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*

Hamza

I stink.

I had been driving around most of the night, and the eastern side of the sky was just starting to turn lighter, as the clouds started thinning out. The storm was ending, with only a light drizzle remaining behind. The only proof that it ever occurred was the terrible mess that it had left behind. Trees uprooted, branches littering everywhere, objects thrown about like done so by a tantrum throwing toddler.

So yes, after driving like a maniac, getting soaked in the rain and running around hospitals and police stations, I realised that I smelled bad. Repentance isn't easy, Hamza. And besides, you actually care about Hania and her family.

The Accident and Emergency departments of each nearby hospital was crowded, with a lot of people having being injured by the storm indirectly. On the radio, I heard of quite a few road traffic incidents, and various objects flying out in the hurricane force winds. This was an unprecedented storm, causing much more damage than even the meteorologists had expected.

I didn't know what a mother's love was, because I've never experienced it. But I've seen how much Jasmina Aunty loved her daughters, and vice versa. And I appreciate the importance of a mother, with the exception of my own. I would never want Hania or Iman to suffer the pain of losing Aunty. And this was more than humanity, this was all to do with Hania. I cared about her, she was my wife after all, even if I didn't love her yet.

One of the police officers had told me that the local council had been sending transport around to pick up stranded people and take them to safe places. He gave me a list of local places that the stranded people were taken, and I started driving there one by one.

Fawad Uncle kept calling me repeatedly, and I had to talk him into staying at home, asking him to trust me. I'd told Hania that I would look for her mother no matter how long it took, and I intended to keep my promise. I told him to stay with his daughters, who needed him right now.

I arrived outside a secondary school, where the stranded people were kept in the Sports' Hall. I drove down a narrow lane that led to the building and parked the car. My phone rang just as I got out. I glanced at the caller ID and my heart sank. I had no good news for her right now. "Assalam Alaikum, Hania." I answered, wearily.

"Walaikum Assalam. You didn't message me. Does that mean you're still looking?" She sounded uncertain.

"I told you I would, didn't I?" I paused. "Are Uncle and Iman okay?"

"Papa's going to join you after praying Fajr." She replied. "I've tried to stop him, but he's not okay, Hamza. He needs to be out there searching for her."

"He should be with you both right now." I walked towards the Sports' Hall. "Or getting some rest. I'm here, aren't I? I'll find Aunty and bring her back, In Sha Allah."

"You wouldn't understand their love for each other, Hamza." She almost sounded bitter. "Even I can't imagine what he's going through right now. So, I'm going to be strong for him, and I'm not going to stop him. He has controlled himself for mine and Iman's sake so far, but I know that he's very restless. He needs to be out there physically searching for her." 

"Give me one hour, Han." I was so tired that even lifting a phone up to my ear was an effort. "If I don't find her by then, he can join me. One hour, please."

"Okay, I'll see what I can do." My wife spoke softly. "Take care, Hamza. And thank you. I cannot express in words how grateful I am for what you're doing for Mama and my family."

"You're my wife, Hania Hamza, my family." I stared up at the first signs of dawn on the horizon. "I will do anything for my family as well, whether you believe that or not."

She paused for a few seconds. "Yeah, I'm starting to believe it." 

After I hung up, I felt much more confident. Talking to Hania had made me feel much better, to my surprise. Maybe it was the gentleness in her voice, or maybe it was just the thought of her innocent eyes widening in thought as she spoke to me, or maybe I pictured that she would be biting her lip during our conversation. I had known her less than three months, but I was starting to understand her mannerisms.

Sighing heavily, I headed into the Sports' Hall, ready to be disappointed again.

****

Hania

"You okay?" I asked Papa, handing him a mug of coffee.  

"I don't even know, Hani." He sat in the armchair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This feels unreal."

"Hamza's out there, Papa." I put a hand on his shoulder. "He's doing everything to find her."

"I should be the one looking, I'm Mina's husband." He seemed disappointed in himself.

"But you're also our father, and we really needed you, Papa." I was trying to reassure him, even though I knew that it was pointless. The guilt he must be feeling would be endless. "You saw how Iman was freaked out. I couldn't have helped her on my own." I sat down on the armrest, casually draping my arm over his shoulders. "And you know that Mama would have been annoyed if you'd left us on our own when we were so upset."

