On the wet sand beside the seashore, the strong, tall man was laying with a cigarette in his hand. His bike parked a few feet away from him. The environment there was serene and noiseless as no one was allowed then on the beach that he owned. It was...
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September 30
Whimsy Haven, a café, a library, a sanctuary of creativity and warmth. The soft murmur of conversations blended harmoniously with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the subtle rustling of pages being turned.
Each corner of the café held a different story, from friends engrossed in lively discussions to artists lost in their creations. The mismatched armchairs and vintage lamps created a cozy ambiance that invited patrons to linger, connect, and explore their creative passions.
The cozy place of literature was not just a place; it was a sanctuary where imagination danced freely, and friendships bloomed amidst the shared love for art, literature, and heartfelt conversations.
Habiba, nestled in her corner, knitted, delicately intertwined the mint and faded pink wool with unwavering determination and serene patience. Each stitch, guided by her keen eye for detail, wove a story of love and yarn. The gentle click-clack of needles was a soothing rhythm, echoing her dedication for this new skill she had learned from her mother in law, her perseverance shining through despite occasional fumbles.
Another pair of eyes were settled on her, captivated by the woolen creation taking shape in her hands. His sky-blue orbs shimmered with appreciation and pride, seated across the table, with his hands neatly folded across his chest, wearing a black shirt that accentuated his composed demeanor. His gaze often lingered on her face, adoration blatantly etched in his expression, a silent testament to the love he held for her.
The remnants of an unfinished cheesecake and a discarded box of chocolates scattered across the table, whispered the volume of their lingering moments in the café.
She set her belongings down with playful grace, her eyes alight with mischief as she relished another bite of the cheesecake. Her cheeky smile caught his attention, and he responded with a subtle lift of his left brow, his amusement quietly conveyed.
Bathed in the soft glow filtering through the vintage light by the window, she sat with her round belly prominently displayed in a snug maternity dress. In her seventh month of pregnancy, the anticipation of the three little miracles she carried imbued her with a warmth that seemed to illuminate the room.
She appeared extra cuddly, her cheeks delightfully rosy against the delicate fabric of her dress. With every shift, her smile grew brighter, her happiness radiating outward like a gentle, glowing beacon.
“Your babies are hungry,” she said with a light shrug, savoring another spoonful.
His gaze, filled with pride, profound love, and adoration, remained on her. She, the love of his life, was carrying their child. He vividly recalled the moment she had broken down like never showing him the pregnancy report, her eyes wide with a mix of nervousness and awe.
The weight of the news had been immense, and as he saw her overwhelmed by the enormity of it all, he was rendered speechless. Overwhelmed with happiness and surprise, he had engulfed her close, close to his body, to his soul. Unable to utter a single word, the sheer magnitude of the moment had left him flabbergasted, his joy too vast for mere words.
