Hey guys! Finally an update! I know I have been away for months and I am so sorry for the wait. As an applogy here's an update and the next one will be coming soon!

I really want to complete the story. I also want to edit the story, fix the errors. Which one do yoi think, I should opt for? Let me know in the comments.

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The bed feels cold and. . . empty. I shift around, pulling the comforter close, trying to find. . .something or rather someone. My hands wander aimlessly looking for that one thing only to come up empty. What was it again? I need something, I know that. Something, right?

The pillow?

Maybe.

It wasn't a thing dumbass, it's a person.

Who? Ohh Basheer! Xandol!

The words are like a lightning strike, immediately flashing open my eyes to meet the cream color of the ceiling and the revolving purple fan. He must have switched off the A.C. Just as I am about to get up, my arm shrieks in protest, reminding me it's not even a day since I have been injured and I must take it slow. 

I hate my pain receptors right now!

I hate how weak I feel, afterall six months of military training is just so you know to use a gun if the situation comes. It doesn't make you wonder woman overnight, or in this case over six months. While our armies train for years, we train for six months and let's not talk about the unhealthy life prior to that.

I use my other arm as a prop to sit upright, searching for him in the vacant space. The door is closed shut, with no sign of him. For a moment I wonder where he is and what time of the day it is. The mahogany curtains flutter against the wind as sunlight pours into the room. The intensity of the sun rays suggest it must be some time before noon.

"Basheer, aren't we going to set out?" I scream, wondering if he is in the bathroom. I slowly get up, padding my way to the bathroom, half hoping to catch him naked with water dripping down his body! But my drool dies down as I find it empty when I turn the knob. Just as I am about to move to the door, my eyes fall on the bedside table, before understanding dawns upon me.

Moving closer to it I find a bottle of pills labelled as 'Antibiotic' and another bottle labelled as 'Painkiller' in blue ink. Like, I wouldn't be able to distinguish them had he left them with their generic names. For fuck's sake, I am a doctor! As I am about to turn and criticize him for this, my eyes fall on a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it reveals a note in perfect cursive and a bracelet with wooden pearls fall right in front of me. Fingering the bracelet, I start reading his letter.

Sahiba,

I got this for you one day, much on impulse. Consider a gift from me. There's a cell phone in the drawer. Use it, but don't try to call your family. I have kept aside some cash you might need. Keep working at the hospital, my men will contact you shortly. They will take you back to India.

I know I am a coward, too afraid to say it right in front of you. I am not an alpha male as you suggested, I just want you safe. You don't belong in this mess. 

-A

A? A what? Shouldn't it be B? Or is it his real initials? 

I don't know if I should be angry or cry. He gave me his initial, a real part of him but he chose to leave me as well. Last night flashes behind my eyelids as betrayal dances in my heart.

I trusted you Basheer! Trusted you!

Am  I now supposed to be waiting until I am departed back? I laugh at the cruel twist of fate. Oh, how much I had once wanted to go back, and now I am dying internally because he wants me to go back!

The rational part of me understands his decision, maybe I would have done the same. But which part of 'we are in this together' does he not understand?

 A part of me regrets my stubborn nature, I should have listened to him. Maybe then he wouldn't leave me with a note! My heart shatters more at how much it must have pained him to do so. I wish I wasn't so stubborn. Moreover my condition would have been a roadblock in his mission. 

However my betrayed heart doesn't know to reason. I just need to cool down. I just need to trust him this once! 

If he wants to send me back, I might as well get back. No use in trying to do anything. 

I wipe away my tears, looking for the android. Pressing the power button, I'm relieved to find the screen lighting up blue and green. I immediately switch on my net connection before clicking on chrome.

I type in the words, without thinking. 
6th November Uri attack

Several articles flash as soon as I type in the words. Although I will go back just as he has planned for me, I still find myself looking at articles after articles. I click on the first article from Times of India.

On the dawn of the sixth of November, a military camp in Uri was attacked. Twenty soldiers were killed in cold blood, ten injured. According to the sources, three of the accused are caught but the fourth accused is still missing. The fourth accused terrorist is supposedly the bus driver who drove a bus of young cadets to the location. According to the sources one of the twenty young cadets who happened to visit the site the day before the event, reportedly went missing during the ambush.

India has demanded an explanation from Pakistan against this but the Pakistani sources have declined any involvement and attributed it to the growing terrorism in Kashmir.

I search for some more articles hoping to find something more, but all the articles are about the same incident, a mere twist of words. The dates are all old, about a month back. There are no recent articles on it. It is as if the world has forgotten about the very attack, about a missing doctor. They don't care, obviously they wouldn't unless they are the ones to suffer. Nobody cares about a single civilian. America will act like its an antiterrorist country when its feeding terrorism every single day. The only reason, terrorism thrives in Pakistan is because America allows it. It's all a power game for those leaders, for us it's just survival. All we want is to live and that's very much objectionable. 

I throw away the phone in frustration, before I make my way to the bathroom. I need to start working at the hospital again, maybe it will be a few days until his agent contacts me.

