I woke up to pale morning light seeping in beside the curtains, the fabric glowing gold where the sun hit.
He was still in a deep sleep, his breathing slow and warm. I slipped the blanket off — it whispered against my skin — and the cool bedroom air raised goosebumps as I padded to the bathroom for an everything shower.
Steam hugged me as I stepped out of the shower area, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe. The bathroom smelled clean — faint floral from the body wash mixed with steam. My hair was dripping, heavy in the towel wrap. I smoothed thick body butter over myself, the scent of shea and cocoa sinking in, and then pressed some cool moisturizer to my face. My skin felt soft, almost dewy, as I walked out. The shower room was still fogged, drops sliding down the glass.
I walked out of the room to the kitchen, the fridge door sighed open. Cold air brushed my face as I grabbed eggs and some veggies, the shells smooth against my fingers. Veggies sizzled in the pan, butter popping softly while I whisked eggs — the fork clinking against the bowl. I placed the omelette on a plate, along with some berries. The omelette smelled warm, buttery.
Outside, the lawn air was cooler than I expected. I slid the glass door open and it whispered on its track. Jasmine was everywhere — sweet, sharp, mixing with damp grass from last night’s dew. Clouds hung low, grey-white, but sunlight broke through in thin, warm strips that dappled the table.
I took the towel off my hair; and my damp strands fell on my shoulders. The morning breeze was soft, filling my lungs with something clean and quiet. I closed my eyes for a second and just breathed.
Then I cut into the omelette. The fork scraped the plate. But the smell hit me wrong and morning sickness rolled in — sudden. I couldn’t even take a bite. I set the fork down and looked up at the trees instead, leaves shifting silver in the breeze.
That’s when Mustafa came from behind. His lips pressed a warm kiss to my hair, then he pulled the chair out and sat across from me.
"Are you going somewhere?" I asked, my eyes tracing the crisp lines of his shirt.
"I'm going for work, even though I don’t want to leave you," he said, moving forward his hands.
"Then don't go," I whispered, sliding my hands into his.
"I have to... It's been days since I last went in," he said, thumb brushing over my knuckles. I nodded. "I called the househelp. They’ll be here soon," he added.
"Call me if you need anything... Okay?" he asked, eyes soft.
"Okay," I said.
"Without thinking twice!" he added.
"Done," I replied with a smile.
As he stood, I tightened my grip. "At least have some breakfast," I said, looking up at him.
"Bon appétit," he murmured, bending to kiss my forehead. His hands cupped my face, warm and steady.
"I’d make you something," I said, my fingers curling around his wrist.
"Don’t worry. I’ll eat at the office," he replied, then walked out. The door clicked shut and the lawn felt emptier.
As he left, my eyes lingered on the untouched omelette for a second. The butter had started to congeal, dull on the plate.
I got up, the chair scraping softly against the grass, carried the plate to the kitchen counter, and walked to my bedroom. My phone was cool against my palm as I scrolled through contacts and hit dial.
The ringing buzzed faintly as I drifted to the closet. The wood doors creaked slide open, releasing the faint scent of fabric softener. I ran my fingers over hangers until I pulled out a black peasant blouse. The velvet was soft, slightly fuzzy under my fingertips.
"Hi! I want to book an appointment. Is it possible?" I asked, tossing the blouse onto the divan. It landed with a soft thump.
"Yeah, for today — about an hour or two later," I said, then pulled out black slim-fit pants. The fabric whispered as I slid them off the hanger.
"Okay... thank you! Have a good day," I ended the call.
And then, I let the bathrobe slip down my arms — the terry cloth felt warm, then cool as it hit the floor. The burnout velvet blouse settled over my damp skin. The scoop neck was wide, my wet hair sticking to my collarbones and décolletage in cold little strands. I tugged the puff sleeves until the elastic gripped just under my elbows, and my bare arms showed through the mesh-like velvet. It felt slightly sheer, almost ticklish.
I walked to the bathroom, took the hair dryer from the drawer. The motor hummed loud, and warm air blasted over my décolletage. The scent of my body butter warmed up in the heat and. I started drying my hair.
Then the doorbell rang — sharp, metallic. I clicked the dryer off. Silence rushed back in.
"Oh! It's you," I said as Atif stood at the gate, his eyes lowered, hands clasped behind his back.
"Assalamualaikum," he murmured.
