The Mafia Boss's Bride

Chapter 56 : She is crying.

Ava pushed open the door to their bedroom, expecting to see the neatly ironed clothes she had left for Ibrahim to handle. However, the scene that met her eyes was something out of a comedy of errors. The room carried an unmistakable scent of burnt fabric, and her wardrobe lay scattered with dresses that now bore unintended scorch marks. 

She approached slowly towards the bed. And her gaze immediately fell on her favorite dress, the one she had planned to wear on a special occasion. It lay crumpled and marred by burnt streaks, a casualty of Ibrahim's ambitious ironing endeavor. Shock and disbelief etched across Ava's face as she tried to make sense of the unexpected chaos.

And Ibrahim was standing there with the iron still in hand, looked more like a perplexed businessman than the head of a criminal empire. He really lost his identity. 

"What on earth happened here?" Ava exclaimed, her finger pointing accusatively at the burnt dresses.

"I told you, this is not my forte." Ibrahim replied. 

Ava's eyes flitted across the array of dresses. Her favorite pieces, once carefully handed by her, now bore the unmistakable scars of Ibrahim's ironing adventure, "You burned my clothes!"

Ava began assessing the damage and she counted the burnt marks on each piece. The toll of Ibrahim's ironing adventure became painfully clear – 18 out of her 24 clothes lay victim to the misguided attempts at domesticity. Her eyes widened with disbelief. She was unable to contain her emotions, felt a lump forming in her throat. "Eighteen out of twenty-four," she whispered, the weight of the loss sinking in. 

Ibrahim, still holding the iron, watched Ava's eyes well up with tears. "Why are you crying?" 

Ava, her voice shaky, gestured towards the ruined clothes. "I bought these with my own money. They were more than just clothes; they were memories."

Ibrahim gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Ava, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I'll buy you new clothes, even better ones from other good brands."

Ava replied while sobbing, "No, Ibrahim. I want these clothes. You don't understand. They were unique."

"Okay, okay," he said, trying to console her. "I'll find these exact clothes for you. Just please don't cry, baby girl. Don't cry." Ibrahim requested her. 

Ava, still distraught. While looking at her burnt clothes she replied, "You don't get it. They were from a street market. They change their stock regularly. It won't be easy to find the same ones." Her tears were flowing continuously. 

In an attempt to console her, Ibrahim cupped her face with his hands and made her look into his eyes. "Ava, look at me. I'm sorry. You can beat me, scold me, do whatever you want, but please don't cry like this. I can't stand to see your tears."

He took a step closer, using the pad of his thumb to gently wipe away the dampness on her cheeks. "I figure this out.And I promise to make it right, even if I have to scour every street market in the city."

She hesitated before posing a question that seemed to hang in the air. "Promise you'll bring the same clothes for me?" This was the first time, Ava demanded something from Ibrahim. 

Meeting her gaze, Ibrahim nodded affirmatively. "I promise, baby girl. Don't cry." He was still wiping her cheeks. 

Ava gazed into Ibrahim's eyes, felt an unexpected softness in his brown gaze. His eyes held a depth of earnestness that seemed to cut through her fears. She found herself questioning why she was drawn to his eyes, their warmth oddly comforting.

Stepping back, Ava composed herself, using the back of her hand to wipe her cheeks. Her blush-painted cheeks now carried the traces of emotional turmoil. She stated, "I want my clothes back before our weekend getaway."