"...But they plan, and Allah plans. And Allah is the best of planners." (8:30)

"Congratulations! You are pregnant!"

Rafa glanced up from the strip in her hands that held two pink lines, plastering a small congratulatory smile on her lips.

The couple in front of her gasped, their palms quickly covering their mouths, tears of happiness started to brim in their eyes before breaking down into smiles. They turned to each other, all the looks of disdain washed away with those pearl drops, and the husband engulfed his wife into a hug, kissing her hair and then her lips.

She peeled her eyes from the sight and tugged the sleeve of her peach shirt.

Perks of living in a western country is that the people don't follow any rules for public display of affection, they believe that affection can be shown to the world rather than hiding it in the confines of four walls.

The strings of her heart slowly lost a few beats. Though this had been the usual routine being a gynecologist—meeting pregnant couples, treating women to turn pregnant, operating the delivering women, attending the ones who suffered with abortions, and all the other deficiencies of the female uterus, Rafa couldn't stop herself from feeling lonely.

Perhaps, crossing the silver jubilee of her age, the twenty five mark brought itself with a vacant feeling, and with her friends Ahmed and Samra settling with each other while Jesima had someone who she can adhere to for the rest of her life, all Rafa could crave was to experience the warmth of love and married life.

The bachelorhood seemed despicable and she wished to meet her other half desperately, the one on whom she could lean on when she felt alone, with whom she could watch numerous sunrises and sunsets with, in whose masculine arms she could take refuge in the nights, to whom she could share her body and soul.

"Doctor?" The husband addressed her, eventually grabbing her attention from the small spree of sad thoughts she always delved in.

"Yes?

"Do we have to take medications?"

"Of course." Rafa took her tablet in hand, "Folic acid supplements will be sufficient for now." She marked the medicines beneath the patient's name and looked up, "Do you have any other troubles?"

"She easily gets cold."

"Can I use Tylenol as usual?" The wife asked.

Rafa nodded, "Yes, you may but if the cold doesn't subside after taking a day's dose, you should visit your primary care practitioner. That being said, would you consider getting a flu shot?"

Nodding in understanding, the couple gave their parting looks and goodbyes, thanking her once again, they exited the exam room.

Rafa stretched her arms in clear fatigue before leaning on her rolling chair, removing the stethoscope off of her shoulder, she set it down.

She couldn't thank Allah more when the staff nurse Stacey announced that Rafa had seen all the out-patients for the day.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in and out. Her arms ached with fatigue and her eyes glazed with sleep. She grabbed the tablet again to go through her to-do list of the day and relief washed over her features when she saw that she only had one more task to complete and wrap up her shift completely.

As she grabbed her coat and steth. to exit her room, her gaze fell over the chairs the couple had sat on a few minutes ago. The happy smiles they glowed with flashed before her eyes making her thoughts go all the more rigid.

Tucking and rolling up her shirt sleeves, she readied herself to wear the pristine green scrubs to check the in-patient who had delivered the baby in the morning.

She had been dreaming of marrying a practising Muslim ever since she reverted to Islam. Coming from a Caucasian background, the haram she had seen was far more than the little halal. Now, she was pure, she wanted someone pure too; to purify her more, to help her learn her deen by completing half of hers and lend her a hand to worship Allah the way He should be worshipped.

Checking the vitals of the patient, she sent a reassuring smile their way. She firmly believed that as a Doctor, smiling at the patients was not only a following of the sunnah but also a means to suppress the bubbling anticipation of negativity within the ones who are distressed.

Rafa proceeded to fill in the data of the patient and looked after the stitchings on her belly. After running a thorough check-up, she retreated back to her room, clearing the table for the next day. She placed her coat and other accessories of the day inside her locker and checked whether her hijab was still in place.

She straightened the invisible crease lines on her long rib-knit shirt in a soft peach that fell right below her knees. Standing up she started towards the exit of the hospital.

Her heart strings still strummed the joyful sights she had seen earlier. The love reflected on the couples who had learned they were soon to be parents, of women realizing they had finally managed to conceive after years of treatments, and of the glistening, tear stained faces of those who had seen their newborns for the first time.

The love that surrounded her was brimming to spill out, yet the void inside her only continued to grow.