He smiled weakly. "I would have never heard the end of it."

"Exactly!" I sighed. "You should get some sleep, Papa. I know that sounds ridiculous to you right now, but Mama care about your health as well, remember? She'll tell me off for not looking after you, as I'm the older daughter."

"I'll sleep when she gets back, In Sha Allah. I can't before that, Hani." He looked so miserable that I wanted to cry, but I knew that I had to stay strong, for his sake and for Iman's sake.

"Okay, then, I'll make us some breakfast. We might as well eat something." I stood up and began to head towards the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Papa jumped up to his feet and we both rushed out into the foyer as Iman continued to sleep peacefully.

Papa flung open the door and I forgot to breathe as I saw Hamza standing there, looking exhausted and ready to collapse. Beside him stood Mama, her hair tied back and a shawl draped around her shoulders.

"Mina!" Without hesitating, Papa wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "Allah ka shukhar hai that you're okay!"

*"Thank God."

I looked at Hamza, who met my gaze. "Thank you." 

He smiled, but it was a very tired smile. He had been out literally the entire night searching for my mother. 

"Come inside." I told Hamza, wanting to give my parents some privacy. Iman and I could meet Mama inside. I led him into the living room, and headed straight for the sofa where my sister was asleep. "Mani, wake up." I gently shook her. "Mani, wake up! Mama's home."

Her eyes flew open with a gasp. "Mama!"

I nodded. "Yes, she's home!"

Iman jumped up and looked around. "Where is she?" She raced out into the foyer. So much for giving them privacy. "Mama!" I heard her cry out.

"Where did you find her?" I looked at my husband.

"At the Sports' Hall." He yawned. "Sorry, I'm knackered."

"Understandably." I nodded. I took a step towards him, and before I could change my mind, I leaned up to kiss his cheek. However, at the same time he turned his face to say something and I ended up kissing him straight on the mouth.

What. The. HANIA?! I internally freaked out, before realising that he was kissing me back softly. Oh my God, this is my first kiss ever, and I didn't even mean for it to happen, but it's so good. He's such a good kisser. I couldn't shut up my inner monologue as we kissed. He smelled of rain and sweat, with a faint scent of cologne lingering on his clothes. His lips were soft, and everything about the kiss was romantic, from the way everything seemed natural, to the way he put his hand on my waist, holding me close. I felt relieved to have him here safely, and a part of me wanted to hug him for a long time.

I suddenly jumped back as I realised that my entire family was outside. "Sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"I'm your husband. You're the only one who has the complete right to do that, so don't ever apologise for it." He whispered as our gazes locked.

My family came into the living room, Papa's arm around Mama's shoulders, while Iman held her hand.

"Mama!" Bursting into tears, I rushed up to my mother and threw my arms around her. "Where have you been? You know how worried we were?"

She was sniffing and her skin was warm. She'd clearly caught a cold after being out in the rain.

"She needs some rest." Papa said. "Hania, would you mind making her some soup during the day, please?"

"I definitely will, Papa." I kissed Mama on the cheek.

"Hamza." Leaving Mama with us, Papa walked over to Hamza, shaking his hand, before reaching out to hug him. "I cannot thank you enough."

"I'm family now, Uncle." Hamza smiled. "I only did what anyone else would do for their family." 

I felt myself melting into a puddle, that's how much Hamza's words and actions had affected me. Although, I still intended to protect myself, any anger that I'd felt for him had vanished after his selfless act. He had brought my Mama back, the person I loved the most in the entire universe, besides Papa.

"Hamza has been very sweet." Mama spoke up. "All my belongings were in the car, and I was too sick and stressed to remember anyone's numbers, so the council staff helped me out. I was asleep when I was woken by one of the ladies who informed me that he had come to look for me." She smiled at Hamza, warmly. "Your actions showed me that we didn't make the wrong decision by marrying Hania off to you. You have a good heart, Hamza."

"Thank you, Aunty." Hamza fought a yawn again. "I better go and crash in bed. If you guys need anything else, don't hesitate to let us know."

