SAME ROOM
[Chief remains seated. His Personal Assistant stands quietly nearby.]
Chief: (after a long silence) Did you see their faces?
P.A.: (carefully) They looked tired, sir.
Chief: (softly) Tired is not the word.
[He grips his walking stick.]
Chief: Something is wrong in this mansion.
P.A.: (neutral tone) I am not aware of anything, sir.
Chief: (studies him) You are not aware?
P.A.: No, sir.
Chief: (nods slowly) Hm.
[He leans back, thinking deeply.]
Chief: Anas does not disappear. Not without informing me.
[Silence.]
Chief: (decisively) Alright. I will call him myself.
[He begins to rise slowly, using his walking stick.]
Chief: I will go to my bedroom.
[He walks slowly out of the mini living room, suspicion growing stronger with every step.]
[Lights dim.]
-------
ICU ROOM – NIGHT
The room was dim, washed in soft hospital light. The steady beeping of machines filled the silence like a slow ticking clock counting fragile hope.
Anas lay still.
Too still.
Haneefah sat close to his head, her chair drawn so near that her knees almost touched the bed. One hand rested gently on his chest, rising and falling faintly beneath her palm. The other held his fingers — limp, warm, but unresponsive.
Zainab sat quietly on the other side, her eyes red, her fingers intertwined tightly in her lap. She did not interrupt. She did not move. She just listened.
Haneefah leaned closer to Anas’s ear, her voice barely above a whisper.
Haneefah: My love… can you hear me?
(Her lips trembled, but she forced a soft smile)
Haneefah: They say people in your condition can still hear. So I will talk. Even if you cannot answer me… I will talk. (A tear slipped down her cheek, landing on the back of his hand.)
Haneefah: Do you remember the first day we met? (She let out a small, broken laugh.)
Haneefah: You were so serious. So composed. I was afraid of you. I thought you were too proud to even look at me.
(Her thumb gently stroked his knuckles.)
Haneefah: But later… I found out you were just shy. You could not even look into my eyes without smiling.
Her breathing grew uneven.
Haneefah: Allah was so kind to me. He chose you for me. Out of all the men in this world… He wrote your name beside mine.
(Zainab lowered her head, silent tears falling freely now.)
Haneefah: We were so young. We did not have everything. But we had peace. We had laughter. We had long nights talking about dreams… about the future… about the home we would build.
(Her voice cracked.)
Haneefah: And look at what Allah blessed us with.
(She closed her eyes tightly, steadying herself.)
Haneefah: Four beautiful children. Four pieces of you walking around in this world. Do you know how they look at your pictures? Do you know how our son tries to stand like you? How our daughters wait for you to call them princess?
(Her shoulders began to shake)
Haneefah: I have not looked them in the eyes properly since this happened. I am ashamed. I am weak. They need me strong… but I need you.
She pressed her forehead gently against his hand.
Haneefah: Anas… I cannot do this without you.
(The words came out as a whisper, almost a confession.)
Haneefah: You are my backbone. My calm. My protection. When I am afraid, I hide in you. When I am confused, I ask you. When I am tired, I rest on you.
(Her tears now fell freely, soaking the sheets.)
Haneefah: Who will I run to if you do not wake up? Who will call me by that name only you use? Who will sit at the edge of the bed and listen to my endless stories? (Her fingers tightened around his.)
Haneefah: I am not ready to lose you. I am not strong enough to be called a widow. I do not want to raise our children telling them stories about their father in past tense.
(Her voice broke completely.)
Haneefah: Please… wake up. (The machines continued their steady rhythm.)
Haneefah: Fight for us. Fight for me. Fight for the four little hearts waiting at home. Fight for the woman who still loves you like the first day she said yes. (She gently kissed his forehead.)
Haneefah: Allah has tested us before… and we survived. Do not leave me in this test alone.
Silence.
(Only the sound of her quiet sobbing.
Zainab finally reached across the bed and placed her hand gently over Haneefah’s shoulder. No jealousy. No rivalry. Just shared grief.)
(Two wives.One broken heart between them.
Haneefah rested her head beside Anas’s arm, still holding him as though her grip alone could keep his soul anchored.
And in that dim hospital room, love spoke to silence.
Waiting for it to answer.)
----------
Two weeks had passed, yet time felt frozen inside the hospital walls.
Hope still lived inside Haneefah, but it was no longer bright. It flickered now, like a candle fighting against a strong wind. Every day she waited for the doctors to say something new, something encouraging, something that would lift the weight pressing against her chest.
But there was no improvement.
Instead, there were complications.
His head had begun to swell. The doctors spoke in careful tones. They adjusted medications. They monitored pressure levels. They avoided promising words.
Fear began to grow quietly inside her.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just a steady, terrifying awareness that something was wrong.
The family felt it too.
Chief became increasingly restless at home. He would sit in silence longer than usual, staring into space as if trying to sense his son’s condition from miles away. A father’s heart does not lie. His blood pressure began to rise from constant anxiety. His hands trembled slightly whenever Anas’s name was mentioned.
