Chapter 19
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"You shouldn't have come here..."
John sat in the doctor's office on the chair opposite, head bowed low, twirling the paperweight on the table with one hand. Unlike usual, his face was stripped of its cold expressions. His blue eyes were fixed on the spinning paperweight.
When he had reached the hospital and asked the nurse about Derek's condition, she told him it was serious. After telling her to take care of Emma's dressing, he had come straight to the doctor to talk. But when he saw the man sitting in the doctor's seat, it felt as if a child lost in a carnival had suddenly found someone of his own.
Since then, he had been sitting inside the office.
"I work here. The thing is, I personally took Derek's case. When I saw him, I couldn't help myself... His condition really is that serious. His arms and legs are fractured too... but what's more concerning is the head injury. I'm still waiting for some reports. Inside, other doctors are dressing his wounds."
Dr. Abdul Aleem spoke gently, observing John's expression closely. And the more he explained, the more John felt as if his heart was being crushed. His eyes carried unbearable agony, as if he were the one injured.
"Dad...!!!"
His voice carried an unfamiliar fear... fear of losing something precious, fear of becoming lonely again. Not just his voice—his blue eyes revealed that fear too.
There were only two people before whom he had ever opened up: one was Derek, and the other... this man.
Being called "Dad" made Abdul Aleem feel a calmness settle into him, as it always did. He recognized the fear hidden in John's tone.
"He won't die... right?"
When the doctor stayed silent, John asked himself. In that moment, he had become the same boy who once brought his injured mother here after her accident. The only difference was: back then, this man was just a doctor. Today... today, he was family.
Stepfather or not—there is no "half" in relationships. It is we humans who weigh love on scales. In truth, love is selfless.
"Pray..."
The doctor rose from his chair, came closer, and placed a reassuring hand on John's shoulder.
"My prayers are never answered..."
His head was still bowed, his voice bitter with disappointment, resentment, despair.
"Prayers are answered. It's us humans who lack the patience to wait..."
As always, his kind voice pierced John's heart. John fell silent.
"How's Mom?"
After a moment of silence, John lifted his head. His eyes were completely red.
"Can a mother ever be fine... if her child is upset with her?"
He asked in return, without an ounce of sarcasm.
"At least she's alive. The people close to me always end up suffering..."
John's tone dripped with sarcasm.
The doctor smiled gently, the way an elder smiles at a child's innocent words.
"We cry for what we've lost,
And make what we've gained cry."
He softly recited the Urdu couplet. John understood some Urdu, but not deeply. He looked at him with confusion.
"Your mother waits for you every day, hoping you'll come to her. I've seen her cry for you countless nights. You're successful, you have money, you have loyal friends... and still you say this? These trials are tests—meant to strengthen a man's faith. Those who endure with patience and gratitude only become stronger. They know there is wisdom in everything Allah does, even if we fail to understand.
The Qur'an says: It may be that you dislike a thing, and it is good for you... (Surah Baqarah, Ayah 216). Things could have been much worse."
He was about to say more when there was a knock on the door.
He returned to his seat.
"Come in."
With his permission, a nurse entered. She glanced briefly at John, then handed over a file professionally.
"Sir, these are the reports for the patient in room number 21."
"Okay, thanks."
He took the report, and the nurse left. As he read the papers, John sat still, lost in the spell of his words.
After a while, the doctor got up, patted John's shoulder once more, and left the office.
---
Emma still couldn't figure John out.
When they arrived at the hospital, he had left her with the nurse and gone in as if he had come alone.
She didn't know what he had said to the nurse, but when the nurse began dressing her wounds, Emma realized John must have asked her to check.
Meaning—he wasn't oblivious to her pain.
Now the nurse was applying ointment on her foot, which she had rested on a stool.
Emma's mind was consumed with John. The more she tried to untangle him, the more she became entangled herself.
Sometimes he was overly caring.
Sometimes too rude.
Sometimes sweet.
Sometimes obsessive.
And sometimes a total stranger.
"Anywhere else?"
The nurse had finished her foot dressing and now asked if Emma needed treatment anywhere else.
Emma simply shook her head.
"Excuse me... how's Derek?"
