© All copyrights belong to StarsAndMoon1447 on Wattpad

*

Iman

"You both are free to meet to meet Taif's parents, but I am sticking to my decision. I want to focus on my career first. Papa, I don't want to marry right now." I told my parents when they had returned from Lahore.

Mama had gone to celebrate a birthday, and they had instead ended up mourning the loss of a young, innocent girl instead. 

But the loss of young Madiha Bhabi had placed an idea in my head. I wanted to start a charity for acid attack victims in Pakistan, in order to take take care of thousands of other people suffering from this brutality. It wasn't just for women, although women were targeted. It was for anyone who had been a victim to this horrifying crime.

I was going to be a doctor not just to fulfil my dream and make my parents proud, but mainly to help people. And I wanted this to be one of the ways. 

Papa patted my head. "I'm proud of you, Mani. I'll support you completely through your education and in your career." 

My parents still met Taif's parents, though, as Dado had already invited them during that community dinner. And even though Taif's parents were a decade older than Papa, our parents got along very, very well.

Taif hadn't come along because he had to study as he had an exam, but I was asked a lot of questions by his mother, who seemed like a sweet person.

"Why are you grinning?" Mama asked Papa after Mr & Mrs Bukhari had left, and we were cleaning up.

"Because Mani chose her career first." He shrugged. 

I couldn't help smiling. I knew that he was thinking about Phupho, and how she had to balance marriage, pregnancy (and then raising those kids), with education and then her career. Fari Phupho had not had an easy life, and even though Papa was proud of her strength, no parent would want their daughter to struggle the way she had. It was best to establish my medical career before considering marriage. 

"I was looking forward to Mani and Taif's wedding." Mama pretended to be disappointed, as she wrapped her arm around my shoulders.

"Right now, let's just focus on Appi and her future baby." I told her. "Meanwhile, I will focus on what is the most important to me right now." 

****

AUGUST

And so, that summer, with the blessings of my parents, I went to Lahore to start working on my new project with Zoya Mumani. 

For university students, it looks good to have summer experience as it is reflected on CVs and impacts future employment positively.

At the moment, my project was in its infancy, but I was glad to see Fariha Phupho and Nazia Mumani involved in it as well. Fariha Phupho was there for obvious reasons, but Nazia Mumani wanted to help in this project as well as it had become so close to all of our hearts.

When Allah blesses you with wealth, it is also a test in a way. How you spend that wealth is of high importance. I had chosen to use my inheritance from my Dada Jaan to fund this project, while Papa contributed some as well. Technically speaking, it was a family project, considering how everyone was contributing.

We had decided to call it Roshni (light), as a reference to our attempts to bring light into the lives of the victims who found themselves in a dark and hopeless situation. It was going to be a long process to successfully start and run this charity, but I was dedicated to it, as were the ladies of my Naniyal and Dadiyali.

Zunaira Bhabi also started to involve herself, whenever she was off work and when Shezan was in Omar Bhai's care. She had a soft, sweet nature, and I had a feeling that she could easily talk to and reassure victims. 

I was proud of this project, and I had so far spent almost two months working on it. I had spent two months away from my parents and Appi, and I had found myself becoming a completely different person.

The Iman Fawad who never cared about anyone but herself, was now dedicating her life to helping others. 

Some days were dark. Every time I thought about Madiha Bhabi and her brutal murder, I wanted to just stay in bed and cry for her. Every time I saw little Shezan at my Phupho's house, oblivious to the horror that had occurred around him, I wanted to hug my mother just a little bit tighter. But worst of all, every time I came across Fariha Phupho crying in prayer, I felt an immense amount of pain in my chest. I wasn't even a mother yet, but her pain was strong enough for the rest of us to feel glimpses of it. 

The court case was going on for Saad Umair, and there were very strong possibilities of him receiving a capital punishment, i.e. hanging. 

"I cannot even imagine you there in the heat, working hard." Appi grinned at me through a video call one afternoon. She was seven-months pregnant, and was being endlessly pampered by Hamza Bhai, and Mama of course.

"And yet, here I am." I was using Zoya Mumani's office to print out some pamphlets, advertising a small bake sale for our charity.

"It was a very noble idea, Mani. We're all very proud of you." Appi told me. 

