HIS (YOU series #1)

19

Amira

"Akram, I seriously need to use the toilet," I whined, rocking from side to side. My bladder was hanging on for dear life.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't locked us in here, you would have been able to", he replied, sounding very annoyed.

"How was I supposed to magically know that the door handle on the inside had fallen off ?" I reply, pouting.

"Use that can over there," he says, pointing to a  can of paint covered in dust and proceeding to bang on the door furiously.

"You know I can't squat. Hold it up for me", I whine again. He throws me a sideways glance and huffs. It was clear he was frustrated now.

He grabs the dusty can and pry's it open. What made you run in here in the first place? He enquires. I avert his gaze to avoid the question.

I begin raising my hijab and skirt when footsteps start approaching, "AK", a voice calls out.

"Yes", he answers, dropping the can to knock on the door. Fuck no, my subconscious yelled.

You may be wondering how we ended up here. Let's go back a little:

Flashback

"My friend is coming over in a while. I haven't seen him in a long time, so he was shocked to hear about a wife," Akram tells me as I play with his hair which, might I add, will soon become an Afro if he doesn't get out of this house and get a trim.

"You didn't tell him about the wedding?" I ask.

"He was serving in the military, so I couldn't", he responds.

I hum in response then something pops into my head.

"Do I have to cook ?" I ask, clutching my chest.

He looks up at me and chuckles, "no baby, all you have to do is look pretty with my baby in your belly", he responds. I blush at the comment.

We sit for a few more minutes before Akram receives a work call. He kisses me on the forehead, then dashes off to his study.

I grab my phone and begin texting as many people as possible. I've been stuck in this house for weeks with Akram. Not like I'm complaining, but it's nice to speak to others sometimes.

I should call Ammi and baba, then my dad, grandma and aunts. My inner self groans at the thought. If you get it done now, we don't have to worry for another two weeks or so, I remind myself and begin to Dial the numbers.

An hour later, I finally covered all the elders I could think of. I would have been done years ago if I hadn't received a 30-minute lecture from Ammi about how to go about this stage of my pregnancy.

I was scrolling through my Instagram dm's and laughing my ass off; all these dudes don't know I'm married and pregnant. Akram and I had a pretty low-key wedding, and most of the people in attendance had private socials, so the world wasn't aware.

I even had a dm from one of the nurses at the hospital I had interned at. So sweet of her to check up on me. Come to think of it. Everyone was amiable. Maybe I should apply for a job there in a year or two when my little one is old enough to be left at home.

Ugh, I'll worry about that later. All this thinking has made me hungry, so I rise from the bed, slowly gripping the side table for a bit of support. I was happy with myself and threw on a long hijab since I was only wearing a crop top and an underskirt.

Don't judge. It's so comfortable, and nothing fits anymore. I slip on my lv house slippers and descend the stairs. By the time I reached the end, I was panting like I had run a marathon.