Emma gathered her thoughts and asked. The nurse paused, staring at her as though to ask—Who's Derek, miss?
"Oh, I mean... the accident case that just came in."
Realizing her mistake, Emma quickly clarified.
"Case is serious. Main problem is the head injury. For details, you'll have to ask the doctor."
The nurse removed her gloves and handed Emma a painkiller.
Emma took it, picked up a glass of water, and swallowed the tablet. Had the nurse not been standing there, she would have spat it out.
Her face scrunched up like a child forced to eat something bitter.
"The pain will ease in a while."
With that, the nurse left.
Emma looked around the small, typical hospital room. A single bed, a side table, and a window.
She felt uneasy, as if someone was watching her.
Suddenly, there was a noise at the window.
It was closed because of the cold, and the glass was fogged. She couldn't see clearly, but she thought she saw a shadow.
Curiosity got the better of her. She carefully walked to the window, though the nurse had forbidden her from walking. With effort, she managed to open it using her left hand—her right was bandaged badly thanks to John's earlier grip.
The effort left her breathless, her face red—but her brown eyes sparkled with pride at her little victory.
She leaned forward and looked outside. No one. Then where did the noise come from?
She leaned out further, straining against the fog.
"What are you doing???"
John's sudden voice behind her made her jump. Before her head could hit the window, he quickly caught it with his hand.
Her face showed clear panic.
"Careful..."
He looked at her pale face, then at the open window. With a firm grip on her shoulder, he guided her back to the bed, making sure her injured foot didn't bear much weight.
Emma glanced at his hand on her shoulder, sighed, and gave in. She knew the more she resisted, the more stubborn he would become.
Right now, he was the opposite of that obsessive man who wanted to destroy everything. He was like a calm sea, holding countless secrets within—secrets only the sea itself knew.
He seated her gently on the bed, as though she were made of glass.
Her gaze fell on the side table, where a sandwich and a cup of coffee waited.
John went to close the window, but as he did, he noticed a man in a black hoodie quickly turning away. That side of the hospital had only trees, no benches, no people. Strange.
He closed the window and returned, placing the chair in front of her. His face was expressionless.
He unwrapped the sandwich and brought it to her lips.
Emma blushed in embarrassment.
"I can eat myself..." she whispered.
But John didn't move his hand back. Helplessly, she took a small bite.
Then he offered her coffee. Bite by bite, sip by sip, he fed her silently. Her cheeks burned red, while his face remained cold, as though it was just a formality. Emma couldn't understand why he was doing this.
"So... tell me. What were you doing at the window?"
Only a couple of bites were left when he finally asked. His blue eyes were sharp, studying her closely.
Emma, who had been worrying about Derek, flinched.
He caught that reaction instantly.
"Nothing... just like that."
She brushed it off, thinking it was just her imagination—not worth mentioning.
"Hmm."
John knew she was lying. But he didn't press further. Instead, he interpreted it in his own way—his biggest mistake yet.
A disaster he was unknowingly preparing for himself.
Earlier, it hadn't been his fault.
But what was coming... he alone would be responsible.
After feeding her, he busied himself with his phone.
The urge to smoke burned inside him, but he restrained himself. Derek's condition and the haunting image of him bloodied in that video were driving him mad. Only Dr. Abdul Aleem's words had stopped him from tearing everything apart.
"How's Derek? He'll be fine, right?"
Emma's tone carried deep concern for Derek.
"Doctors haven't said much yet."
John's eyes stayed on his phone, Derek's father's number flashing on the screen. He hadn't called yet—knowing the news would hit like a bomb. But he also had to tell them.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. For a brief second, Emma thought his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. But the next moment, he looked composed again.
"Hello..."
He answered the call normally.
"Oh, John! How are you?"
Mr. Thomas's cheerful voice came from the other side.
"I'm fine, how are you?"
John returned politely.
"How could I be fine with that useless son of mine? I've been calling him, he won't pick up!"
As always, Mr. Thomas complained about Derek. They always treated John like their elder son, often scolding Derek in front of him.
But today, those words felt like daggers.
He was losing his grip.
"Sir... I'll send you the address. Please bring Mrs. Thomas and come."