"Walikumasalam. Come inside. I was waiting for you," I said.
"Your order, ma'am... what is it?" he asked as he stepped in, shoes quiet on the the stones.
"No, not an order. I have to go somewhere. You have to take me there," I said, my voice lighter than I expected. Excitement buzzed under my skin.
"Okay, whatever you say," he replied softly as he was about to get to the car.
"And one more thing!", I said and he stopped.
"Can you get my heels from this cupboard? The one I want is too high and Mustafa isn’t home..." I continued while standing at the entrance door.
"Of course... Which one?" He crossed to the cupboard, the hinges creaking as he opened it.
"That strappy one... in the corner." I pointed. He pulled out the heels, and they tapped as he set it on the floor.
"We'll be out after I get ready," I said, sliding my feet into the heels. "Miss Zareena will be home by then," I added.
"However you like," he said, and walked out to the garage, closing the entrance door behind him.
When I stepped out, Miss Zareena was in the kitchen, the smell of tea brewing behind her.
"Ah! You've arrived!" I said.
As she turned and smiled, I cut in quickly: "I'm going out. If Mustafa asks, tell him I'm out with Atif... Okay, bye." The words rushed out. The front door clicked shut behind me as the fresh air hit my face.
__________________________________________
As she slept on his shoulder, her warm breath brushed his chest and the faint scent of her shampoo — something clean, like rain — filled his senses. He texted Atif to come inside, since he was in the garage. Atif came, and Mustafa gestured for him to come in silently.
"Where did you take her?" Mustafa asked in a low voice, the words barely above a whisper. While Atif stood to his right, against the cool leather of the couch.
"To the doctor!" he replied.
"What doctor?" Mustafa questioned abruptly, the sharpness cutting through the quiet.
As Atif told him the address, the words hit Mustafa like ice water. He realized it was her gynecologist’s clinic.
"That's it, you can go," Mustafa said, his voice flat. His mind started running through a hundred possibilities, each one heavier than the last. Then Aunt Husna's words started echoing in his mind, soft but relentless:
_She's confused... but she's more scared... Keep an eye on her before she makes a decision and regrets it later._
He looked down at her. The sadness was visible in his eyes while she slept peacefully on his shoulder, her eyelashes dark against her pale cheek.
He pressed his lips to her forehead — soft, warm, lingering — and inhaled. "What did you do to us?" he thought, closing his eyes, drowning in the fragrance of her shampoo.
After a while, his phone vibrated, the sound harsh in the silent lounge as it started ringing. He silenced it and placed it on the coffee table placed infront of him. But the screen kept lighting up, flashing white against the dim room because of back-to-back calls.
He carefully shifted her weight, his arm steady under her back, and laid her on the couch. The blanket whispered as he pulled it up to her chin. Her feet were still in her heels, the leather cold against the fabric. He covered her gently, then picked up his phone and went into the room, the door clicking shut softly behind him.
When he came out, he closed the door with a soft thud, drew all the curtains in the lounge, the room fell into muted gray light and he went to the kitchen.
"Do you need something, sir?" Miss Zareena asked, as she got attentive on his presence.
"Yeah. Make some soup/broth or something healthy for the lady," Mustafa said, his voice low than he intended.
"I'll be out for an hour or two. I'll try to come back soon, but if she wakes up before I get home, stay alert", he continued
"Make sure she has everything she needs, and if necessary, call me immediately," he added.
She wanted to ask about the lady's health, but Mustafa's off mood and the hollow sadness in his eyes stopped her, and she couldn't ask him.
"I'll stay attentive, don't worry," she replied softly, and Mustafa went to his study room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
________________________________________
I heard distant, angry voices as I was napping on the couch. The words were muffled, dragged through the walls, but the sharp, clipped edges of his tone still cut through the quiet. It made the air feel heavier.
While I was getting up, Miss Zareena moved forward to help me, but I gestured for her not to. I pushed the blanket off my legs — the fabric whispered against my skin — and placed my heels on the floor with a dull, echoing thud. My eyes drifted to the glass door of the lounge that opened to the lawn.
I pointed to the glass door and looked at Miss Zareena, with a silent question: "Is the voice coming from here?" She nodded.
As I got up and was about to approach the glass door, Mustafa came out of the study room. His phone was pressed to his ear and his voice was low, furious — each word snapped like a wire.