I nodded, and grabbed my reading glasses as I wanted to have a look over the freshly printed pamphlets. 

"You got glasses?!" Appi sounded shocked.

Yes, I went to the opticians in Lahore a couple of weeks ago, and it had turned out that I needed reading glasses now. Long hours of studying, and phone use, had led to this day. "Yes. Mama started on her 'I told you so' lecture, blaming phone usage as usual."

"She isn't wrong though, is she?" 

"Not completely." I grinned, cheekily.

"You look even more like Papa now." She smiled at me. "Ma Sha Allah. And by that, I mean smart and intelligent." She started giggling.

"Are you saying I look dumb without glasses?" 

She laughed hard, and then winced. "Oh God, I think I just peed myself a little from laughing so hard."

It was my turn to laugh. "That's because the baby is Team Khalla." 

We continued chatting for a while, until Appi started yawning.

"Go and sleep. We'll talk later, In Sha Allah." I said. "I need to give these pamphlets to the volunteers to deliver around the city anyway." 

"Okay. Love you, Mani. Allah Hafiz." 

"I love you too, Appi." Those words came easier to me now. I loved my family and I wasn't going to hesitate in expressing it anymore. After thinking that we'd lost Mama, after Madiha Bhabi's incident, I had understood truly well how short and unexpected life was. 

****

Hania

Hamza and I decorated the baby's nursery in neutral colours, because we had decided not to find out our baby's gender. I wanted it to be a surprise, and Hamza agreed to it.

I had my every need taken care of, and every desire fulfilled by my husband. Every craving, every unreasonable request, he happily agreed to. He was truly excited about being a Papa.

"Let's go shopping." I said to Hamza. I was off from my work, and he had taken a day off as well. "I want to buy some more things." 

"Han, the baby already owns more things than I do.  What else do we need?" Hamza teased, his head resting in my lap as we sat on our bed.

My parents had given us a beautiful crib and a pram, insisting that it was their pleasure as Nana Jaan and Nano. Meanwhile, the baby's Dada Jaan was also buying things after things, often going shopping himself. He not only had to get things for my baby, but also Rabia's baby, but he was doing this with a great deal of excitement.

"Please, Hamza." I ran my hand over his forehead and through his hair. "I want to buy some more things. I don't even know what, but I just feel like getting some more baby stuff." 

A sudden, hard kick inside me made even Hamza sit up. "Someone hates the idea of shopping." He grinned at me. "My baby is supporting me." 

"No, the baby wants you to get up and listen to its Mama." I said. "Come on, Hamza."

"Han, I'm tired. I want one day when I don't have to go anywhere at all." He groaned lightly. "How about we compromise and you can shop online?" 

"How's that a compromise when you are the only one benefitting? I don't like online shopping."

"I'll pay for it. Get whatever you want, no limits. Even for yourself." 

"Are you bribing your own wife?" I rubbed my belly, trying to soothe my suddenly active baby.

"I'm making a business deal that would benefit us both." 

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, I'll go with Mama." 

"Han, can't we both have just one day at home together, doing absolutely nothing?" He grabbed my hands. Suddenly, his eyes gleamed with excitement. "Let's do a pregnancy photoshoot for you. Of course, these photos will be kept private, but I would to take photos of you." 

"Fine." I shrugged. "But you owe me one." 

****

Hamza

And so, Hania dressed up in a long floral maxi maternity dress with short sleeves, with white flat sandals. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, and I took her out into the garden to take photos amongst the flowers. 

I made her pose differently, and used my professional camera to capture the images. 

Two months ago, we'd had a small waterfall installed by our pool because Hania once mentioned that it would look pretty. Ever since the weather had warmed up, she loved to sit by the pool on the garden chairs, finding the sound of the waterfall soothing. 

After the photoshoot, she wrapped her red dupatta around herself, and we went to sit on those chairs. 

"Sit here, I'll get us some cold juice." I told her, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

The incident with Madiha Bhabi had impacted us all. I had grown more protective and loving towards my wife, and the idea of anyone ever hurting her, let alone me, made me feel nauseated. Wives are meant to be our partners, our best friends, our support, and not our slaves or property who we can mistreat as we wish.