He didn't reveal Derek's accident. He knew Mrs. Thomas was a heart patient.
But the seriousness in his voice unsettled Mr. Thomas.
"Is everything okay? Where's Derek?"
His voice trembled with sudden fear.
"You come, then I'll tell you."
John hung up, got up, and left the room.
Emma realized he must have been talking to Derek's parents. Her own heart ached with worry for Derek.
Outside, John spotted Olivia. Her head was bandaged, her clothes soaked in blood.
He didn't need to ask whose blood it was.
But he couldn't bear to look at her. With heavy steps, he left the hospital and stood alone in a deserted corner.
He pulled out a cigarette, lit the lighter—
And Derek's voice rang in his ears:
"Come on, bro, enough... Haven't you burned yourself enough already? Now you want to burn yourself more?"
His hand shook. The flame flickered, but he didn't touch it to the cigarette.
Derek's laughter echoed in his head again:
"I swear, if you don't quit smoking, I'll become smoke myself and haunt you so bad you'll regret it!"
John threw the cigarette away. Then the lighter.
But the suffocation inside him only grew.
"Aaahhh..."
The shell of his restraint cracked.
He slammed his fist against the wall.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Until his knuckles bled, smearing the wall red.
Pain? He didn't feel any.
He leaned his forehead against the bloody wall.
"You won't die... you won't..."
His voice trembled, tears streaming freely now.
But all he could see was Derek's laughing face.
---
Back at the mansion, there weren't enough rooms for all the guests. So Bilqis Begum asked Mahak and Muskaan to share a room with Hoor.
Mahak flatly refused. She wouldn't give up her room or share with anyone. But Muskaan agreed easily.
Now she climbed the stairs happily, earphones in, swaying to music. One hand carried her pillow without which she couldn't sleep, the other her night suit. Lost in her world—
She bumped straight into Ali, who was rushing downstairs.
"Ammi!!!"
Startled, Muskaan cried out for her mother, squeezed her eyes shut, and dropped all her belongings. She would have tumbled down the stairs if Ali hadn't grabbed her hand just in time.
Ali had been coming down, looking for space to sleep, when someone crashed into him. He steadied himself, caught their hand—and found it was Muskaan.
Her innocent face, large black eyes squeezed shut in fear, her pale cheeks, sharp little nose, delicate lips... She looked like a doll. She was a year or two younger than him—he was eighteen. But in that moment, Ali was captivated.
"Not Ammi—it's Ali. Though honestly, I think you did crash into me..."
He teased, pulling his gaze away with effort.
Hearing his voice, Muskaan opened her eyes, only to frown at him with clear annoyance.
"First of all, I don't care whether you're Ali or the alley drain. Second, I know I don't drink—but you always do. And lastly, the most important—let go of my hand and get out of my way."
She gritted her teeth in irritation.
Her fury only amused Ali.
"Sure you want me to let go?"
His voice was serious, but his eyes sparkled mischievously.
"Don't you know what leave my hand means? I said just leave it."
Seeing the glint in his eyes, her anger flared hotter. She yanked at her hand.
Ali smirked.
"Okay... as you wish."
He released her.
Without his support, she stumbled. In panic, she grabbed the front of his shirt with both fists.
"Whoa, whoa—what's this? Are you flirting with me? Let go of my shirt, miss!"
Ali exaggerated in mock shock, clearly enjoying himself.
"Don't flatter yourself. I was just stopping myself from falling!"
Muskaan quickly released his shirt, then crouched to pick up her scattered belongings, using the chance to cover her embarrassment.
Ali just watched, amazed at her boldness.
"Wow... funny thing is, I held your hand for the exact same reason."
He said coolly, trying to regain composure.
Muskaan ignored him completely, put her earphones back on, and marched upstairs—this time carefully.
And poor Ali... could only watch her, enchanted.
---
He saw himself inside a cave, glowing red.
On one side, lava was pouring down from the wall, flowing toward the ground. Its hot red and yellow light lit up the entire cave.
The atmosphere was terrifying, filled with dread.
The silence was so deep…
that even if a needle dropped, its sound would echo.
The heat was unbearable.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand as he looked around.