She wanted a lover, she wanted to experience the sweet taste of love and marriage and perhaps motherhood, yet all of it seemed so far. Going to the masjid had filled her with hope, had helped her take steps to grab that beautiful illusion in her heart, but ending up on dead ends made her feel even more further away from her dream.

Her throat would sometimes clog with emotions when she began to dwell on such thoughts, then it only took a moment for her to remind herself that whatever meant for her would never miss her. That whatever Allah had chosen for her, what time, what location, what person, she would get it at the perfect time. That thought alone filled her with hope and brought a grateful grin to her lips.

Every blessing that I have received, every improvement that has come in my life, all of them arrived at the limit of my patience. My Lord will give me what is mine after checking whether I am truly ready to receive it.

Warm air of the centrally conditioned heating sprayed on her as she stood at the threshold. Outside, the moon was a crescent in the clear sky, a sliver so thin it wouldn't be visible to one who wasn't seeking it. The breeze of the March night was cold against her skin as she bit her bottom lip while checking whether she had placed the car keys in her sling bag. She was peeking down inside her bag when the sliding glass doors of the hospital burst open, and someone violently bumped into her.

Moist warmth engulfed her, prompting her to instantly gaze over her shirt. The light color was immediately smudged with dark crimson fluid.

The grey in her eyes pooled the blue irises. With a gasp, she raised her eyes to the profusely bleeding wrist of the man she bumped into.

"Are you okay?" She exclaimed, looking up to steal a glance at his face.

A loud gasp left her lips as soon as she did.

The man in her front was none other than the guy from the masjid.

That day when she had asked him whether he was single, he hadn't had the opportunity to reply back, for Jesima returned answering the phone call at the exact moment. Her friend had ushered her away, making her peel her eyes from the man that had silently stood in front of her, surprised at her spontaneous question.

Now, two weeks later, as she saw him again, all that she saw was smudges of blood. His white loose shirt hung low, sweat covered his hair, matting them over his forehead, and his dark beard glistened with beads of sweat, lining here and there. The blood stains ruined his casual attire, an imperfection in his otherwise put together appearance.

He cradled his arm, blinking in and out of consciousness, making Rafa's entire being fill up with fear.

The blood loss is draining him of his energy.

"The urgent care center?" He broke the silence. His voice slapped her awake from the small panic attack she was undergoing.

Rafa yelled for help, quickly scrunching a wad of napkins out of her open sling and dabbing them over his wrist, putting some pressure.

Ushering him by her side, she tightened her long and fair fingers over his arm, and led him through the hallway, past the several rows of deserted seats of the waiting room, and into the hall which housed numerous examination tables.

A quick dua left from the confines of the organ that resided in her ribcage while her mind bickered.

Ya Allah help...wait! I don't even know his name. Ya Allah..just help this man.

When his mother said no, it was an automatic no for him too.

He wasn't used to questioning his mother's judgement, neither did he go against it.

Sports were a waste of time, going out with friends was hooliganism, and chasing girls was ridiculous. Only education was safe. Medals were praiseworthy, a secure 9 to 5 was ideal.

But running? There wasn't any consensus for running—so he ran. He ran as soon as he woke up, he ran before he went to bed, he ran and ran and ran until the sweat streaming down his body, drenching him, would force him to stop before he drowned. Running for him was an escape, the only aspect of his own life he had liberty to control.

Running for him was as important as oxygen.

So that Tuesday night when he set out for a run after Mama had fallen asleep, getting injured wasn't on the agenda. Neither was meeting and being rescued by a beautiful woman.

Flashes of the woman's light peach shirt stained with his blood appeared before him as she seated him on one of the tables closest to the door. Two nurses dressed in scrubs took his vitals, while someone who he presumed as a doctor tended to his wrist.

"What's your name, sir?" One of the nurses asked, filling in details on his tablet.

"Abdur Rehman Mirza," he breathed, trying to regain his senses. He blinked his eyes, opening them again and finding glistening blue eyes across him that twinkled with fear under the fluorescent lights of the hospital urgent care unit.

"Mr. Mirza, how many fingers am I holding up?" The doctor asked, standing before him.

"Two."

"Okay, that's good, we won't need to start crystalloid." The doctor turned to the woman who had helped him earlier. "Dr. Miller, could you grab a Pedialyte or perhaps Gatorade from the vending machine?"