"Can I get some ice cream instead?" She pouted up at me. She was adorable. She knew her wide-eyed gaze and her pout could convince me to place the bloody world at her feet, let alone ice cream*.

*Yes, I'm aware that this is an inherited trait :D

"I think we ran out last night, but I'll quickly go and get some." I kissed her cheek this time. "Stay right here. I'll be back in ten minutes."

"It's okay, if we don't have any at home, I'll have the juice." 

"What Hania wants, Hania gets." I straightened up. "Shagufta is inside. If you need anything, let her know." 

Shagufta was a maid who we'd hired from an agency.

"Thank you, Hamza. I know I'm unbearable these days..." Suddenly, her eyes filled up. "If it helps, I feel so much discomfort myself." 

"How the bloody hell would that help me? Han, I don't want to see you in discomfort." I shook my head.

 "I'm going to call Mama in the meantime. I'm craving her vegetable pilao." She said. 

"You're such a spoilt brat." I teasingly told her before heading out to get my brat's ice cream.

****

Omar

It had been just over four months since Madiha's death, and Shezan was adjusting well with us. Initially, and naturally, he had greatly felt his mother's absence, often crying uncontrollably for her. A few times, he even developed high fever because of it. 

But we had all worked together to help him settle into his new life, especially Zunaira. Since he missed his mother's absence so much, the presence of another maternal figured soothed him. He grew so attached to her that he didn't even like it when she left the room, running on his little legs and chasing after her.

I was so proud of my wife. She had accepted him completely as her own son, without even a word of complaint. 

After their Umrah trip, Mamma and Papa became more forgiving towards themselves, and found a way to try and move on. Mamma began focusing on our little Mani's project, while Papa busied himself in ensuring justice. He felt that this was a start to making up for the fact that Madiha had been a victim of such a horrific crime, and it had started in our home.

One night, I came home late to find out that Papa was at work, and Mamma had taken Shezan in for the night. 

Zunaira heated up  dinner for me, and we ate it together in the living room. 

"So, I have to tell you something." I looked up at her. 

"What is it?" She asked, scooping up some more keema aloo (mince meat and potato curry) into my plate. 

"I got offered a job at the hospital." I focused on my plate.

"Ma Sha Allah! Congratulations!" She smiled, genuinely happy for me. "But why are you looking so unsure?"

"I work at the clinic, and I feel like I'm rejecting it for a bigger business." I admitted. "On the other hand, I would love to work in the hospital, in the same department where Nana Jaan used to be the head. I feel like I would be following in his footsteps, and it's a matter of great pride for me. I'm confused."

"Do Istikhara." Zunaira suggested simply. 

"Yes, I plan on doing that." I looked at her, awed. It was amazing how much our thinking was always in sync. "But I don't want to seem like I'm choosing more money over doing the right thing." 

"But you're not. For you, it's about following in your Nana Jaan's footsteps, and not money. And as long as your intentions are pure, it doesn't matter what people think." 

"I want to see Nano's reaction if I accept this job." I smiled. "Nana Jaan had always expressed his wish to see one of his grandchildren in neurology, working where he once had." 

"It's beautiful how you always think about others, even when the decision is regarding your life." She looked at me with pride. "I love your selflessness." 

I met her beautiful gaze. "What else do you love about me?" 

"Acha, to janaab ko apni tareef suni hai, haina?" She teased, moving closer to me.

*"Oh, so mister wants to hear his own praise?" 

"Aapke moun se tareef to main din bhar sun sakta hoon." I moved closer to her as well.

*"I can listen praise from you all day." 

"Okay, but it's only a once in a lifetime opportunity." She whispered, brushing her foot against mine. "Mujhe aapki aankhein pasand hain, aapki baatein pasand hain, aapki muskurahat pasand hai, aapki hansi pasand hai. Mujhe aapka dil pasand hai, jo hamesha dosroon ke liye hi dhadakta hai. Omar Zafar Farukh, mujhe aap pasand hain." 

*"I like your eyes, I like your words, I like your smile, your laughter. I like your heart, that always beats for others. Omar Zafar Farukh, I like you."

By paper, by law, I was known as my biological father's son, but I was truly Zafar Papa's son, and I loved hearing her say my full name that way.

