𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

38

Airah POV:

We both walk back to our apartment, hand in hand, our fingers interlaced as we chat about the day. The gentle evening breeze carries the scent of salt and sand, a lingering reminder of our beach outing. I swing our joined hands between us, feeling a lightness in my heart.

"Why was the beach so empty?" I ask, curiosity coloring my voice.

Arsalan glances down at his feet, his lips curling into a playful smirk. He tries to stifle it, but it’s unmistakable.

"What did you do, Ahmed?" I prod, narrowing my eyes at him in mock suspicion.

He shrugs, his smirk growing. "I did nothing."

"Nah, you did something," I insist, nudging his shoulder with mine.He shrugs again, the smirk still firmly in place. "I didn't."

"Then how was the beach so empty?" I challenge, stopping in my tracks and tugging on his hand to make him face me.

He hesitates for a moment, then looks up, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Uhh, well, I rented it, 'cuz," he says nonchalantly.I stare at him, wide-eyed. Is he possibly serious? "How can you do that? Rent the whole beach, I mean." He shrugs once more, but there’s a proud glint in his eyes. "I have my resources."

For a moment, I’m speechless, trying to wrap my head around the sheer extravagance of his gesture. "You rented an entire beach… for us?"

"Yeah," he replies, his smirk softening into a tender smile.

"Otherwise, we couldn't have had privacy, you know. There would have been a lot of people, and that would have made both of us uncomfortable," he explains, starting to walk again. His tone is light, but there's a sincerity in his words that touches me deeply. I gently squeeze his hand, silently letting him know how much I appreciate his thoughtfulness and effort.

"Oh, by the way, I wanted to tell you something," he says as we reach the elevator, his voice taking on a more serious note.

"What?" I ask, curiosity piqued.

"Do you remember Adam?" he asks, glancing at me.I nod. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well, yesterday, he converted to Islam," Ahmed reveals, his eyes shining with excitement.I look at him in shock, my mouth slightly agape. He smiles, clearly pleased with my reaction. "He’d been asking me a lot of questions about Islam over the past month. Sometimes it was about Hajj, sometimes about Ramadan. Honestly, I hadn’t paid that much attention to it at the time," he admits as we step into the elevator. He pauses for a moment before continuing, as if gathering his thoughts. "Remember when I went out to shop for groceries yesterday?"

I nod again, recalling the errand.

"Well, I got a call on the way, and he asked me to meet him. He told me he wanted to go to the mosque. So, I took him along with me for the Isha prayer last night. And alhamdulillah, when he met the Imam there, he decided to convert. I was really happy for him, happy that Allah finally guided him to the right path," he says, his voice filled with gratitude and pride.

"Mashallah. That’s wonderful news. May Allah keep him guided on the right path," I respond, my heart warmed by the news. I feel a deep sense of joy for Adam, knowing the significance of his decision.

"Ameen," he murmurs softly, his eyes reflecting his heartfelt prayer.

We fall into a comfortable silence as the elevator doors slide open and we step out into the hallway. The quiet between us is peaceful, a shared moment of reflection and joy. As we approach our apartment door, Ahmed breaks the silence, his voice thoughtful.

"I’ve been thinking… what if we take him along with us?" he suggests while entering the house code, his brow furrowed slightly in contemplation.

"Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. I'm sure Amma would like it," I reply, already imagining the happy scene. The thought of including Adam in our family gatherings feels right, a way to show our support.

He smiles, his eyes twinkling with the prospect. "Alright, I'll consider asking him about it," he says, his tone lighter now.

———————

"Your uncle's health is worsening day by day." Mum's voice echoes through the phone, the weight of her words settling heavily on my heart. "But don't tell Arsalan. Your uncle warned everyone not to tell him about it."

I glance over at Arsalan, who is in the kitchen, moving gracefully as he prepares dinner. His navy blue shirt stretches across his taut muscles, illuminated by the warm light above the stove. The rhythmic sound of his knife chopping vegetables and the gentle sizzle of food in the pan create a comforting background melody.

"Alright, Mum. We'll be back next week, In sha allah," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. My eyes remain fixed on Arsalan's back, watching the way his muscles flex with each movement, trying to find some solace in the familiarity of the scene. I hang up the call, the click feeling like a finality that echoes in my mind.

A heavy silence envelops me, the news swirling around my thoughts like a storm. I feel a surge of protectiveness towards Arsalan, the idea of burdening him with this knowledge causing a pang in my chest. Yet, a part of me longs to share the weight, to not face this alone.

Arsalan moves with practiced ease, blissfully unaware of the turmoil within me. The aroma of his cooking fills the air, a mix of spices and love that usually brings comfort. I walk towards him, each step feeling like it carries the weight of the world. I wrap my arms around his waist from behind, resting my cheek against the warmth of his back.

He pauses, his hands stilling as he leans back into my embrace. "Hey, everything okay?" he asks, his voice a soothing balm to my troubled thoughts.

"Yeah," I reply, my voice steady despite the churning emotions. "Just needed a hug."

He turns slightly, craning his neck to look at me, concern etched into his features. "You sure? You seem a bit off."

I force a smile, nodding. "Just missing home a bit. But I'll be fine."

He turns fully, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders, his touch grounding me. "We'll be home soon. And until then, I'm here, okay?"

I nod again, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Yeah. I know."

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead before turning back to the stove. I watch him for a moment longer, drawing strength from his presence. I resolve to keep the secret for now, to shield him from the pain, at least until we get back.

As I move to set the table, my mind drifts back to my uncle. I say a silent prayer for his health, hoping for a miracle. And in the quiet of our shared space, I find a small measure of peace, knowing that whatever comes, we will face it together. The clatter of dishes and the soft sounds of Arsalan cooking weave a comforting cocoon around us, a brief respite from the looming shadows.

[Vote + Comment = Quick updates]