~Don't ruin a good today by thinking about a bad yersterday. Let it go.

Shehzad

Late. Tiring. Looking at the mirror, I sighed, I couldn't sleep a wink last night. Why? Because all I could think was about--

"Aaah!" I heard a scream. Whirling around, I found my sister gaping at me.

"You look ugly!!" She screamed, "What the heck happened to your hair?"

"Mornin' to you too sis," I yawned, warily looking at my 25 year old sister.

And then in came her husband screaming, "Are you okay?" He slowly patted her hand and worriedly asked looking at his pregnant wife, "Why did you scream?"

"I don't feel good hubby," she said batting her eyelashes and pretending to feel sick. "Maybe a cup of coffee and four pieces of chocolate cake would do me good," saying so she rested her head on her husband's arms and winked at me.

Such a bratty woman.

"Of course, I'll quickly bring some for you," he smiled at her.

Oh poor husband.

"You're so sweet."

"So are you, sweetheart."

"Excuse me, my room guys," I muttered covering my ears.

They rolled their eyes at me and closed the door behind them, going hand in hand.

Sometimes I wonder if she's even my real sister. She's loud, outspoken and has a mouth which rarely closes, unlike me. Even my little sister, Shahla is much more talkative than myself. It's not like I don't talk much, it's just my personality changes according to the situations. My sisters are totally a pain, this was one of the reasons I miss Shahid so much. If he was here, we would have had so much fun annoying them together.

***

I grabbed my medical bag, stuffing all the items in it and walked toward the dining room. Though I am not a neurologist yet, at times I go to hospitals to help dad and become more familiar with different types of patients, so I could be more experienced when I start working full time. My dream is to become a well recognised neurologist, just like dad.

"Assalamu Alaikum, sorry am late, dad."

Dad, mom and Shahla greeted back. "No big deal," dad shrugged.

My family is just as normal as any other families. At times irritating, but mostly they were fun.

Just then my four year old neice, Hania came grumbling, rubbing her eyes, "Baby is sick today."

"Oo..why is my baby sick?" My mom asked.

"Gramma, cos uncle didn't get me ice cream yersterday! And, and, momma saying that baby must go school, but teacher said not to come school if anyone is sick," she angrily pouted.

I stifled a laughter, every morning since she started school, she complains of being sick, so that she could stay home.

Hania looked at her momma faking a few tears, "I feel like..oh...ah...mamma!!" She acted like she's going to vomit and then touched her head, as if she's going to faint.

And like that their drama continued, while dad and I went to the hospital.

***

•• Mentions about a disease, but might not be too relatable to real life.

***

Shehzad

Today, there was a new patient at the hospital. Kinda unusual because he was a twenty seven year old young man and had a serious mental issue.

His exterior features were normal, and so were his actions, I was confused, but shrugged and concentrated on what they spoke.

"We had gone for many surgeons and had many treatments, but nothing seems to work. Doctor, you are our last hope. Please help my son!" The mother cried, the father looked dejected and their son looked blank.

My dad sighed and nodded. He motioned them to come with him, but their son aka the patient put his head on the table, sighing loudly and lied down. Nobody said a word. His mother called him, "Come Rumaan, we are going."

In return, the young man shook his head and said, "Naaahh!"

"It dosen't matter, ma'am. Let him rest till we come back," my father reasoned. I think they were going to speak about something personal. After one final glance, they left the room, leaving me and him alone.

I glanced at his face, seeing his every feature. He looked innocent, his face devilishly handsome, yet so very frightening and sinister looking.

Rumaan.

Suddenly he jerked his head, bitting his nails, then shaking his head nodded and smiled at himself. I stared at him curiously.

Sitting on a swivel chair, he rotated it, round and round, his eyes rolling around, his head probably dizzy, then grabbing a pencil he began drawing on the desk, chuckling and swaying. Suddenly he grabbed a bottle of water and spilt all its contents, gasping at himself.

Shaking his head, he rubbed his hand in the wet desk, then touched his face and licked his fingers, over and over again.

I watched his every movement. Just staring up at him.

With a thud he got up, kicking the chair out of his way, squashing the plastic bottle with his hand, pricking his hand with the pen, then throwing the pen on the floor, he began shaking the desk.

He winced. He muttered to himself. Groaning, he stamped his feet on the floor, grabbing a fist of hair in his hand, he squealed. He pounded his chest with his hand, like he was saying he couldn't take it anymore.

He never once looked at me, he continued hitting his chest, then pinched his cheek deeply, after which he tore his jacket away, the buttons flying everywhere. He rolled his jacket and threw it into the waste bin.

I felt as if my chest and cheek were in fire. I tried stopping him, I opened my mouth to call someone, but I just stood, staring at him. 

Few drops of blood slipped from his lips, but without a slight flinch, he continued, this time messing the desk. Grabbing the files and books, he dropped them hard on his foot.

His feet curled, his lips pressed, his eyes almost closed.

And then just as it had begun, he stopped. His eyes found mine. Glued to mine. His blue orbs against my black ones.

With a squeak, the door opened and in came his parents and my dad, their mouth hung open at the sight.

Every single thing in the room was the exact opposite of how it was. Every pen and every paper were either crushed or thrown on the floor.

They looked at me and then at the patient, whose hair looked dishelved, the jacket thrown while the shirt was ripped open, light trace of blood in his mouth, his face pale, his eyes bloodshot, his gaze still on me.

His mother ran toward him encircling her arms around his neck. His father's lips moving, which seemed like an apology, my dad's face in a frown, in deep thought, while I just stood there staring.

"This happens rarely, when he's more stressed," his father muttered, but no one bothered to reply him.

Pulling the jacket out of the bin, his mother dumped it in a bag and slowly interwined her fingers into her son's, pulling him close, her husband wrapping his around his wife, they quietly left.

A painful moment.

Just before they left, I saw the guy flinching and said, ever so innocently,

"It pains, mother. It really does."

☆☆☆

A/N

Share your thoughts regarding this chapter plz.

Two new characters huh? What do you think?

Thank you for reading.
Take care!😘