"Aur mujhe aap pasand hain, Zunaira Omar." I kissed her forehead, careful not to place my hands on her until I'd washed them after earing.

*"And I like you, Zunaira Omar." 

Our marriage has been beautiful so far, Alhumdulillah. We'd consummated our marriage a long time ago, and expressed our admiration of each other, but we hadn't confessed our love for each other. 

I loved her, it was impossible not to. Not only had she been like a daughter to my parents, and not only had she accepted Shezan wholeheartedly, but she had been a wife that I found no flaws in. Well, to be fair, nobody is flawless, but for me she was an amazing wife, and I had no complaints against her. She was Allah's gift for me, and in fact for the whole family. 

****

"Zaira?" I came into our room, drying my hands on a towel. 

"Jee?" 

I hung the towel on the hook behind the door. "Main soch raha tha ke aap itna kaam karti hain, itna khayal rakhti hain hamara, to kuch dinon ke liye apne parents ke ghar hoyain. Araam bhi ho jaaye ga aapka, aur woh khush bhi hojayain ge."

*"I was thinking that you work so hard, take care of all of us, so why don't you go to your parents' house for a few days? You'll relax, and they'll be happy as well."

"Actually, woh log kuch dinon ke liye Murree ghoomne jaa rahe hain, to mere jaane ka koi faida nahin hai." Her smiled disappeared, and she focused on folding Shezan's little clothes.

*"Actually, they are going to Murree for a few days, so there's no point in me going."

I sat down on the bed, grabbing a shirt of my son's and staring at it lovingly. "Why don't you go with them?" 

She didn't reply.

"Are they still angry at you?" I guessed, quietly.

Angry was an understatement. Zaira's parents were absolutely furious at our decision to legally adopt Shezan. They wanted to know why a newly married couple wanted to adopt someone else's kid, and they had lashed out at Zaira a few times for being so accepting.

What they didn't see was how much light Shezan had brought into our life, into our family. Mamma, who had often yearned to hold him and play with him after Saad had moved his family away, could now hold him all day long to her heart's content. He was already playing police-robber with Papa, chasing after him all over the garden, while wearing Papa's uniform hat. And for me and Zaira, he was everything. He made us smile, he made us laugh, and he filled our home with love and warmth. He was already an important piece of our hearts, and I was not willing to let him go. And neither was Zaira, which was obvious by her behaviour.

"I kind of understand them, but I just don't understand their hatred towards the little boy." She shook her head. 

"It's not hatred. They're concerned for you in their own way. They think that Shezan is going to be like an obstacle in your newly married life." I said. "You and I know that it's not true, but they don't." 

"Shezan is a responsibility given to us by Allah, a blessing." She said. "I don't want to reject him simply because I'm newly married. He's my son, Omar. I love him so, so much, that the idea of him ever being taken away from me scares me." 

"I love him too. And once the legal procedure is complete, he will be our son completely, and nobody will ever be able to take him away from us, In Sha Allah."

"In Sha Allah." 

I put my hand on her cheek, and leaned forward to brush a soft kiss on her forehead, before kissing each cheek. She smelled slightly like Shezan's baby body wash, as she had bathed him before he went to bed. It made me smile. "Thank you."

"For what?" She looked a little puzzled.

"For being my life partner." I softly pecked her lips now.

"Thank Allah for that." She put her hands on my shoulders. "He is the one who wrote our names together even before we were created." 

"You've been truly amazing." I kissed the corner of her mouth. "Alhumdulillah!" 

"An amazing man deserves an amazing treatment." She blushed as she spoke. "Ma Sha Allah!" 

I held her hands in mine. "Zunaira." 

"I love you." She spoke, staring directly in my eyes. "I know it well and truly, without any doubt. I really and truly love you. I have never loved anyone more." 

Her words brought a smile to my face and joy to my heart. "I love you too, my Zaira." 

And so, we expressed our love for each other very passionately for the next few hours, our bodies tangled together, united as one.

****

"After hearing all the witnesses and examining the evidence," The judge spoke in court. "With all fairness and honesty, I have come to the conclusion that the defendant Saad Umair is guilty of the murder of Mrs Madiha Saad. While he did not have the intention of murder present upon the attack, his action indirectly resulted in the death of Mrs Madiha Saad. Due to the severity and fragility of this case, the sentencing would be done within this hearing itself."

