Accepted With Flaws

-Love served on a plate -

And conceal your speech or publicize it; indeed, He is Knowing of that within the breasts.
(Surah Al Mulk 67:13)

Omaiza's PoV

The morning dawned with the call of the Adhaan emanating from Luth's phone, and I found myself frozen in place, nestled upon his chest. His strong, protective arms encircled me, an embrace that felt both comforting and exhilarating.

A flood of thoughts rushed through my mind, causing my heart to race. Was I moving too quickly? After all, he was my husband, but the proximity of our bodies ignited an unfamiliar heat within me.

Gingerly, I attempted to shift away, but in his slumber, Luth responded by drawing me closer, spooning me. A soft, contented sigh escaped his lips as he whispered into my ear, "Good morning, beautiful." His voice, a blend of tenderness and desire, and it wasn't awkward for the first time.

A wave of newfound warmth washed over me, and I couldn't help but question whether I had ever truly heard his voice before. It seemed to carry deeper emotions, ones that stirred my heart.

Summoning my courage, I finally spoke, my voice a delicate murmur, "Why don't we rise for morning prayer?"

Luth, with a gaze filled with affection and longing, turned me to face him. His fingertips traced a path along my cheek, igniting a rush of sensations within me. He leaned in to place a soft, lingering kiss upon my forehead. "I can do this, can't I, Zawj?" he asked,then I offered a simple nod, my smile revealing the depth of my feelings.

After our morning prayers, we decided to prepare breakfast together. I took charge of the kitchen, crafting poached eggs and avocado toast, while Luth freshly squeezed oranges into a vibrant juice.

After our breakfast, Luth followed his usual gym routine, while I settled at my desk with the intention of reading the Quran. I gently opened the holy book, letting its sacred pages guide me. With a sense of belonging and reverence, I randomly chose a page and found myself drawn to Surah Luqman, verse 17.

"O my son, establish prayer, enjoin what is right, forbid what is wrong, and be patient over what befalls you. Indeed, [all] that is of the matters [requiring] determination."

As I absorbed the words, a deep sense of connection washed over me. It was as if these verses were specifically meant for me, a message from Allah, reminding me to be patient in the face of life's challenges, for it was through patience that strength would emerge, In sha Allah.

As I continued to read, seeking solace within the verses of the Quran, I heard the sound of the shower running. Luth was getting ready for work, and as he emerged from the bathroom, dressed smartly in a suit, I couldn't help but notice how handsome he looked.

I teased him, "Uhm, Uhm, somebody is stealing my looks," playfully insinuating that he was the one looking good.

Luth chuckled, and I cleared my throat, pretending that I hadn't been admiring his reflection. I decided to offer him the remaining orange juice I had kept in the fridge.

"Thank you, Zawj," he said, taking a sip.

Luth's gaze lingered on me for a moment, as if he had something on his mind. I sensed there was more he wanted to say.

"Do you need something, Luth?" I asked, curious about his contemplative expression.

He grinned mischievously and wiggled his brows. "Won't you be bored without me?"

I paused, caught off guard. "Well, I was going to say that I wouldn't be bored because..." Before I could finish my sentence, he interrupted me.

"That's not the reply I was expecting," he said, scratching the nape of his neck, a hint of laughter in his eyes.

We both laughed, and he admitted that he was only joking.

"See you in the evening, Zawj," he said, giving me a tender peck on my forehead. Then, he leaned in closer to my ear and whispered, "Assalamu Alaikum, I'm just a phone call away, okay? Oh, and I have a secret." He looked at me with a playful glint in his eye.

Perplexed, I asked, "What secret?"

"I can teleport," he said with a wink.

I couldn't help but laugh at his playful remark. "Walaikum salam wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuhu," I replied, playfully pushing him towards the door. "Teleport safely to work, then!"

With a final wave, he left for work, leaving me with a smile on my face and a warmth in my heart.

As I wrapped up my chores, the scent of desi cuisine filled the air, making my stomach rumble. I decided to FaceTime Asma Aunty, a beacon of culinary wisdom.

"Assalamu Alaikum, Auntie," I pouted, longing for the flavors of home.

"Walaikum salam, Meri jaan," she replied, her voice warm and playful. "What's got you remembering me, huh?"

I chuckled. "I'm missing desi food, and who better to ask than you?"

She laughed, her maternal instincts kicking in. "Alright, first, go check what ingredients you have in the pantry."

I returned with a variety of items, listing them for her. Asma Aunty's guidance was indispensable, and we began our culinary adventure with a heartfelt "Bismillah."

"First, wash and clean the chicken, then poke holes into it with a fork," she instructed.

With my apron tied and hair secured in a bun, I began my mission to create chicken biryani. "Aye aye, captain," was my reply, and I followed her guidance diligently, even if it meant a few band-aids for my battle-worn fingers.

The aroma of barista, the golden-fried onions for biryani, wafted through my kitchen, even if it took me a couple of attempts not to burn them. My efforts were not without a few chef's battle scars.

As the biryani simmered under pressure, I sprinkled my professional barista onions and mint leaves on top, finishing with a chef's kiss.

"Phew," I sighed in relief. Asma Aunty reminded me once more to turn off the stove in 10-15 minutes.

"Okay, senior chef, I understand," I saluted, and we hung up.

While the biryani cooked, I cleaned the counter and did the dishes, even preparing a simple salad with cucumbers, sliced onions, chopped tomatoes, cilantro, green chilies, salt, and white vinegar. The desi salad was ready to complement our meal.

As the biryani simmered, a hint of burnt aroma filled the air, prompting me to turn off the stove and prepare for my prayers. It was that time of the month, so I decided to take a shower and get dressed.

Though I was hungry, I didn't want to eat without Luth. Thoughts of him filled my mind, and I found myself missing him dearly. Instead, I satisfied my hunger with some chips and lemon juice, then ventured into the world of dreams, or "мрія" (Mriya), as it's known, awaiting the time when I could share this delicious meal with him.

I opened my black journal and let my thoughts spill onto its pages, like ink on a canvas.

"Love blossoms when she learned to embrace herself, and in her husband's flaws, she found the beauty of imperfection."

"In his gaze, she discovered the first page of a love story that her heart was eager to write."

"Love snuck in quietly, like a gentle breeze, and she felt its presence in the warmth of his smile."

"In the silence of their moments together, she heard the whispers of her heart, telling her that she was in love."

"With each passing day, she discovered that love wasn't a destination; it was the journey they were on together."

"Little did she know, he was silently winning his own challenge, making her fall head over heels for him, one heartbeat at a time."

I remained lost in the words I had written, oblivious to the passing time. With a start, I realized it was nearly time for Luth to return home. I hurriedly closed my journal, concealing the emotions and thoughts that I had just poured out.