Haneefah did not remember when the darkness took her.
One moment she was screaming Anas’s name, the next her body gave up. The pain was too much for her heart to carry. She collapsed beside his lifeless body and was quickly lifted, rushed to another bed, doctors working over her unconscious form.
In another corner of the ICU, they covered Anas.
White sheet.
From head to toe.
The same man who once filled rooms with presence now lay still beneath fabric that erased his face from sight.
The nurses spoke softly. The doctors stepped back. The machines were silent.
Word spread quickly.
Family members were called. Arrangements were mentioned. The mortuary was notified.
His brothers stood there in disbelief.
Junaid stared at the covered body as if waiting for it to move again.
Jamiu pressed his palm over his mouth, trying to contain the sound breaking out of his chest.
They were Muslims. They knew what must be done. Burial would not be delayed. Within hours, he would be washed, wrapped, and returned to the earth.
But how does a man prepare to bury his own brother?
How do you carry the body of the one who once carried you?
The ICU room filled with sorrow. Not loud at first. Just deep, suffocating grief.
Then it broke.
Zainab dropped to her knees.
She cried like a child. Loud. Uncontrolled. Rolling slightly on the hospital floor, calling Anas’s name over and over again.
Junaid tried to stay strong, but his shoulders began to shake violently. He leaned against the wall and slid down slowly, tears streaming without restraint.
They had lost their brother.
Not just a sibling.
The backbone of the family.
The steady one.
The dependable one.
The one their father trusted most.
For two full hours, they remained there, crying. Mourning. Staring at the white sheet that covered what used to be laughter, advice, leadership.
They did not know what to do.
They did not know how to go home.
They did not know how to face their father.
Chief.
The old man whose heart was already weak from fear.
How do you walk into his presence and say your son is gone?
Maryam sat in a corner, sobbing quietly, her scarf soaked with tears. The wives wept together, no rivalry left between them. Only shared devastation.
The hospital corridor carried the sound of mourning.
And in another room, Haneefah still lay unconscious, unaware that her world had ended.
But someone else did not know yet either.
Khalid.
He had been waiting at the reception area. The nurses had told him children were not allowed inside for now. So he sat there, small hands resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the ICU doors.
He was waiting for his mother.
He was waiting for someone to tell him it was good news. He waited. And waited. After a while, he grew restless.
He approached a nurse politely, describing his mother through small broken sentences. His voice was innocent, hopeful.
The nurse hesitated, but eventually agreed to take him.
He walked down the corridor, holding her hand.
As they approached the ICU area, he heard it. Crying. Loud crying. Men crying. Women crying. The kind of crying that does not sound normal. He stepped inside. He saw his uncles shattered. He saw Maryam covering her face. He saw nurses moving quietly. And then he heard it.
Someone saying, We have lost him. Khalid froze. The words echoed in his ears.
Khalid: (shocked) Lost him.Lost who? (His eyes searched the room wildly.)
Then he saw the white covered body.
Something inside him understood before anyone explained.
He shook his head slowly.
Khalid:No. No. No....
(He could not believe his ears, His small chest began to rise rapidly. Tears filled his eyes instantly.)
[He stepped backward. Then forward. Then he broke. He cried. Not loudly at first. Just a wounded, broken sound escaping from a child who suddenly understood what death meant. His father was not sleeping. His father was not coming back. His father was gone. He cried harder. The kind of cry that tears through the soul. The cry of a child losing his corner. His protector. His example. His hero. The hospital walls, which had witnessed suffering for years, now held the sound of a family collapsing under grief.
A wife unconscious. Brothers shattered. Children broken. And a man who had been the pillar of them all, now silent beneath white sheet. That day, the world did not end.
But for them, it felt like it had.]
Jamiu: (sighted him and run to embrace him) I'm sorry kid
----------
Hours passed.
The hospital lights dimmed slightly as evening crept in, but the grief inside that ICU did not soften.
Eventually, the doctors spoke gently but firmly. The body had to be moved to the mortuary.
Anas could not remain there any longer.
Junaid wiped his swollen face with trembling hands. Jamil nodded silently, though his lips would not stop quivering. They had cried until their heads pounded, until their eyes burned, until their voices grew hoarse.
Haneefah was still unconscious in another room.
Khalid had been guided away carefully, his small shoulders shaking as he walked toward the car. He kept looking back, hoping someone would say it was a mistake.
But no one did.
The white-covered body was wheeled out slowly.
The sound of the stretcher wheels against the hospital floor echoed in a way that felt cruel. Final.
The brothers followed behind it.
Every step felt like betrayal.
Every breath felt heavy.
When the ambulance doors closed, reality sealed itself with a metallic thud.
They were taking Anas home.
But not the way he should have returned.
The drive was silent except for quiet sobbing. Outside, the sky had turned gray, as if even the weather refused to shine.
As the ambulance approached the mansion gates, tension filled the air.
The guards straightened immediately.
Neighbors noticed.
An ambulance returning to the house of the four sons.
Whispers spread faster than wind.
What happened?
Who is sick?
Who died?
The gates opened slowly.
The ambulance entered.
By the time the news slipped from one mouth to another, Anas has passed away, the entire neighborhood seemed to hold its breath.
Women covered their mouths in shock.
Men placed their hands on their heads.
The house of four sons.
Now three.
How?
Why?
People gathered, wanting to enter, to console, to confirm the terrible rumor. But the gates were shut firmly. The family needed space. Needed air. Needed time.
Inside the compound, the three brothers stepped out of the vehicle.
Their eyes were swollen beyond recognition.
Their clothes were wrinkled.
Their strength was gone.
The mansion, once proud and loud with life, felt unusually silent.
Upstairs, Chief felt it before he saw it.
A disturbance in the air.
An unnatural stillness.
He descended the stairs slowly, supported by his personal assistant.
When he saw his sons standing there — red eyes, trembling shoulders, broken posture — he did not need words.
A father knows.
His eyes widened.
His lips parted slightly.
He searched their faces desperately for denial.
There was none.
No one spoke.
No one needed to.
The truth was already standing between them.
Anas was gone.
Chief staggered.
His knees failed him halfway down the stairs.
He fell, not violently, but like a man whose spirit had been removed from his body.
The sons rushed forward, catching him before his head hit the ground. They carried him carefully to the couch.
And then the old man broke.
Tears streamed down his aged face, tracing lines carved by years of authority and pride.
He cried uncontrollably.
Not as a chief.
Not as a powerful man.
But as a father.
A father who had just lost his son.
His voice cracked as he called Anas’s name again and again, as if calling him back from wherever he had gone.
The remaining wives emerged, confusion turning into horror as they understood.
The cries began again.
Different voices.
Same pain.
The mansion that once echoed with strength now echoed with mourning.
Walls that had witnessed celebrations now absorbed heartbreak.
Servants wept quietly.
The air felt heavy.
Even the grand chandeliers above seemed dimmer.
Outside, neighbors continued whispering prayers.
Inside, a family shattered.
It was not just a death.
It was the collapse of a pillar.
A protector.
A hope.
The house of four sons had become three.
And in that moment, the mansion no longer felt grand.
It felt empty.
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