*I don't know about Pakistani law, so consider these as facts for story purposes. 

I looked to my right where my parents sat, looking like they are the ones about to face punishment. Papa, who had fought hard for justice for Madiha, still looked grieved by the decision, and was trying to remain strong as he held Mamma.

My mother looked like the remainder of her already shattered heart was crumbling apart.

We were all thinking the same thing I'm sure: agar phansi hogayi? 

*What if he gets hanged?

But I composed myself as I thought about the pain Madiha must have gone through in the final hours of her life.

Hanging would not give him even one percent of the pain that she must have suffered.

"Saad Umair will be handed a lifetime imprisonment, and shall not be released in his lifetime. He needs to spend the rest of his life pondering upon the fact that he took the life of an innocent young lady, tearing away a mother from a small child. You have shown no mercy to your wife, and you shall no longer be allowed to enjoy your own freedom of life, after taking away someone's life and future. This concludes the hearing." 

Saad was taken away by the police, his head hanging. He tried to meet Mamma's gaze, but she turned her back towards him.

"Bhai!" He called out to me, tears in his eyes.

I ignored him and focused on my devastated parents. Yes, he wasn't getting a death penalty, but he was going to be in prison till he died. Which parent ever wanted to see this day?

When Mamma had given birth to Saad, she would never have imagined that a boy that she had  given life to would so brutally take the life of his own wife.

On the face of it, Madiha had received justice. But had she really? She hadn't even reached her thirtieth birthday, her son was still a baby, she was going to completely miss out on his life, she was going to miss out on a bright future for herself. 

This isn't true justice. This is just the beginning. This is your punishment of the world. He was yet to answer Allah over taking a life that He (Allah) had created. He was yet to be held accountable for each painful cry, each tear that Madiha had shed. He was yet to be held accountable for breaking the heart of the woman who has been given such a high place in Islam: his mother.

Even as I thought that, my heart broke as I watched my little brother taken away to face the consequences of his actions. 

May Allah grant Madiha a place in Jannat-ul-Firdous. Ameen. You've suffered enough, Madiha. Now you're hopefully in a peaceful place with your Creator, while the time to suffer begins for your barbaric husband.

****

Hania

It was decided that we were going to move to a smaller house next year. 

Business wasn't doing as well as before, and Uncle came to the decision to sell the house, but he wanted to move until our baby was at least a few months old.

"Open your mouth." Mama fed me like I was a toddler.

Hamza and Uncle had to fly to Glasgow, in order to sort out some business matters in my husband's birthplace, so I had naturally come to stay with my parents.

"Mama made food is always incomparable." I muttered, enjoying the food.

"No doubt." She smiled. "I still miss Ammi's food." 

Mama had made bhindi (okra curry) and roti, at my request. She had kept the spice level very low, but it was still delicious. 

"It's funny." She was sitting beside me, and she had a faraway look in her eyes. "Your Papa ate a lot of okra in the first year of our marriage, especially when I was pregnant with you. It was, and still is, one of his favourite, and he said that he loves it when I cook it."

"Shouldn't I get influenced by what you ate during pregnancy with me, rather than him?" I grinned.

"That's why it's so funny. I was the one carrying you inside me, and you inherited his taste." 

We both laughed.

"I love you, my Hani." She ran her clean hand over my head, smiling tearfully at me.

"Why are you crying? Is loving me that unbearable?" 

She laughed. "It's just so unbelievable that we've come this far, that my sweet little Hani is about to be a Mama, In Sha Allah." 

I squeezed her hands. "Aww, Mama. I'll always be your baby though, right?" 

"Always." 

Speaking of her baby, I knew that she was missing Mani. "Mama, we should be proud of her. She's doing incredibly good work."

"I know. Ma Sha Allah, I'm very, very proud of her." She said. "And I'm so glad that she has come back on the right path." 

"Of course she did. She had to, being the daughter of Mrs Jasmina Fawad and Dr Fawad Ali." 

"It's because Mani is a good person, that's why she came back. Upbringing has a strong impact, definitely, but once a person grows up they can differentiate between good and bad, and it's then up to them how they want to be."  