Seeing him like that, I froze in the middle of the lounge. He crossed the lawn, gravel crunching sharp under his shoes, yanked the car door open, slid in, and drove off. The engine roared, then faded, leaving behind only ringing silence.
I turned to look at Miss Zareena. She read the question in my eyes before I could speak.
"Maybe it's about work. He said he had to go out a while ago," she said softly, trying to reassure me. Her voice was careful, too gentle for the tension in the room.
But something stuck inside me, cold and heavy. I walked back to the couch and sat down. The blanket was still warm where I’d been, but the rest of the room felt empty. My thoughts stayed stuck on him — on the anger in his voice, the slam of the car door, the way the house suddenly felt too quiet.
It was 11 at night, and he was late. I was in my bed, scrolling through reels, when I heard the main door unlock. I knew it was him. He entered the home, his footsteps quiet on the floor, and placed his keys in the bowl on the entrance table. As he entered my room, I pretended to be sleeping, my eyes closed, and my body still.
He was dressed in a black suit, his black hair styled in a pompadour with an undercut, and a trimmed black beard that made him look like a mafia boss. He removed his coat and casually threw it on the couch, picked up his ledger from the side table on his side, and then sat on the bed across from me, his back resting against the headboard, and his eyes fixed on the ledger.
I could sense his tension. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm light on his face, highlighting the furrows on his brow. His fingers moved swiftly through the pages, his expression a mix of concentration and concern. The silence in the room was almost palpable, broken only by the occasional rustle of pages or the soft creak of the bed.
I remained still, pretending to be asleep, unsure of how to react. I was lying there, facing him, watching him over my left hand, as I rested my left hand over the pillow right beside my face, and my right hand held the corner of the blanket, just under my chin. I considered reaching out to him, but something held me back, perhaps because I was scared of him. He seemed like a stranger, someone I didn't know. I'd never seen him like this before.
He caught my gaze from the corner of his eye and turned to me, his expression softening. Sensing my uneasiness, he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close. His lips brushed against my forehead in a gentle kiss, and then he enveloped me in a warm hug. My forehead rested against his neck, and I continued to pretend to be asleep.
His voice was low and soothing as he whispered, "I love you, I'll always love you, no matter what. I've got nothing without you. Now sleep, like you've got nothing to worry about." His words were a balm to my soul, calming my fears and wrapping me in a sense of safety.
I don't remember when I drifted off to sleep in his arms. But when I woke up in the morning, he wasn't there. I thought he must have left the house for his office. I got up, brushed my teeth, and washed my face.
As I stepped out of the room, he was standing in the kitchen with his back to me, still dressed in his black button down shirt as a few buttons undone while his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing his forearm muscles, busy searching for something in the pantry.
Meanwhile, some pasta was boiling in a pot on the stove. The aroma of boiling pasta and sizzling garlic wafted through the air. I wondered where the chef was and what he was doing in the kitchen! Yet I didn't say a word.
He sensed me there, turned to the stove, and said, "I'm making some pasta for you, your favorite!"
In my thoughts, I was like, "For me? Why? Didn't he have office today?"
He said, "I took a day off today." A question raised in my mind. "To spend some time with you," he said after a pause.
Still lost in thought, I stood there as he turned to me, his eyes locking onto mine. He grabbed my waist, and my heart skipped a beat as he lifted me onto the kitchen counter.
With his hands resting on the counter beside me, he leaned in close and said, 'You're quiet. I didn't hear a word from you since last night. You've never been like this.'
I looked down, trying to avoid his gaze, but he gently took both of my hands in his and asked, 'What happened? Did I do something to upset you? Say something!'
I looked up at him, his eyes filled with concern. "When you left the house yesterday after that call from work, you weren't in a good mood. The anger was palpable on your face. And when you came back, you were still upset. I've never seen you like that. I... I just... I don't know what I'm feeling!", I said.
He noticed the distress in my eyes and gently brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, his other hand still holding mine. "I said it before, and I'm saying it again: I love you. I'll always love you. I could never be angry or upset with you. That side of mine is for the world."
His voice softened as he continued, "You know, around you, I forget everything – my anger, my worries. Everything dissipates with just a look at you." He kissed my hand, his lips warm against my skin.
'Are we good?' he asked. I nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.
He smiled, reached out, and kissed my head.
'I'm always here for you,' he whispered.
'Now we should eat; it's almost ready – starving you would ruin the romance,' moving to the stove, he said with a chuckle.
