“Chances of survival are 40-45%. But theyarethere.”
Her eyes filled.
“Amaal!”
“Hmmm…” she began to cry.
“They arestillthere.”
“Mmmm…” she hiccuped, her body shaking.
“Heisstill there.” Atharva pressed.
She nodded.
“If you want to see him, you cannot go like this. He cannot know this. Go in if you want, but go in prepared and to prepare him.”
“To die?”
“To live.”
Her tears stilled. Atharva was blurry. But she blinked several times and he became clear. Amaal’s eyes widened. And she nodded.
————————————————————
Where was he?
At first, she couldn’t figure it out.
Then she saw it.
The white coffin on the bed was him. Amaal trudged closer on shaking legs. The sterilised scrubs and mask and cap heated her body, even in this freezing cold. A shiver set in. She pushed closer, her sterile socks scraping over the gleaming floor.
Amaal saw his face and broke into a quiet sob. His skin was dark, as if all the blood had been sucked out. His eyes were closed. His eyebrows looked… burnt. His eyelashes were… stunted. Gone. Nothing else was visible. Everything was covered in a box. He was on his front, his face turned towards her.
“Samar?”
He did not open his eyes.
“Samar?”
He still did not respond.
Amaal cleared her throat and drank down the last of her sob.
“Samar.” She called out, firm and loud.
His eyelids moved. And little by little, they pushed open. One eye more than the other. She did not dwell on that. Amaal smiled, big and bright, showing him herself, the promise of what he had left behind.
“You are ok,” she began to touch his face, then took her hand to his hair at the last second. That must be the least painful. When her fingers pressed into his hair, he did not move. His scalp was warm, his hair soft. Amaal patted. “You are ok.”
Dark eyes were dazed, but they met hers, held on.
His lips parted. Then closed. Then parted again.
“Let me go.”
Her smile faltered.