"You're more than welcome to stay in the guest room, Hamza." Papa said.

"Thanks, Uncle, but I need to report to Papa before he completely flips out." Hamza grinned. "Take care, everyone." He looked at me before walking past us towards the front door.

"Go and see him out!" Mama whispered to me, with a pointed glance.

I followed Hamza, and paused as I saw him take the photo of one of Mama's red roses planted at the front of the house. I stood beside him and looked at the flower, which was covered in rain drops. The beauty of the rose was greatly magnified by the water droplets, and knowing that Hamza was also a photographer, I could see how he would want to take a photo of this.

"That's a good photo." I glanced at his phone screen.

"In my opinion, there's no greater beauty than the beauty of nature." He smiled at me. "So whether it is this rose covered with rain drops, or a person who's exactly the way Allah created them, no make-up, no adornment."

"I thought you were a photographer, not a writer."

"I'm married to a girl who loves writing. I guess I'm getting inspired." He turned to face me. "Is it okay if I take a photo of you?"

"I look like a mess." I hugged myself, uncomfortably.

"Au contraire, sweetheart, but I've never seen anything more beautiful." He whispered. "Not even this." He nodded towards the rose.

"Fine, let's see your talent." I dropped my arms to my sides.

"Grab your left wrist with your right hand." He instructed me. "I want a typical Hania Hamza pose."

My heart skipped a beat, hearing my new name, but I did as he said anyway. He took a few photos, getting down on his knees to take a few, uncaring about the puddles on the ground. He had been soaked anyway, so it didn't really matter to him, I guess. A few minutes of photography later, he got up and came over to me, showing me the photos, and I had to admit, those were good. And it wasn't just about the good photo quality, because any smartphone can produce excellent quality these days, but it was about the angles and the professionalism of the photography. "You really are an amazing photographer, Ma Sha Allah."

He smiled, his gaze still on the photo. "Photography is my safe space, I guess. It has acted as my therapy more than I can tell you." 

I wanted to ask him about what he needed therapy for, but I thought that maybe the question would be too blunt, and that I should wait until he told me himself. I continued gazing at the photos with him.

I was wearing casual dark grey trousers, a white night shirt with a purple butterfly on the front, and my fluffy bedroom slippers, which were wet and probably ruined now. My hair was in a messy pony, with loose strands hanging around my face, but he still made it look like an effortless style that models pose for.

"My latest muse." Hamza spoke, almost too softly too hear. Stifling another yawn, he stretched his arms up. "Okay, seriously. I have to go before I fall asleep right here on the ground."

"Drive safely." I said.

"I will." He kissed my cheek. "Take care of yourself and your family."

"I will." As he began to turn to walk away, I shyly added, "Maybe one day I can pose for a photo on your motorcycle?"

He turned to look at me over his shoulders, the smile on his face warm. "My bike will be blessed if that happens." 

I couldn't help laughing at his cheesiness and he winked at me before getting into his car. I watched him drive away, feeling butterflies in my stomach. Maybe it's time to let go of any resentments and attempt to start getting along. We are married, and so far, he has genuinely tried.

****

We all fell asleep then because it had been an exhausting night in every way.

I was the first one to wake up, so I started preparing breakfast. I was so lost in my thoughts, that I didn't notice Mama come in until she put her hand on my shoulder, making me jump with a startled cry.

"Unke khayalon main khoi hui ho?" She teased me.

*"Lost in his thoughts?"

"Why? Are you asking from personal experience?" I immediately teased her back.

"Hania!" She looked away, smiling shyly. "You and Iman can be too much sometimes."

I finished preparing the omelette and washed my hands, before returning to Mama and giving her a tight hug. "Don't you dare ever do that to us again!" I frowned. "And you're unwell! You should be in bed! Go before Papa wakes up and gets angry!" I began to gently shove her towards the kitchen door.

"Hania?"

"Yes, Mama?" I continued forcing her out.

"It's not a small thing that he did." She stopped and turned to face me. "Staying up and driving around the entire night to look for someone shows his selflessness, and how much he genuinely cares about you."

I looked at the floor, thoughtfully.