You should stop fighting a futile battle before it consumes you.
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As I step into the patient ward, the smell of disinfectants and alcohol assaults my senses but this time around, there's something more in the air -- panic, if the blaring sirens, the ward boys and nurses running about with stretchers are any indication. 

I rush into the hospital, donning my white coat, not bothering to visit the changing room.

"What's happening?" I ask the nurses, busy attending numerous calls. There are shouts from all sides, with nurses and doctors barking orders, and the terrifying howl of the injured. I have never seen a day like this, something big must have happened.

"AIR  INDIA 3001 on its way to England, carrying 300 passengers on board crashed today morning at 6am, 3kms away from Sahiwal. Authorities report the death of pilot Sikha Singh from cerebral injuries. She died at 8 am today after a two hour long surgery from complications. We will get back to you shortly with experts explaining the cause of this accident." A woman clad in a black burqa, only revealing her face, reads out the news on the television that's placed in the waiting area just in front of the reception.

"An airplane crashed down some 3kms from here." She says, putting the receiver down just as the news ends before picking up another blaring telephone. 

"Can you check the patient on bed no 102?" She asks me before answering the call.

The patient on bed no 102 is awake, groaning in pain with his left arm clenched close to his chest. He must have a fracture. I hope it's a hairline fracture, not a broken bone. 

I get busy in the next few hours attending to injuries after injuries. Thankfully the plane didn't land too hard so the injuries are mostly minor. And this makes me wonder, how the pilot died. 

Just then I see a body clad with white cloth pushed into the morgue. Before I can think, my feet carry me there, "Is this Sikha Singh? The pilot who died?" I ask the ward boy who seems to be shaken for a moment. 

He regains his composure before answering in an affirmative.

"Can I pay my respects to her?"

He nods, so I move up to remove the white cloth covering her face. But a hand catches me before I can do so. "I am afraid, you can't do that. You don't have the permission. Sorry." A middle aged man speaks up. I can't remember if I have seen him before though, but he gives out the wrong vibes.

"Do I need permission to pay respects to the dead?" What is stopping them from revealing her face? 

"I am afraid your patients need you, Dr. Nehali. Perhaps you should attend to them instead of wandering somewhere you don't belong." Somehow, I feel the words carry a lot more meaning and a warning. 

Pretending to have not got that, and wanting to get out of this man's sight, "I am sorry, I just heard the news. I just wanted to pay my respects as a doctor. As doctors, we want to save every life possible."

"Every life irrespective of their origin or jobs right?"

"Yes!" I answer. That's what our Hippocratic oath taught us, but something I would never adhere to. Insects and rodents that thrive on human pain don't deserve to live. Maybe that way I am a corrupt doctor. He needn't know that.

"Remember that!" He signals the ward boy before moving past me.

Something doesn't sit right and my curious nature will not sit quietly, I wait outside the morgue at a distance waiting for the boy to come out. Five minutes later he's out, sliding the door close behind him. Just as he moves away, out of sight I quickly make my way to the room, shutting the door behind me.

The temperature inside is freezing, meant to preserve the bodies. I use my flashlight to view the room. The nameplate on the body right in front reads, Sikha Singh. I move to reveal her face, before suppressing a choked cry.

How? The face matches exactly the one shown on the tv screen however, there is a hole on her forehead that leaves no doubt that she had been shot. There are no signs of stich marks, the body is still fresh. Then why did the news say she died during the surgery.

That was an utter lie! The most frightening question is who shot her and why would they? The room temperature drops down a few degrees, as I realise there's more to it than just a plane crash. Fear and sympathy grips my throat, as I stare at her lifeless body. Would her family ever get to see her body again? Would her body be carried back to India? Would she get to be burnt like Hindu rituals or will they just bury her like it doesn't even matter? Would they perform the rituals following one's death for the peace of the soul?

I don't think so. The truth of her death would die here with her. Nobody would know. 

Nobody would care if I died here, except my parents.

My wanton thoughts are disturbed by the sound of voices outside, just as the door knob turns my fear turns to panic and I rush to the further end of the room where its darker before ducking beneath a trolley. To think I am sitting right under a dead body. I am not sacred but I hope I won't see the man above bending down to smile at me. 

I switch off the flashlight just as the door opens with three figures strutting in. One of them must be a ward boy and the other a female judging from their clothes. Their faces aren't much visible given the little light. The ward boy switches on a dim light just enough to light the entrance of the room. I can see the ward boy who looks apprehensive, but the other two people are facing away from me.

"Why the fuck did you leave her face open?" The man shouts at the ward boy. " What if the nosy doctor finds this?" The boy quicks a glance at the body before his eyes widen and breaks out in a cold sweat despite the cold.

"Maaf janab. Dobara aisi galti nahi hogi." The ward boy pleads before getting down on his knees. Shit! I forgot to cover her face. For a moment I feel bad for the boy for having to put up with this man.

"Get the fuck out of my sight! In namardo se ek kam thik se nahi hota!" He angrily retorts.

"Must have been the wind." A femine voice whispers that I am all too familiar with. 

Ruksar?

Author's Note:

Hi guys its been so long since we interacted. Drop a comment for me, it will let me know you have been here.

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