HALF HER DEEN

41. 𝑯𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒏, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒔, 𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖?

Hassan's pov

He looked up at me, his messy curls scattered across his small forehead, eyes brimming with tears, and his mouth quivering as I gently pried my phone from his tiny hands. I could see the impending tantrum brewing, so I quickly handed the phone back, desperate to avoid it.

Instantly, his face lit up with a bright smile, his tiny teeth on display, and I sank back onto the couch, defeated. My phone had been ringing non-stop for the last two minutes, but Zayd was determined to keep it in his possession.

"Z, I need to answer this call, fisabillilah," I pleaded, hoping he'd let me take it without a fight.

My two year old shook his curls defiantly, and in his usual stubborn way, said his new favorite word: "No!" The way he said it was almost cute, but the situation was far from amusing.

With a sigh, I stood up, mentally surrendering, and went in search of the only person who could possibly help me. It was 4 PM, and Halimah had been in the kitchen for hours, preparing Iftaar.

We were halfway through the holy month of Ramadan, a period observed by Muslims worldwide, where we fast from dawn until sunset. Ramadan, the ninth month in the Islamic (Hijri) calendar, is one of the holiest times for us. It's a blessed month where sins are forgiven, and the rewards for good deeds are amplified. Every year, I feel blessed to witness it again.

Today, we had invited over Ayesha and Saleem, Sam and Maria – the usual crew. Halimah had started cooking earlier than normal to make sure everything was ready on time. I'd usually be in the kitchen helping her, but Zayad needed supervision in the living room, and Halimah insisted I stay with him so she could focus on the food.

"Baby," I groaned as I entered the kitchen, dramatically flopping against the counter. She was busy seasoning a large bowl of chicken, her gloved fingers expertly mixing the spices. I watched as she dipped a finger in, tasted it, and promptly spat it out into the sink. The first time she did this during Ramadan, I nearly had a heart attack, thinking she'd broken her fast. But she quickly explained that tasting food doesn't invalidate the fast as long as none of it is swallowed, a rule that had taken me some time to get used to.

"Na'am?" she responded absentmindedly, still focused on covering the bowl of chicken in cling film. She removed her gloves and finally turned to face me.

"Zayd won't give me my phone back, and it's been ringing for the past five minutes!" I whined, stepping in front of her to stop her from moving past me. Instead, I pulled her into a hug, resting my chin on her head.

"Hassan, he's two," she said flatly, staring up at me like I was stating the obvious. "Just take it from him and distract him with something else."

"I tried, but he starts tearing up. You know how that goes."

"Did you try giving him his iPad? Or a snack?"

I blinked down at her, realizing how easily she could solve this, and how little I'd tried. Zayd really had me wrapped around his little finger, and it was showing. Sheepishly, I admitted, "No... I didn't."

She laughed softly, pushing me away with a playful smile. "Babe, I have so much to do. Let me go before I get behind schedule " Her laughter continued as I kissed her face repeatedly, covering her beautiful features in affection.

"Fine, I'll go. But only because I hear my phone ringing again," I relented, dropping my arms from her waist and retreating back to the living room.

When I returned, I found my phone discarded on the floor, and to my surprise, Zayd was now engrossed in the toys I'd initially tried to use as a distraction. I picked up my phone, dusting it off, and quickly checked the missed calls. I dialed back the most recent one, and after just a few rings, it was answered.