"It's not usually love at first sight, like books and films show it." She continued. "Sometimes it starts off with caring about each other, and small, sweet gestures. What he did was much more than a small gesture. He took care of not just you, but your whole family. Your Papa told me how he firmly made him come home, reassuring your father that he will find me himself, no matter how long it took. He didn't just act like your husband, Hani, but he also acted like a caring son."

"I know, Mama."

"It's very easy to focus on someone's bad deeds, and no, I'm not saying that what he said to you can be easily overlooked." She put a hand on my cheek. "But, think of all the good that he's doing to make up for it. We all make mistakes, Hania. We all say and do things that we don't mean, but how we behave after that is what matters. He's repenting and apologising, and he is seriously showing that he has changed." 

"What if he goes back to the way he was?" I voiced my biggest concern.

"Hani, we can't let our fear hold us back." She said. "After the whole Jeremy incident, I was worried about not being good enough for Fawad, and that I wouldn't be able to be a good wife to him. If I had succumbed to my fear, you and Iman wouldn't even exist and I wouldn't have lived such an amazing married life with your Papa, Alhumdulillah." 

"But, Mama, it was easy for you anyway. Papa loved you and he is generally such a respectful man. He would never have spoken to you like that."

"Take my advice, Hani, and don't ever make comparisons, okay?" She said, gently. "Each story is unique in its own way. In Sha Allah, Hamza will make a good husband, and he'll eventually show his love for you in his own way. But comparing your life to others, even your parents, never helps, okay? You need to focus on creating your own story."

"I missed your maternal wisdom."

She laughed lightly and kissed my forehead. "I will keep giving it as long as I'm alive, whether you like it or not."

"After last night, I would never even think about complaining, Mama." I looked at my mother, feeling relieved all over again. May Allah give my parents good health and long lives. Ameen. "Now, go back to bed, Mama, before I wake up Papa to complain about you."

She rolled her eyes but left. 

Fine, Hamza. One of my walls has completely fallen down. Just don't give me the chance to build it up again.

****

Jasmina

I snuggled back into bed beside my husband, resting my head against his chest.

"Go back to sleep, Mina. You're not well." He muttered, sleepily.

"Fawad?"

"Hmm?"

"I had a little conversation with Hamza as he was driving me back." I whispered.

"Regarding what?" He was playing with my hair, tangling his fingers through it. He loved doing that.

I closed my eyes as I recalled Hamza's words.

****

"Aunty, I'm sure Hania must have mentioned something." He had spoken as we had gotten into his car.

"Don't misunderstand Hania, beta. She's just so sensitive that she always confides in me." I had told him, staring out of the window that was covered with rain drops. "But I have told her already that there are limits when discussing the matters of husband and wife, even with your own parents."

"It's not like that, Aunty. I actually wanted to apologise." He said. "I was way out of order. Hania deserves better. I was rude, harsh and hurtful."

I turned to look at him. "Why? Even without bias, Hamza, I cannot think of a single reason why you misbehaved with Hania. She's absolutely harmless."

"Because I grew up with a mindset that marriages are a form of prison, limiting your freedom. Those are the words that Mum kept saying to Dad, that he had limited her freedom." He focused on the road and drove slowly as it was pretty much hazardous due to all the objects littered in the street. "I believed that Hania and her simplicity would hold me back from living out my life."

"And what changed your mind in a day?" I sounded sceptical even to my own ears.

"It was only after I'd said those words to Hania that I realised how messed up I am." He sounded emotional now. "My parents' horrible marriage had put so much doubt in my mind about the whole concept of marriage that maybe, subconsciously, I was trying to ruin my own. But her words and the look in her eyes broke something inside me, Aunty. I have known her less than three months but I already feel like marriage with her might be a blessing for me. People yearn for a spouse like her, and I had her and I had broken her heart on the night that we were bound in the powerful bond of Nikah." 

"I understand your doubt towards marriage, Hamza, but not everyone's lives are the same. Your parents ended their marriage, but that does not mean that yours will be a disaster too."  I said. "Yes, marriage requires hard work from both sides, but as long as you are both compromising and understanding towards each other, your marriage can work out, Hamza. You both just need to be willing to contribute to it." 

