under the covers [hs au]

chapter sixty.

The present mattered.

Samira lived in it, relishing every passing moment. The future was the last of her worries.

Zafri's gusts swept Samira right off her feet—she finally let go and let it carry her wherever it went. Allah reminded Samira that she didn't have to be alone, that she couldn't be, after spending a lifetime fending for herself.

Time was a luxury; Samira couldn't use time to sit around and wait for someone to love her the way she deserved. She knew that all too well when Zafri took no time to show her that, and life went forward. The movement was perfect, and she didn't trip or fall. Zafri walked alongside Samira with his hand in hers. He didn't walk ahead or behind but at the very same pace.

Samira was Samira. Not 'old' Samira, not 'new' Samira, but Samira. As beautiful, simple as that.

She didn't have to mold herself into someone else whenever she was with Zafri. As their lives intertwined, no amount of space pulled them apart. Instead of looking past their mistakes and flaws, they scrutinized them. At the end of every argument, laughter would erupt. They picked up each other's pieces when parts of them crumbled to the floor.

Zafri was right—maybe things weren't perfect, but it was healthy.

Samira could feel his fingers tend her soul even with that gap between them, and he filled her with love in places she didn't know were empty. She wanted to celebrate Zafri and praise him for the man he was, just as much as she wanted to kiss his scars and hold him at his lowest points.

Even as they posted pictures of each other and ate from the same spoon, the chasm still existed in their minds. They were never alone in a room—they refused to, especially after what happened the last time they were. Maybe a few shoulder punches and high fives, but their thighs never touched when sitting on a bench.

Her heart still yearned. Samira wanted to know what Zafri's lips felt like on hers.

Of course, Samira hoped Wapa didn't say anything to scare Zafri. Because she wasn't stupid—Zafri never stopped his habit of calling Wapa to tell him everything. Why was he so afraid? They were getting married anyway.

The planning and arrangements began, from the nikkah, mehndi party, and reception. A few days had passed, and it was a quiet Sunday—Samira rested her head on Wapa's shoulder as she typed away on her laptop; Wapa watched some nature show narrated by David Attenborough. The moment she heard Wapa snore softly, she chuckled to herself.

The adhan went off for asr; Wapa woke up from his nap. Taking a deep breath, Samira closed her laptop, turning toward Wapa.

"How long did I sleep?"

Samira looked over at the clock: "Half hour."

"What?" Wapa widened his eyes. "No. Maybe ten minutes."

"Sure."

Wapa stretched his arms out, groaning emphatically. Samira raised an eyebrow at her father; the question she had was long-awaited, and she finally wanted to confront the one problem she had since being with Zafri.

"Are you hard on Zafri? He's always worried about what you think of him."

Wapa contorted his expression—then a mischievous grin appeared. He began to giggle quietly to himself, causing Samira to roll her eyes.

"Wapa."

"I don't mean to be, Samira. My approval matters because he's only worried about losing you."

"He shouldn't have to."

"Try telling him that. At least he shows how much he loves you," Wapa explained. "When he's here, he always talks to Ayan and me, plays with Elias, helps your mother in the kitchen. That is what I admire most about him. He cares about you and the people you love, Samira, and his manners are like no one else's. He's the least selfish boy I know."