"I guess." 

"Mani made mistakes, but in the end she took the right path, Alhumdulillah." 

In a way, Saad's incident had made us all realise important things, and fortunately, it has brought us closer to each other, more than ever. 

My Phupho was hurting, but at least she had Omar Bhai, Zunaira Bhabi, Zaid and little Shezan. But most importantly, she had a good life partner to always support her, even in the most difficult of times.

We'd realised the importance of family, of following the right path, and also the fact that life was too short and we should live it earning duas. To have someone die without them forgiving you was a huge misfortunate, something that you might not immediately realise, but was actually something to be feared.

"We're blessed, Mama." 

"Alhumdulillah." She whispered. "We truly are." 

****

"Hamza?" 

"Hmm?" 

I lay in bed beside him, stroking my belly, a couple of nights later. "I love you. You were initially annoying, but now you are the true and genuine love of my life, my soulmate." 

"I love you too, Han. And yes, I was a brat." He kissed my forehead. "But the fact is, Hania Hamza, we belong together, and we always belonged together. We are soulmates, so of course I had to make myself worthy of my soulmate."

I smiled at him. "And you have done an incredible job. And you've turned this shy little caterpillar into a butterfly."

"No, Han. You were always a butterfly, you just didn't appreciate your own specialness." 

I blushed.

"My bratty behaviour just made you realise that, and brought this sweet little butterfly out." 

"And to think that you almost killed me in the hospital parking lot when we first met." 

"Don't be dramatic. I almost injured you, not killed." 

"What if I'd hit my head too hard as I fell?" 

"Hania, when did you become so dramatic?" 

"Since my whole life has been nothing short of a drama." I giggled. "Flying down the stairs as a baby, getting lost in Lahore, getting shoved by a full-grown adult, getting almost robbed, and God knows what else..." 

"But despite all the drama, you're a real sweetheart, you know that?" He kissed the tip of my nose. 

I snuggled up against him. 

We'd come a long way already, but our journey was just beginning. I couldn't wait for this new member of our family to join us, so that we could start a new chapter of our life.

I really hope that your life is more drama-free, my sweet baby. I couldn't help smiling.

First Mama, now me, we've both experienced plenty of drama. I wonder if this was a generational thing?

I looked up at him. He had had fair share of problems in his life, but he had left his difficult past behind and was now focusing on us and our bright future, In Sha Allah.

I love you, Hamza Daniyal. I will give you all the love and happiness that you deserve.

****

OCTOBER

Two weeks after our wedding anniversary, I gave birth to my son.

It was a long labour, and I probably caused a lot of damage to Hamza's hand and ears while bringing our son into the world, but he seemed to forget about it the moment the tiny little baby of ours was handed over to us. 

I cried as I saw the adorable baby that as of yet, I'd only felt inside me. Nine months. I had carried this beautiful little boy for nine months, and now he was finally here. We hadn't found out the gender, but I had the perfect name planned out for a boy. I'd kept it from Hamza so far, and he'd been perfectly happy to let me name our son.

My husband and I exchanged a loving look as I held our firstborn child in my arms. I'd forgotten all the pain I'd just experienced. Mama had been right to tell me that it was all going to be worth it at the end. 

"The Adhan..." I held out the baby for Hamza to hold.

Hamza nodded and whispered the Adhan in our sweet little boy's ear and I smiled at the sight. Ma Sha Allah! May Allah protect my family from all evil eyes. Ameen.

"Let's go introduce our son to his grandparents and aunt." Hamza said, glancing adoringly at the newest member of the family.

****

Mama was crying endlessly as she held her nawasa. Both the grandfathers looked overwhelmed with emotions, but were controlling themselves. Iman was practically bouncing in eagerness to hold her nephew.

"Alright, what's his name?" Hamza asked me, and everyone turned to look at me.

I smiled as I looked at our whole family. "Hamza and I would like to introduce you all to Hamad Hamza, named after his father and my father. And because I didn't want to leave Uncle out, Hamad's middle name will be Daniyal."

"Ma Sha Allah!" Everyone in the room said. 

Hamza smiled proudly at me. "It's perfect, Hania. But if we ever have a daughter, we need to make it fair for Aunty, Iman and Rabia as well."