His P.A., worried about the old man’s health, secretly called the family doctor to conduct a home check. Chief’s condition was declining, though his children barely noticed. They were drowning in their own fears, holding urgent meetings and whispering plans to transfer Anas abroad for better treatment. They were ready to move him quietly, desperate for a miracle beyond the country’s borders.
Meanwhile, Haneefah and Zainab never left Anas’s side.
They lived in that ICU room.
They prayed beside him.
They slept beside him.
They watched every movement of the monitor as if it were the only thing keeping their hearts beating.
Then a phone rang.
Junaid stepped outside to answer it. His expression changed almost immediately. When he returned, his face was pale, his lips pressed tightly together as though he was holding something heavy inside.
Junaid: (stretching out his hand, tense) You need to take this.
Haneefah: (confused, looking at him) Who is it?
Junaid:(avoiding eye contact) Just take it.
Haneefah: (hesitates, then takes the phone) Hello?
Haneefah: (suddenly stiff, voice shaking) What do you mean they are not eating? (standing abruptly) Since when? Why didn’t anyone tell me?
Haneefah: (tears forming) They cry every night?
[She slowly lowers the phone.]
Haneefah:(whispering) Ya Allah…
Junaid: (stepping closer) What happened?
Haneefah:(panicked) They want me. They are not eating. They cry for me every day.
She turns toward Anas.
Haneefah: (breaking) I cannot leave him. I cannot.
Zainab: (standing, holding her hands gently) We are here. I will not leave his side.
Jamil:(firm but emotional) Nothing will happen. We will watch him.
Junaid: (soft but serious) Your children need you now.
Haneefah: (voice cracking, torn) How do I leave my husband like this? How do I walk away?
(Silence fills the room.]
Haneefah: (moving close to Anas, bending near his ear) I will come back. Please wait for me. Do not leave while I am gone.
She kisses his hand gently.
Zainab:(reassuring) Go. We are here.
Junaid:(picking up her bag) I will take you home.
Haneefah:(looking back at Anas one last time, whispering) Wait for me.
She exits slowly with Junaid. The machines continue beeping as the lights fade.
------------
Haneefah did not recognize her own home when she arrived.
The gates opened the same way. The walls stood tall and proud as always. The lights were on. The floors were polished. Nothing had physically changed.
Yet everything had changed.
The house felt empty.
Not empty of furniture. Empty of life.
The usual brightness that once filled the halls was gone. No sound of little feet running across marble tiles. No sudden laughter bursting from corners. No playful arguments. No tiny voices calling out for their father.
The mansion felt like an abandoned house.
Worse.
It felt like a graveyard.
Her steps were slow as she entered. Each sound echoed too loudly in the silence. Even the air felt cold against her skin.
She did not stop to greet anyone. She did not remove her shoes properly. She went straight to the children’s room, her heart pounding with fear and guilt.
As she pushed the door open, the sight before her shattered whatever strength she had left. Maryam. Rahmah. Aishat.
They sat weakly on the bed and the floor with the kids, their school uniforms still slightly wrinkled, their faces pale. One of the cleaners sat beside them, gently pleading, holding a spoon near khalid’s lips, trying to convince her to eat.
The plate of untouched food sat on the bedside table.
The room smelled of untouched meals and quiet sadness.
Then they saw her.
For a second, they froze.
As if they were not sure she was real.
Then all at once, they jumped up.
“Mummy!”
Their voices cracked as they ran toward her.
They threw themselves into her arms, clinging to her clothes, wrapping their tiny hands around her waist and neck. Their mouths were dry. Their lips slightly pale. Their bodies felt lighter than she remembered.
They were crying. Not loud tantrum cries. Broken cries. The kind that comes from days of holding pain inside.
Haneefah dropped to her knees immediately, gathering all of them against her chest. She held them so tightly as if afraid they would disappear too.
She felt their thin shoulders shake. She felt their warm tears soak into her dress. And that was when she broke .Not as a wife. But as a mother. She wept.
Deep, uncontrollable sobs escaped her chest as she held her daughters. She felt the weight of their suffering, the confusion in their little hearts. They did not fully understand what was happening, but they understood absence.
They understood that their father was not home. They understood that their mother had not been there. And that understanding had wounded them. Haneefah felt a sharp fear stab her heart. If his absence could affect them this deeply in just two weeks… What would forever look like? The thought was unbearable.
Maryam buried her face into her mother’s chest. Rahmah clung to her arm. Aishat refused to loosen her grip.
The cleaner quietly wiped her eyes and stepped back.
At the doorway, the co wives stood silently. Watching.
Their eyes were red. They had tried. They had fed the children, bathed them, comforted them. But a mother’s presence cannot be replaced. The room grew heavy with emotion. No one spoke. Only the sound of children crying for the safety they had lost. And a mother realizing that her husband’s absence was not just her pain. It was slowly shaping the hearts of her children forever. And that realization hurt more than anything.
---------------