The Sound Of Broken Leg/ Part 3

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I felt intense pain throughout my body. At first, I resisted with all my might, clawing and biting, but after a few harsh slaps across my face and his full weight pressing on me, I was left utterly powerless

No matter how much I screamed and begged by the Prophet’s name, he wouldn’t let go. Like a wild animal, he attacked me and for several minutes tore apart my entire life. With his brutality, he not only wounded my body but clawed at my soul and left it bleeding. When he was done destroying me, he whispered in my ear, “This is just the beginning, your life will never be the same again.” With great difficulty, I dragged myself to my room, locked the door behind me, and burst into tears with all my strength. My whole body shook. With tear-filled eyes, I went to the mirror and was terrified by my reflection: my eyes were bloodshot, my face swollen, and my hair messy over my shoulders. It was as if something inside me was suffocating, blocking my breath. Gathering all my strength, I screamed from the depths of my soul, tore at my hair, and clawed at my face. I wanted to vanish, to be destroyed. I wanted to disappear completely. A day passed, and I didn’t dare leave my room. That night, I stayed awake until morning. Whenever I got too tired and started to fall asleep, horrible nightmares would wake me. When the muezzin’s call to prayer sounded, I performed ablution and prayed Fajr. Exhausted and weak, I got up and headed to the bathroom. I couldn’t pinpoint where the crying sound was coming from. Paying close attention, I realized it was my mother. I wondered why she was crying. I tried to get out of bed, but it felt like my hands and feet were tied. Through a faint light, I saw the room of the man in the gray suit—he was tiptoeing quietly toward me. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to recognize him, but he vanished before me. The crying sound echoed again in my ears. It was definitely my mother. Then, I saw a woman approaching me wearing a pink scarf. This time, I could recognize her smile, but she too disappeared. Then I saw both the man and the woman whispering and exchanging words. I grew tired and shouted for help to get off the bed. "Help me, I want to go to my mother..." I saw both of them running toward me. I screamed from the depths of my soul for help, but suddenly everything faded; my voice dried up in my throat, and darkness overwhelmed me. When I opened my eyes, I saw my surroundings but remembered nothing; everything was unfamiliar. I felt very weak and tried to get up but felt sharp pain in my wrist. I looked at my hand and saw an IV attached and my left wrist bandaged. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t recall what had happened. Then the doctor entered. Upon seeing me, he smiled and said, "Well, Hamira, how are you feeling?" I asked, "What am I doing here? Why am I here?" He came closer, checked my pulse, and said, "It doesn’t matter why you’re here; what matters is you’re getting better. Now, be a good girl and rest again." Without listening further, he left, leaving me with countless unanswered questions. After a few minutes, the door opened and I saw my parents enter. As they approached, my mother began to cry; my father looked unwell too. He quietly asked, "What made you do such a thing?" Hearing this, I recalled how Mohammad had turned into a monster and destroyed my life. I said nothing and quietly shed tears. Even if I spoke, no one would believe me because Mohammad was a model of piety and respect in the family, known for keeping away from sin and leading a simple life. No one knew how cruel he was, not even to his own sister. My father frowned and left the room. I wiped my tears and asked, "How long have I been in the hospital?" My mother, wiping her nose, said, "Three days. You had lost a lot of blood. If we hadn’t found out in time and brought you here, God knows what would have happened. Yesterday you had a fever and were very ill. The doctor said something in your mind was causing the seizures. Did you do this because of what your father said?" Before I could answer, the door opened again and a calm face appeared. A few steps later, Mohammad brazenly entered the room. The Sound of Broken Steps Part Seven Seeing Mohammad made me feel sick and suffocated. Saboor came beside me, gently stroked my head, and said, "How are you, my little narcissus?" I whispered, "I’m okay." Mohammad stood quietly in a corner, saying nothing. I tried to act as if he wasn’t even there, but something stuck in my throat, tightening my breath. I kept thinking, how dare he come here and brazenly stand in front of me, pretending he came to visit? For a few moments, we talked with my mother and Saboor, but I was suffocating with Mohammad in the room. I said, "I’m tired, I want to sleep." Saboor said, "That’s right, get some rest. Mohammad and I will go home now. We’ll come back tonight with Taher and Bahar." --- The next morning, I woke up, prayed, and went to Saboor’s room to wake him up for prayer and to get ready to go to the university. He was only with me for a few more days before leaving for Turkey, having won a scholarship. I, however, couldn’t go even if I had the chance because my fiancé’s family opposed their daughters or women traveling abroad. Both of us got ready to leave when Davood showed up and said, "Hello, how are you both?" I said nothing, but Saboor replied, "We’re good. And you’re always so punctual — never forget the first day, and always on time afterward." Davood shrugged and said, "Hamira, it’s worth being punctual just to drive you to university, and I never forget a day." The three of us set off. As usual, Saboor and I got off at the university gate, while Davood headed to his company. He was a good-natured and cheerful person, but I couldn’t love him because my heart belonged to someone else long ago. How could I possibly take it back now? Sahel was my classmate. From the first day I saw him at university, I had given him my heart and dreamed of being with him. But how could I think of or love him when I was engaged? After the terrible incident, nothing — not studies nor anything else — mattered to me anymore; everything lost its color. When my father said he wanted me to get engaged to Davood, I said nothing, and they took my silence as consent. Our engagement began. I only came to university to see Sahel, even if only from a distance. Feeling tired and disillusioned, I sat alone in a corner until I heard a voice that made me raise my head: "Hello, Ms. Mohibi. Why are you sitting alone?" My heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. Flustered, I stood and said, "H-hello, I just had a bit of a headache, that’s all." He smiled gently and said, "Ah, so you’re tired from classes?" I replied, "Almost." He asked, "Can I ask you something?" My body weakened and my heart dropped. "Y-yes, go ahead." He said, "What’s wrong? I always see you quiet and distracted. But if you don’t want to answer, that’s okay."

I wondered how he noticed my illness and whether he might have feelings for me. No, how could he, he must know I’m engaged. I wrestled with these thoughts when he asked again, "Ms. Mohibi, what are you thinking about?"

I said, "Ah, sorry. Well, my brother Saboor is going to Turkey, and I’m worried because we’ve become very close, and I’ll be alone if he leaves." He nodded and said, "If you feel lonely, you can always count on me." I said, "Thank you very much, that’s very kind." A week had passed since Saboor left. Every day, I had to go to university alone with Davood. He talked a lot, trying to become close to me, but I tried my best to keep my distance. His looks and behavior made me uncomfortable, but for the sake of my parents, I said nothing. From that day on, Sahel and I became very close. He came to sit beside me every day, asking how I was. I couldn’t help but talk to him. Each day, we grew closer, and he helped me with my studies whenever I had difficulties. One day, when one of our professors didn’t come and we were dismissed early, I was walking home when I heard a voice behind me: "Ms. Mohibi!" I turned and saw Sahel running toward me. He said, "Ms. Mohibi, what do you think about going to the park and chatting for a while?" I didn’t know what to say but after a moment said, "Okay, let’s go." He smiled and said, "Onward to the park." I smiled too. We turned and headed to the park. That day was wonderful. We sat together for an hour, talking. He told me about his family and life — a normal family with two brothers, a sister, and parents. He showed me pictures of his siblings, all beautiful like him. When you saw him, the first thing you noticed was his beautiful eyes, dark eyebrows, and long straight nose — a true Pashtun. We were so engrossed in conversation that we didn’t notice time passing. When he looked at his watch, he said, "We must go now." I quickly got up, saying, "Yes, it’s late; my mother will worry about me."

We said goodbye at the park entrance and went our separate ways. I hurried home.