"I don't think Hania will ever trust me again, Aunty." 

"I'm going to sound biased again, but Hania is a sweet and simple girl. She doesn't want expensive gifts, expensive holidays or anything materialistic. Hania is about love and respect. She prioritises family over everything. If you just look at her personality and at her characteristics and accept her for the way she is, you'll see how much love Hania radiates." 

"How do I win her trust, Aunty?" The way he looked at me melted my maternal heart.

"Be honest, be patient. When we make mistakes, we must accept that the other person might need time to learn to trust you again." I said.

"Can you forgive me, as her mother?" 

"It's not about my forgiveness, Hamza. My happiness, as well as Fawad's, lies in our daughters' happiness and wellbeing. If Hania is happy and healthy in every way, that's all we want. And if her trust happiness is with you, as well as her wellbeing, then her father and I have no issues." I pursed my lips. "But just remember one thing, beta. It takes time to rebuilt trust, and if it is broken again, do not assume that you'll be able to rebuild it again."

I thought of Fawad's incredible trust in me, and how he had accepted me back without any issues. But that was different. He had literally known me since I was born. With Hania and Hamza it was more difficult as they basically just met.

****

"If he messes up again..." Fawad held onto me tighter.

"I know you're a better judge of character, jaan, but I sensed sincerity in his words." I said. "The mother in me believed him." 

"I don't know what he did to hurt Hania exactly, but you clearly do. Do you forgive him, knowing what you know?" 

"You know what? I think I do." I smiled. "In Sha Allah, if Allah wanted this for Hania, I have full faith that this is for her best." 

"In Sha Allah." He kissed the top of my head.

"I hope one day she feels as safe with him as I do with you." I looked up at him.

"Hania can be like you, but he can never be like me." He winked at me, jokingly.

"Allah! Arrogance to dekhain in bande ki!"I shook my head as he laughed.

*"Look at the arrogance of this man!"

****

Hania

In the next few days, Iman and I convinced Papa to take Mama away for a short break. The last time they went anywhere was to Lahore on that fateful trip, two months ago. With a lot of assurances that we won't mess up (especially Iman), they finally agreed and he took her to Paris as soon as she recovered from the awful cold.

"I'm going out." Iman announced, coming down the stairs just hours after our parents had left. She was dressed in a short black skirt, which she wore with black tights and black high heel ankle boots, as well as a white, long sleeved lace top. Her hair was in her usual up-do, and she wore her favourite large silver hoop earrings. 

"Where are you going? Who are you going with?" I questioned. I was lounging on the living room sofa, watching the live action version of The Lion King. I had just watched that famous death scene, and my tears were continuously flowing. It was downright cruel to put that scene in a children's film, I swear.

"Mama, I thought you had gone to Paris!" She muttered sarcastically, checking her purse to make sure that she had everything.

"Iman..."

"It's just Emily, for God's sake!" She rolled her eyes. "You know her, right? My Sixth Form friend?"

"I'm worried about Rayaan." I stood up. "He's still out there somewhere, Iman."

"I have an idea, Mama Junior." She spoke conspiratorially. "Call Hamza Bhai over. He is your husband, so it won't be haram." 

"Be back by ten, or I swear, I'll call Papa." I ignored her cheeky suggestion, even as the idea was tempting.

"I love you." Kissing my cheek, she left, slamming the front door behind her. That sneaky little brat had once again used some of my favourite perfume. Ugh, I need to lock up my room!

Should I call Hamza? Iman's right, it's not haram if we're alone together. We're in a relationship blessed by Allah Himself.

Before I could stop myself, I messaged him to ask him if he was free. He replied almost immediately.

<Hamza: Sure. What's up?>

<Hania: I'm home alone. Want to come and hang out?>

<Hamza: Hang out? What are we, sixteen-years-old best friends?>

<Hania: If you don't want to come, just say it. No need to make fun of me.> I added an angry emoji after that.

<Hamza: Whoa, relax, mother of Hamia. I'm coming. Give me half an hour.>

I couldn't help giggling. 'Mother of Hamia'. What a dork!

