Chapter 87

Today once again on the thread of my sorrows,

I have strung the flowers of your memory.

-Faiz Ahmed Faiz.

|Z Y R A|

My eyes flutter open, and for a moment, the world is a blurry canvas of shapes and shadows. The soft hum of machines and distant shuffles of footsteps weave into my consciousness, creating a disoriented symphony. Where am I? What happened?

As clarity gradually infiltrates the haze, the sterile scent of a hospital seeps into my awareness. White walls stand guard around me, and the rhythmic beeping of monitors punctuates the stillness. Panic flutters within me, a caged bird desperate for release.

I turn my head, a slow, deliberate movement that sends a wave of dizziness through me. The sight of an IV drip, its thin tube disappearing into my arm, anchors me to a reality I struggle to grasp. Questions crowd my mind, a carousel of uncertainties spinning faster than I can catch them.

Then, as if emerging from a dense fog, faces come int