Dare You To Love Me

«36» slice of forgiveness

A bead of sweat rolled down Yaseerah’s spine despite the chill in the air, as she ascended the stairs from the kitchen for the third time, her steps slow and hesitant, mind racing a mile a minute.

She knew what she needed to do, but she was absolutely terrified, and excited, and rattled. If not a little nauseous, all at the same time.

She could feel her heart pounding a staccato rhythm, blood rushing to her ears, as she stood outside Fou’ad’s bedroom door, anticipation and nervousness turning her stomach inside out.

Taking a deep breath to quell her nerves, Yaseerah raised her free hand and knocked on the door softly, hiding her other hand behind her back, as she waited with bated breath, her pulse quickening with each passing second.

The scent of what she held behind her back–a stark reminder of their unfinished wedding celebration–teased her senses, fanning the flames of her nervousness.

When she didn’t get an immediate response, her brows furrowed deeply, mood souring even more, having no idea which was worse–Fou’ad opening the door and finding her a nervous wreck, or him not opening the door.

Just as she turned to leave, when it seemed he might not answer, the door swung open, revealing Fou’ad’s dimly lit bedroom, offering her a glimpse of his personal space that she had never seen before, adding a layer of intimacy to the moment, as her gaze flicked to Fou’ad, who stood on the other side, his eyes half-closed with sleep.

Fou’ad blinked, trying to focus on the figure outside his door, his hand rubbing his eyes, trying to clear the haze of sleep.

“Albi?” His voice when he finally spoke was a sleepy murmur–like the gentle brush of velvet against her skin, soothing yet unsettling in its unexpectedness.

He yawned, his body swaying slightly, and Yaseerah could see the exhaustion written all over his face. And as their gazes met, for a moment, time seemed to stand still as they held each other’s gaze, a silent conversation passing between them, as Fou’ad continued to wonder whether she was real or an apparition.

A small thrum of guilt hit her in that moment, and she cursed her inappropriate timing, as his eyes began to rapidly blink once again, his expression warring between confusion, surprise and concern.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I thought–” She swallowed, unable to finish her sentence, feeling a lump lodge in her throat.

“Is everything okay? Are you hurt? Did something happen?” His voice was laced with worry and still thick with sleep, as he straightened up, looking more alert than a few seconds ago, as he looked her over, searching for any signs of distress.

“Everything’s fine,” she rushed to assure him, her heart rate tripling in pace with a swirling mixture of apprehension and exhilaration, the more they gazed at each other.

Blowing out a nervous breath, she stared at her feet, unable to look at him any longer, as she bounced on her feet nervously, the hand which held the plate behind her back trembling slightly.

“Albi?”

“I... uhm... I...” She hesitated, her mind replaying memories of their past interactions, wondering if this gesture would be enough to mend the rift between them.

Oh, Allah! She groaned internally, her cheeks turning rosy, as she found herself suddenly inarticulate. This is the moment when the ground will magically open, and swallow me whole!

“Yaseerah, Albi, please tell me if some–”

“I brought you something,” she cut him off suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper, as she held out the plate she had been hiding–the main source of her nervousness.