet, it was overshadowed by news of innocent siblings being abandoned in a blazing building. They were rescued by Zain in a daring move that was being lauded by many but worried Fiza.
"It's becoming a pattern with him. He goes into the worst of situations without a second thought and against advice of his seniors. One of these days he is not going to make it out alive."
"You mean it's not just bravery making him take these risks?" I asked for clarification because the alternate explanation made my heart sink.
She quietly shook her head.
Aghast at what she was implying, I nearly leapt out of my seat. Death, it seemed, was an acceptable, maybe even desirable, outcome for him. "Fiza, he needs a psychiatrist today. Is there one on staff with the Rangers? Otherwise, I can look at who is available in Karachi..."
The look on her face stopped me. "He doesn't need a psychiatrist, Ameerah," she glanced at me. "He needs you."
Me? The man who wouldn't even return a text message unless absolutely essential needed me according to his colleague. "For what? To yell at, or ignore?"
My questions were met with a long silence, only to be subtly answered as we entered the hospital grounds. "It's not my place to tell you anything. All I am going to say is, as someone who spends a fair amount of time with him in a professional setting, he is not ok."
"What does that mean?" It felt like I was the detective in the car.
