I walked into the parlour and towards Nick who was on a reclining seat with his trusted tattooist next to him, getting ready to inject the colours inside the floral circle on his chest. I drew near them and gave a cursory glance at my name written in Arabic calligraphy which was carefully printed below his mom's name. A new tattoo, a new important person in his life.

"She's not supposed to be here," he told his tattooist. "It was meant for her birthday surprise."

"Well, mate. It was a wise decision to drag her here," his tattooist replied. "At least she can approve it, otherwise you'll catch yourself completely by surprise if she happens to hate it."

"Either way I don't agree to the idea of having my name tattooed to his chest," I declared, wincing at the tattoo needles on Nick's skin.

"No, you don't agree to the whole idea of me getting a tattoo," Nick playfully ruffled my Taylor Swift bob hair.

"You can't stop someone with a tattoo from getting another one. It's addictive, especially when you stand in front of the mirror and see a grand masterpiece, with you as the canvas," the tattooist explained. "But I often have clients who walked in to get a tattoo without thinking through, especially when they came in drunk, and regretted the next day. So, I'd usually tell the drunk ones to come back when they're sober."

"Yeah, regrets. That's what drive me not to have one. Besides, my religion prohibits it," I said.

"Get a small one, it'll be a regret worth remembering," Nick suggested.

I shook my head. "My body is my temple."

Both Nick and the tattoo guy laughed at my words, like I'm a five-year-old who just spoke something darnedest.

"And you, are the temple to my heart," he gestured at the outline of my name imprinting on his chest, while the tattooist prepared the colouring for its shading.

We walked out of the parlour located at Oldham Street of Northern Quarter and headed towards his X351. He insisted that I drive the car by giving me the most ridiculous excuse I've ever heard, "My chest still hurts from the needle."

"That's bollocks! You can if you want to."

"But I don't." He winked and rushed into the passenger seat after remotely unlocking the car so that I don't have to get in there first.

                        ☘️🌟🍀✨☘️🌟🍀

Nick ditched the idea of taking me to fancy places for my birthday and fulfilling my dream date by taking me to the common outdoor barbecue spot outside his apartment for a picnic date night. We unload the cutleries, picnic food and a giant vegan chocolate chip as my birthday cake from the picnic backpack and placed them on to the garden's bench table. Nick released a bottle of 2001 Château Pichon Longueville Comtesse de Lalande and a box of blackcurrant juice from the sides of the backpack to complete the set.

Once everything was settled, he played 'Slow Dance' by AJ Mitchell & Ava Max on his playlist to set the mood for the evening. I was glad that the permissible summer weather with a temperature of 14° Celsius agreed for us to have the outdoor dinner.

I browsed through the food on the table and admired Nick's simple yet colourful artwork. "Where did you learn how to cook?" I asked him. "Especially that dopiaza (onion meat curry) you taught me last week. That one was amazing."

"Well, if you often helped your mother in the kitchen growing up, you won't be asking such questions," Nick replied nonchalantly.

I glared at him, impaled by his savage remarks. "Do you have to be so brute?"

"Aha! As predicted, that sexy cute frown. There you go," he said and handed me a disposable plate with sandwiches and a bite size piece from the giant cookie. Then, he poured the wine in his glass and blackcurrant juice in mine before making a toast to my health, wealth and our future. "I've got you a birthday gift," he declared.

"Really? Is it a joke gift or real one?" I asked curiously.

He responded with a deadpan face, "I don't do joke gifts. I'm not like you." He placed an A4 sized package on the picnic table. "I hope you like it. Open up."

I carefully unwrapped the gift and noted that he uses office supplies to wrap the gift, especially when the parcel paper has a ShipGoUK logo on it. As I unsealed the package, I looked down at a folded watercolour motif silk scarf with Alexander McQueen label positioned on top of it which made my jaw drop.

"Nick, this is gorgeous," I said quietly, pulling the scarf closer to me, appreciating the variations of blue, purple and indigo shades on its watercolour prints. "Do you think I look beautiful if I wear it in hijab (headscarf) style?"

"You look pulchritudinous in anything," he corrected the word 'beautiful', upgraded my status from 'majestic' to 'pulchritudinous'. "Well, at least you can use during your prayers, so you don't have to borrow my neck scarf anymore."

"Thank you so much. I'll cherish it as much as I cherish you. How do you know I love blue?" I asked while spreading the scarf to cover it around my head, which I noticed that had put a secret smile on his face.

"Well, I know a lot about you," he pulled out a cigarette from his Dunhill packet and wedged it between his lips. "Like how you sort your clothing in the cupboard according to colours, Captain Marvel related items excites you, you've maladaptive daydreaming issues that you even daydream about me in my presence, you often overthinking about uncertain future, you often take off your right shoe while driving to feel the pedal, you're addicted to bubble wrap popping that the warehouse guys had to hide them from you, coffee gives you headache, hot chocolate Milano is your favourite. Would you like me to carry on?"

'Shit!' I cussed.

I gawked at him, astounded by his ability to observe and learn things about me without me telling. He just made me realised that he doesn't have to say he loves me to prove that he is.

"Well, I know about you too," I challenged. "You love white and Real Madrid."

"That's it?" Nick chuckled, unleashing his cigarette smoke in between his teeth. "Do you remember the date when we had our firsts?"

I panicked. I don't even remember when my first kiss was, how was I supposed to remember this one? Of course, I can remember every single detail of it, but I don't remember exactly when.

"Somewhere in early March," I blurted.

"Seriously? That's your best answer?" Nick looked disappointed.

"I'm not good with remembering dates of events. I'm sorry," I confessed, placing my hand on his. "Seriously, Nick, darling. I love you so much but not remembering the dates of our firsts doesn't mean otherwise."

He studied my face for a moment, feeling upset but eventually accepted that not everyone could show love the way he did. He finished his cigarette and pulled his hand from mine. "I'll just save it in our calendar, so you'll remember," he said as he keyed in the date through his iPhone.

I wasn't sure if he was trying to be cynical, but I thanked him anyway. Then we had our dinner quietly, me chomping on my sandwiches while he munched on his fruit salad.

"How was your non-legal business going? Any killing stories worth sharing?" I diverted the conversation to avoid the sudden awkward silence.

"Well, I admire your intention to switch stories and talk about something random. I'll just give in this time since it's your birthday," he responded which made me blushed for being caught. "I technically don't kill people anymore. I delegate them to my guys."

"Since when?" I asked.

"Can't remember, probably this year," he said, taking another sip of his wine.

"Am I the reason you stop?" I queried.

"No, you're not," he shook his head, finishing his salad. "I just don't have the heart to do it anymore. It wasn't really my thing."

"Then what is your thing? What's your dream job growing up?"

Nick gave himself a long thoughtful pause, staring at his empty salad bowl before he answered, "I don't know. Anything involving nurturing life, not ending it. Perhaps teaching, I'm always fond of that."

"Aren't you going to tell your dad about this?"

"No, I was thinking you would," he smirked.

"Are you mental?" my eyes widened. "Tell me you're kidding."

Nick snickered and finished his wine. "Are we ready for a birthday sex?"

"I think so," I shrugged, still chewing my food. "Aren't you going to finish your food?"

"I'm not gonna eat that," he lit another fag.

"Don't you feel hungry?" I asked.

"No, watching you eat, and this has made me feel full," he motioned the cigarette at me. "So, you'll finish them up except those cookies, save it for tomorrow. You're already sweet enough to give me cavities."