I tidied up the house a little, even though it was almost perfect already. Mama never went anywhere without making sure that the house was clean, even if Iman and I were staying behind. Then I rushed upstairs and decided what to wear.

I choose a long white skirt and a sleeveless red and white floral top with a red shrug. I never wore sleeveless unless I was wearing something over it. Iman constantly wore sleeveless, but only when she was at a safe distance from our house. Papa had never commented on our outfits, because we'd never crossed our limits, but we both respected him enough to dress modestly (at least in front of him, in Iman's case). I'd only bought sleeveless tops for the summer, when there was a heatwave, and even then there was always something light covering my exposed arms. I left my hair loose and applied eyeliner. I blushed as I thought that I was getting ready for my husband. Husband. The word made me happier than I'd ever imagined.

This was going to be a fresh start. I was willing to give him one more chance for the sake of the pure bond of Nikah.

I heard the doorbell rang and I ran downstairs, taking a deep breath at the foot of the stairs so that I didn't look like I had been rushing. I tried not to let my face betray my excitement as I opened the front door. "Assalam Alaikum."

"Walaikum Assalam." Hamza looked at me with so much warmth that I almost forgot to let him in. "May I come in?" He asked when I didn't move.

"Oh yes, sorry." I stepped aside and he walked past me, holding a gift bag.

"This is for you." He held out the bag.

"For me?" I accepted it. "Thanks, but this wasn't necessary." 

"Have a look." He smiled.

I reached inside and pulled out a light blue rectangular box, with a ribbon wrapped over it. I pulled off the lid and gasped. Inside, in a gorgeous crystal photo frame was a photo of me that he had taken outside the day he had brought Mama back. "Wow." I looked up at him. "This is so... wow. If I call it beautiful, does that mean I'm praising myself or your photography skills or the frame?"

He chuckled. "While I think you are praising my skills and the frame, I know that the real beauty is the one posing for that photo."

"Hamza. Thank you." I hugged him. "I will always cherish this. My first photo taken by my photographer husband."

He pulled back slightly, wrapping his arms around my waist. "This is to remind you that you're perfect the way you are, Hania Hamza. And no matter what any pr**k tells you, you don't need to change yourself." 

"Thank you for saying that, but I'm aware that I'm not 'cool' enough."

"Shh." He put a finger against his lips. "Firstly, inner beauty is what truly matters. Secondly, it's rare to find someone who is beautiful on the inside as well as outside, and that's you, Han. And thirdly, you're actually quite brave for dressing in a way that makes you comfortable, rather than adhering to the world's expectation of style."

"But, I don't look like Hamza Daniyal's wife, according to you." I raised an eyebrow at him.

"No, I don't look like Hania Hamza's husband." He argued. "I look too arrogant and narcissist to be married to such a modest and down-to-earth sweetheart like you."

"I hope you mean all this, Hamza." 

He bent down and softly planted a kiss against my lips. "I'm not saying that I'm in love with you right now, Han. But if I don't fall in love with you, then I deserve a true a** kicking. Only an idiot wouldn't fall in love with a person like you."

I grabbed the lapels of his shirt gently, staring at my hands. "I'm trying to trust you, Hamza. I just have one request. Please don't hurt me again. My self-esteem and my heart will be shattered in a irreparable way, and then I won't ever be able to trust anyone with my heart again."

He covered my hands with his own, staring deeply into my eyes. "I promise to be an incredibly loyal husband. I promise to fulfil all my duties towards you, as best as I can. I promise, that regardless of love, we will maintain a strong friendship in our relationship, and that you can trust me with your feelings, your fears and your thoughts."

I smiled at him, feeling overwhelmed with happiness. A part of me was still on guard, of course, but if Hamza continued like this, I would be falling hard for him very soon.

****

We ordered out some pasta, and we were eating it in the living room, while watching a comedy film, laughing hard. I almost choked on pasta from laughing so hard, and he had to get up and pat me on the back.

After dinner, we cleaned up and returned inside with mugs of coffee, cappuccino for him and mocha for myself. We were snuggled up against each other, silently enjoying our drinks as we continued watching the film, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. When he took it out, and glanced at the screen, his relaxed mood instantly evaporated and a frown appeared instead.

