Her Awakening

Chapter 35: Awakening to New Year's Eve

The conversation with Jalal about meeting his family turned out to be much easier than I had expected. After that intense moment in the shower where I'd finally surrendered, I knew we needed to address the issue. But Jalal, ever the patient and loving partner, didn't pressure me. Instead, he opened up the conversation with care.

"I know you've been through a lot, Princess," he said in the evening as we sat together on the couch, the soft glow of the evening sun pouring through the windows. "I don't want to push you into anything, especially after everything with your ex. But it's been months now, and I really want you to meet my family. My mum, my sisters... They're dying to meet you."

The sincerity in his voice was so disarming, I felt my walls crumble a little more. The thought of meeting someone's family again after everything I'd been through felt overwhelming, but Jalal made me feel safe.

"I'm just... nervous," I admitted softly, fiddling with the hem of my dress. "What if they don't like me? What if it's too soon?"

Jalal smiled that warm, patient smile of his, the one that made me feel like everything was going to be alright. He took my hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "They'll love you. But if at any point it feels like too much, we'll leave. No pressure, I promise. I just want you to meet them, even if it's casual. We'll keep it light—no big family dinner, no overwhelming introductions. Just a New Year's Eve church service. It's laid-back. My mum's been going there for years, and she's been asking to meet you in person for ages."

I nodded, feeling the anxiety ease away. A church service felt safe—something familiar,

"And In the future, Habibti, I want open communication. If you're reluctant to do something I want to do, tell me so we can talk about it. Through talking we can make compromises and reach a middle ground, okay?".

I nodded my head in agreement, kind of embarrassed at my behaviour. With a kiss to my forehead we made plans for New Year's Eve.

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When the night of New Year's Eve arrived, I spent extra time getting ready. I picked out a simple but elegant dress—nothing flashy, just comfortable enough to make a good impression without overdoing it. Jalal watched me with a proud, adoring smile as I put the finishing touches on my hair.

"You're going to charm them all," he said, his voice low and affectionate as he kissed my shoulder. "You're perfect."

I smiled, though there was still a little nervous flutter in my chest as we drove to the church. The idea of meeting Jalal's mother and sisters weighed on me, even if the setting was meant to be casual. The idea of entering a Lebanese church for the first time added another layer of uncertainty.

When we arrived, the church was already buzzing with activity. The first thing I noticed was how different it was from the West African Pentecostal church I grew up attending with my family. There was a certain quietness here, a serene energy that was unfamiliar yet welcoming. The church wasn't as loud or intense as the ones I'd known—no booming drums or people speaking in tongues, no frenzied dancing or shouting. The atmosphere was peaceful, with soft gospel hymns playing in the background, and families sitting together, chatting quietly as they waited for the service to begin.

Jalal's family greeted me with open arms. His mother, a petite, elegant woman with kind eyes, hugged me the moment she saw me. "Melissa! I've heard so much about you. It's so wonderful to finally meet you," she said warmly, her accent lilting and soft, a blend of Arabic and English.

"Thank you," I smiled, feeling a little more at ease as she led me inside. His sisters—two vivacious women who immediately reminded me of Jalal with their warm, welcoming energy—pulled me into conversation as we made our way to the pews. They were so friendly, asking me about my kids, my job, and how I was adjusting to life post-divorce, that it felt less like an interrogation and more like catching up with old friends.

The service began shortly after we sat down, and it was different from anything I'd experienced before. The pastor—a tall, calm man with a gentle voice—delivered a sermon about new beginnings, about letting go of the past and embracing what the future holds with faith and gratitude. His words resonated with me, especially as I thought about the year I had just survived.

As the congregation swayed to the soft gospel music, I found myself getting lost in the rhythm. The Lebanese church had a different kind of energy—a quiet reverence that felt foreign but comforting at the same time. There were no loud tambourines or fervent prayers shouted to the heavens, but there was a calm that settled over the room, a shared sense of community.

At one point, Jalal's sisters pulled me into helping serve food in the church hall. The church was hosting a small New Year's Eve dinner after the service, and many of the women gathered in the kitchen to help set it up. I rolled up my sleeves and joined in, laughing as I carried trays of hummus, tabbouleh, and falafel to the tables. It reminded me of the potluck dinners back at my family's church, though the food here was definitely different. Instead of jollof rice and plantains, it was shawarma, kibbeh, and pita bread.

"I feel like I'm back in my mum's kitchen," Nadine the younger sister teased, nudging me playfully. "You're a natural."

I laughed, feeling a little more at home. The women in the kitchen welcomed me like I was one of them, and it was nice to feel part of something, even if I wasn't entirely familiar with the customs. Every so often, my eyes would drift to the children running around the hall, their laughter filling the air, and I felt a pang of longing. I missed my kids. I had checked on them earlier, and my mum had reassured me that they were fine, already fast asleep in her arms after insisting they would stay up for the countdown. But still, I wished they were here with me, experiencing this new beginning. No matter what I did mum guilt followed me everywhere.

The countdown to midnight approached quickly, and as the church filled with energy, we all gathered together in the sanctuary, standing side by side. The lights dimmed, and the anticipation built as the pastor led the countdown, his voice blending with the congregation's.

"Ten, nine, eight..." The room was alive with excitement, voices rising in unison.

Jalal's hand found mine, pulling me closer. I looked up at him, my heart swelling with happiness as his eyes, full of warmth, locked onto mine.

"Five, four, three..."

I squeezed his hand, my nerves completely gone now.

"Two, one... Happy New Year!"

The room exploded into cheers, and before I knew it, Jalal was pulling me into a deep, loving kiss. His lips on mine felt like the promise of a new beginning, a fresh start that I hadn't even realised I needed. I smiled into the kiss, feeling light, like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

As the celebration around us continued—people hugging, cheering, and congratulating each other—I stood there, wrapped in Jalal's arms, my heart full. His mother and sisters pulled us into their group hug, all of us laughing as the new year officially began.

"You did great tonight," Jalal whispered into my ear, his hand resting on the small of my back. "I knew they'd love you."

"I think I love them too," I whispered back, smiling.

As the night wore on, and we danced to soft gospel music and enjoyed the food in the church hall, I realised something important. I wasn't sure what the new year would bring, but I knew one thing for certain: I wanted to face it with Jalal by my side.