Normally, anyone would panic in such a situation, but he was different.
There was curiosity in his expression.
Green eyes sparkled with eagerness.
After all, he wasn't ordinary.
He was Derek.
The leader of the Devils.
Suddenly, a black smoke appeared there.
Before his eyes, the smoke rose up, touching the high ceiling, and took the form of a Devil.
Its whole body was red. Its eyes glowed like fiery yellow flames. On its head were two black horns. Large teeth jutted outward. Its massive hands and feet had long, sharp, pointed nails. In one hand, it held a staff—straight like a rod at the bottom, but ending like a trident at the top.
The Devil looked at Derek and bowed deeply in respect.
"Master, please go ahead…" The Devil's heavy, fearsome voice echoed through the cave. His voice was so loud that Derek had to cover his ears with his hands.
"Speak softly…" Derek glared at him.
"Forgive me, Master…" the Devil quickly begged.
"That's better. Now arrange a seat for me…" At his command, another Devil appeared and transformed into the shape of a chair.
"It's gotten hotter…" Derek commented as he sat down on the chair.
At once, the same Devil who had arrived first began to fan him.
"Master, that—" Before the poor Devil could finish his sentence, Derek interrupted again, making him swallow his words in frustration.
"Food…" Derek arched a brow, glaring at the Devil fanning him.
The Devil disappeared instantly. Moments later, he returned, followed by trays of food floating in the air and landing before Derek.
Seeing the food, Derek attacked it at once, eating hungrily. The two Devils stood silently, controlling themselves, waiting for their Master to finish.
After all, he was their Master. If anything displeased him, it was their necks on the line.
"Now speak. What is it?" Derek finally leaned back in the chair after finishing the food, remembering the two waiting Devils.
"Master, please come back now. We can't handle it anymore. Only someone like you could control them…" The Devil on his left folded his hands and bowed his head respectfully as he spoke.
"Master, we can deal with the humans of the world, but those in Hell are getting out of control. And besides, without you here, there is no life… no vibrance." At last, the poor Devil revealed his problem.
"And you're boasting about your failure? You've shamed me. I taught you so much, and you've forgotten it all!" Derek roared at him, eyes blazing.
"Master, those ways are old now. They don't work anymore…" the Devil dared to reply, and Derek grew even angrier, rising from the chair.
"I'll show you right now how well the old ways work. Come!" Derek said and began to go with him—when suddenly, he heard his name being called.
"Derek…"
He stopped at once.
How could he not recognize that voice?
It was John's voice.
And it was a call he could never ignore.
So, he turned back.
"Master, where are you going?" the Devil asked in alarm as he saw him leaving.
"Back… where everyone is waiting for me," Derek said, stopping briefly.
"Master, back to a place where you are not valued?" the Devil tried again, hoping to stop him.
But then, once more, John's voice came.
"Come on, man, don't trouble me like this. You've already annoyed me enough. Now wake up!"
At those words, Derek smiled faintly and turned to the Devil.
"See? How much I'm valued. You can't imagine how my dear readers are scolding that innocent writer, even threatening protest because of me. This place is your responsibility now. I don't want to hear a single complaint again."
He raised his finger in warning and then went back… while the Devil stood sulking.
Derek had regained consciousness.
But sharp pains throbbed through his head and body.
Still, he could hear and understand John's voice clearly.
And alongside that, his devilish mind was already working—plotting what he should do next. The very thought brought a smile to his lips. Even in this condition, his mind found peace in schemes.
But the pain soon erased the smile from his face.
When the doctors came in, they were about to give him an injection to make him sleep peacefully. But what he said made them stop.
They stared at him in surprise at his words. Then, shaking their heads, they left the room, while Derek closed his eyes with a satisfied look.
---
"Sorry… but I'm not leaving John so soon…" the doctor said with a smile this time.
At first, no one understood and looked at him in confusion.
But the very next moment, as the doctor's smile sank in, they understood—and their emotions turned into a mix of happiness and anger.
It meant that even in this condition, he wasn't letting anyone rest.
Even in such a critical situation…
Anyone else would have shown some restraint.
But then again, Derek was no ordinary man.
---
To be continued…