"What's wrong?" I asked, worriedly. For a moment I wondered if it was Natalia.

"It's my mother." He sighed, tossing the phone aside.

I was really curious about his mother actually. I knew the basics, but I didn't think that she could be that bad, right? After all, how could a mother actually be evil towards their own children? I never understood that, even when I saw news reports or read articles about mothers harming their own children. I suppose that because I grew up with a mother who cried when we cried, and who pampered us over a simple paper cut, the idea of a mother being cruel was a foreign concept for me. "That bad?" 

"She's probably just asking for more money. That's the only reason she ever contacts me." He shook his head in irritation.

I put a hand on his. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. She's irrelevant in my life anyway." He sighed. "Papa's everything to me. That's why I'm willing to do absolutely anything and everything for him."

"Aww, so you do have a heart." I teased him lightly, trying to cheer him up, jabbing his chest with my finger.

"Stick around, and you'll see." He turned to look at me.

This was so new to me, being this close to a guy. But Hamza made me feel comfortable, and I actually enjoyed being near him. I put my hand on his cheek, before running my finger from his forehead, down to his nose and finally on his lips. He closed his eyes as he softly kissed my fingertip. The butterflies in my stomach were back, and as he kissed my palm and then my wrist, they fluttered crazily in my belly.

I am an idiot, because I forgot about the coffee cup that I was holding in my other hand, and as my grip on it weakened, because I was too focused on my husband, the contents of the mug spilled over and onto his shirt.

"Oh, crap!" I cried out, jumping up to my feet. "I'm so sorry, Hamza! Are you okay? Are you burnt? Shall I get some ointment? Allah! Where's the ointment? Ya Allah! Hamza, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you!"

"Han, calm down!" He stood up as well, looking amused. "Your drink wasn't even hot. I'm okay. My shirt isn't, but I am." 

"I'm sorry that I ruined your shirt! I'll pay for the dry cleaning." I bit my lip. "Or I'll just wash it right now."

"Han, why are you panicking, babe? I'm fine." He grinned, unbuttoning his shirt.

"What are you doing?!" I asked horrified.

"I'm taking off my dirty shirt."

"In front of me?!"

"Astaghfirullah!" Hamza stared up at the ceiling dramatically. "How could I almost commit the sin of taking my shirt off in front of my wife?"

I turned my back to him. "I'll get one of Papa's shirts." I heard him chuckle as I left the room, and I was so tempted to turn around and look at him without a shirt on, but I was too shy.

When I returned downstairs, I held my arm out into the living room, closing my eyes. "Here you go." I felt him grab the shirt and then tug hard, pulling me along with him. I shrieked. "Hamza!"

He held me in his arms, my hands pressed against his bare chest. I'd immediately closed my eyes, and my cheeks were burning up. "Hamza."

"Hania."

I slowly opened my eyes and saw his eyes twinkling, mischievously. I felt breathless as my hands slid down his chest and onto his toned stomach.

"Your innocence is your most adorable trait, Han." He kissed me in a way that made me weak at the knees. I wrapped my arms around him, never wanting the kiss to end. Love or not, he made me truly happy, and I once again prayed that he didn't break my heart again. 

Taking my hand, he led me back to the sofa, and I finally got a glimpse of his bare torso. His strong, muscular built made me blush harder and the way he turned to look down at me made me squeal excitedly internally. He's mine, and only mine.

 At the sofa, we once again kissed, like two teenagers on a date. Now that we knew what it was like to kiss each other, we just couldn't seem to stop. And for me, the best part was definitely the part where all of this was completely halal. I know we weren't going to go further, because we were going to respect our parents and our culture, and wait until after the rukhsati, but kissing was good enough. My hands were tangled up in his hair, and his hands on my back were so gentle, as if he was afraid of hurting me.

We were both so lost in each other, that when there was a loud banging on the front door, we both jumped, and I almost fell off the sofa. Hamza steadied me, holding on tightly.

"Where the hell are you hiding away, Iman?!" A loud angry voice yelled.

****

Well, Hamza has Mina's blessing now.

Hania and Hamza's romance will gradually start now. 

This was my longest chapter ever.

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