"What about me?" I pouted as everyone laughed. "You get to be a part of his name."

"If we combine all our names, Appi, that would be just weird." Iman spoke up. "Hamad's name is perfect, Ma Sha Allah." She reached out for him. "Mama, let me hold him!"

Mama handed him over to her, but it was obvious that she didn't want to let go of him. 

"Mama, I'm coming to stay over with you and Papa." I said. "You can hold him all day long then."

Iman was softly rocking Hamad, whispering to him. He was already the apple of everyone's eyes, but I could see the intense amount of love that my sister had for her nephew. It truly warmed my heart. Iman would make an amazing Khalla.

****

And she truly did. She changed his nappies and stayed up most of the night to help me with Hamad, especially when Hamza wasn't around, when I was at our parents' house. Our normally tough Iman, who hated displaying emotions, was totally smitten for baby Hamad.

As for Mama? She was going over the top, buying everything and everything to ensure that Hamad had a comfortable stay at his Nana Jaan and Nano's house, ranging from clothes, to changing mat, to blankets.

And the little prince Hamad was already close to his Nana Jaan. He often fell asleep resting on his chest in the living room, curled up like a tiny ball. Papa loved it and could actually sit for hours with Hamad on his chest, as he watched TV.

Hamza regularly visited, because he couldn't bear the thought of being away from his wife and son for too long, his words not mine. He happily and comfortably stayed over the night, feeling no formality. My parents had always made him feel like a part of the family, and now nobody would be able to guess that he was actually the Damad.

Daniyal Uncle, or as I called him Daniyal Papa now, was also very happy, and could hold his little grandson all day, repeatedly telling us that Hamad was a true copy of Hamza. His health actually improved a little after Hamad's birth, as confirmed by the doctor, and Hamza was overjoyed by that.

Suhaila Aunty never bothered us again. She had been arrested for fraud, and she was currently in prison, for around ten years.

Alhumdulillah, Hamza and I are truly happy together now, especially with our special little baby boy. I thank Allah every day for bringing Hamza, and now Hamad, into our lives. We had struggled at first as husband and wife, but we were not stronger than ever.

We were now ready to begin our journey as parents, and I really hoped that we could raise Hamad to be a great, caring person. We would make him a boy that we could be proud of: the sweet, caring guy who realises and repents his mistakes, like his father; compassionate and intelligent like his Nana Jaan, and with a big heart and the ability to make people laugh even in the worst of times, like his Dada Jaan. Additionally, being Iman's nephew, he will learn to be fiercely loyal, and he should also have the ability to unconditionally love his family, like Mama does. All in all, he should take the positive qualities from the people closest to him. People always criticise parents on not raising their daughters right, whereas it's just as important to raise their sons right. We will raise our Hamad as best as we can, In Sha Allah.

****

"He is literally my whole world." Hamza smiled down at Hamad.

We were sitting in my old bedroom at my parents' house one night, and Hamza was staying over the night.

"And so are you." My husband pecked my lips.

"I love you so much, Hamza." I whispered. "Thank you for Hamad."

"Thank you." He said. "You are the one who suffered the nausea, the pain, the fatigue, the labour and God knows what else. You are the one who kept him inside yourself for so long." 

"But you are the one who satisfied my pregnancy cravings. You are the one who put up with my mood swings and complaints." I kissed his cheek. "You are the one who ensure my good health as well as Hamad's, while I was pregnant."

"Anything for you and Hamad."

I lifted up Hamad's tiny fingers and kissed them. "He's so adorable, Ma Sha Allah!"

And so we sat there for a long time, admiring our son. 

My whole world was right here in the form of my husband and my son. I'd never been happier in my life, and even though I knew that eventually drama will find us again (it always does!), as long as Hamza and I faced it together, we'll get through it all.

THE END

****

I finished this book now, because I'm thinking of writing maybe editing Chasing Heart, or writing a book to write about the other side of the family, including Omar, Zaid and the Sheikh family kids. It's not confirmed yet, though.

Thank you for joining me in Hania & Hamza's journey.

The epilogue is still remaining, so please keep this book in your library! 

Thoughts and comments?

Thank you for reading and don't forget to vote.