"Mustafa", I called out his name while sitting on the counter.
He turned to me attentively. I moved my hands forward to hold his. He quickly held both of my hands, his concerned eyes fixed on me. I tightened my grip, looking away, and said, 'You really love me that much?'.
'Ofcourse, more than anything', he replied. I moved forward and kissed him on the cheek.
With one arm behind my upper back and the other under my thighs, he picked me up in his arms, teasingly saying, 'You might have other plans, don't you want to eat?'
I blushed and hit him with a playful jab on the chest. He chuckled, took me to the dinning table.
'Let me set the table for you', he said. 'I think it's ready', he added.
'Yeah, smells amazing,' I said with a smile. He chuckled and stirred the pasta, the aroma wafting through the air once more.
'Told you I'd make your favorite,' he said with a smile, serving the pasta onto plates and setting the table. We sat down together, and the first bite was like a taste of heaven.
And then he got up and headed to the living area, my gaze shifted to him while I held my fork in mid-air, pausing mid-bite.
The music started playing, and a smile spread across my face, but I tried to hide it. He came to me, extended his hand, and asked, 'May I have this dance?'
I raised an eyebrow, surprised by the request, and my heart skipped a beat. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he smiled. I hesitated for a moment, the clink of silverware against the plate the only sound, before gently placing the fork on the plate.
I placed my hand in his, feeling the warmth of his touch as he wrapped his fingers around mine. As I stood up from the chair, the soft fabric of my night gown rustled against my skin.
''You know I'm bad at it," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Don't worry, I'm here for you," he replied, his breath whispering against my ear, sending shivers down my spine and then he pulled me close, one hand holding mine while the other wrapped around my waist; I placed my hand on the back of his shoulder, with my arm resting on his biceps.
As we swayed to the music, the soft melody wrapped around us, and he lifted my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. I twirled against him, the fabric of our clothes rustling softly, and he pulled me close, his chest firm against mine.
I felt myself collide with his chest, the warmth of his body radiating through my skin. Our eyes met, and he tightened his grip around my waist, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist. Our bodies aligned perfectly, and I could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, against my chest. The scent of his cologne wafted up, a subtle yet intoxicating aroma that drew me in.
He stood still, his gaze locked on mine, his breath whispering against my skin. With our faces inches apart, time seemed to stand still, and I forgot how to breathe, the only sound being the soft hum of the music and the beating of our hearts.
I placed my hand on his chest, my gaze drifting downward. As I broke eye contact, he sensed my hesitation and loosened his grip around my waist.
Yet, I remained nestled between his arms, my hand still resting on his chest, fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. His concerned and confused eyes lingered on my face, searching for answers.
I looked up at him, and without a word, I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. His arms slid around my waist, his hands grasping my sides, holding me firmly in place. As I closed my eyes, I felt a deep sense of peace wash over me, like I'd finally found what I'd been searching for forever.
He gently tightened his grip, and in that moment, all I wanted was for time to stand still, to spend the rest of my life enveloped in the warmth and safety of his arms.
As I pulled back, "There's something I need to tell you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Wait here for me," I added, and went to the bedroom to get the file.
As I was coming back to him, with the file in my hand, I suddenly felt unwell. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and the room began to spin. I stood there, placed my hand on the cool granite countertop of the kitchen counter, and looked at him, but everything was a blur.
"Mustafa," I whispered, my voice shaking slightly, and then the file in my hand dropped to the floor, and I collapsed.
In an instant, he was beside me, catching me in his arms. He swept me up and carried me to the bed, cradling me with care.
As I regained consciousness, his worried face came into focus. I sat straight up on the bed, my eyes searching for the file. I spotted it on the side table beside the bed.
Watching my eyes on the file, he held my hand in his, his touch sending a surge of comfort through me.
I looked at him, his eyes fixed on me.
"I've seen the reports. Is it true? Are you really...?" he asked, his voice filled with curiosity.
I nodded, my heart racing with anticipation, my eyes searching for his reaction.
A tear flowed from his eyes, and his lips curled into a smile. He kissed my hand, the warmth of his lips spreading through my fingers.
"You just made me the happiest person in the world. You just gave me the whole world", he said, his voice filled with gratitude.
"It's the day I've been dreaming of since the day I met you. I can't wait to be a father," he added, his voice filled with emotion, and then he kissed my head, hugging me tightly.