"Yes!" The woman said loudly, turning to dash. "Wait, do you have a preferred flavor?" She asked Abdur Rehman, her eyebrows knitted with concern.

Her concern over getting his choice of energy drink made him smile internally. Was this woman really a doctor? With how much death and grief doctors saw on a daily basis, the fact that she had held onto her innocence left him in awe.

"Grape?"

"Okay!" She dashed out of the hall, her slender form disappearing as she exited the double doors.

"I see this is your first visit here," a nurse announced, directing Abdur Rehman's attention back to his injured wrist. "I'm going to ask you a series of questions so we have your medical history."

"Sure."

As they went over his data, Abdur Rehman felt more in control of himself. When he had slipped in the mud earlier, he hadn't expected discarded glass bottles to be littering the usually clean area. It was a relatively good part of town, several blocks dedicated to hospitals and office buildings. Finding wild rabbits was the norm, not broken beer bottles. That was perhaps why when he had felt the jagged edges pierce his skin, he hadn't thought the cut was deep enough to be a problem. That was until he started running again and saw blood drops staining his tracks like bread crumbs in Hansel and Gretal's tale.

"Lactose Intolerance," the doctor observed after he had stitched up Abdur Rehman's cut, wrapped a gauze over it and was now prescribing him medication based on the data the nurse was giving him. "That shouldn't be a problem with the antibiotics I'm prescribing."

"My PCP usually prescribes cephalexin," Abdur Rehman announced, studying his bandaged wrist. "I would prefer it if you prescribed the same."

"Alright." The doctor lowered his head and changed the prescription order. "Have you had a tetanus shot in the past ten years?"

"Yes, I got it two years ago after a running accident." He examined his stained t-shirt, deciding it would be best to discard it rather than washing it. The stains would never get out.

"So this isn't the first time, huh?" The doctor laughed. Abdur Rehman gave him a sharp look.

"Please send a copy of these reports to my PCP, I can dictate the fax number for their office."

His gaze trailed over to the entrance as he recited the number. The words died on his lips as soon as he saw the female doctor who had gone to fetch him an energy drink. The front of her shirt was excessively stained with his blood.

"735...and?" The nurse urged, asking for the last four digits.

Abdur Rehman snapped out of his thoughts and said the numbers, lowering his gaze when the woman stopped before him to give him the drink.

"The machine in the hallway didn't have grape, so I went to the one in the TBI ward, and then Radiology. Alhumdulillah the one in the parking lot had it!" She announced, a bit out of breath.

Her fair cheeks were flushed with exertion, her blue eyes twinkling. Abdur Rehman lowered his gaze.

How incredibly devoted.

"The parking lot is on the other side of the lot," the nurse said with a laugh. "You're as dedicated as always Dr. Miller."

Her shy laugh echoed in the deserted room, reminding him of exactly where he had heard it before. It was the woman from the masjid!

In his line of work he met countless people, spent hours with them poured over consultations and discussions, but at some point the faces muddled together, the voices all started to sound the same, but the words the woman—Dr. Miller—had said to him back then were so bold, she had left a permanent impression.

He raised his head to confirm his suspicions and found her looking at him at the same time. Both quickly looked away, embarrassed.

"I'll head out then," she whispered, picking up the purse she had discarded to the side earlier.

"See you around Dr. Miller!" One of the nurses said, a gloved hand waving at her.

"Have a great night," another shouted, pushing a cart into a room.

"Right back at 'ya!" She replied, disappearing once again.

Abdur Rehman watched her go, wondering how different she looked from their first encounter at the masjid, yet how she was exactly the same. The hospital was definitely where she ruled like a queen, entrancing her colleagues and others like followers by her akhlaq. Yet even at the masjid where there were countless others, she had looked right at home.

It wasn't often that he met someone who looked self-assured in all facets of their life—and he had only seen two sides so far.

How is the start?

You people are going to get the updates on all the upcoming Saturdays, in shaa Allah.

Have fun!

°^~^°

Behind the Scenes

Saroosh: Why is it so sensual, it's literally first aid?

Sumaiya: Hihi! Why do AR and Rafa feel so much? They are, after all, Doctor and Patient?

Sumaiya: If all doctors go around falling for patients, the patients will become doctors. Because the doctors will end up fracturing their limbs.