Life Without You✔️.

35: Quiet Beginnings

Bibi's POV
Abuja, Nigeria.

The scent of sautéed onions filled the air as Khadijah stirred the pot beside me, humming softly under her breath. I stood by the sink, rinsing a batch of tomatoes, my mind wandering far from the kitchen. It had been a calm three days. Ayman had been with Bilkisu, but he'd called regularly, checking in morning and night, sending over little treats I liked pastries from that café downtown, the rose-flavored ones I never told anyone I loved. I tried not to overthink it.

Just as Khadijah dropped in the diced peppers, the front door opened. My heart stuttered a beat. Khadijah paused and gave me a knowing glance. We both knew who it was.

Ayman.

Moments later, his voice floated in from the hallway. "As-salamu alaikum."

I stepped out of the kitchen, drying my hands on the edge of my apron. "Wa alaikum salam," I replied, just as he appeared. He looked tired, but the moment his eyes landed on me, something softened in his expression.

"I didn't know you'd be in the kitchen by this time," he said, stepping closer. "Sannu, well done Khadijah."

"Ina wuni sannu da dawowa, good evening and welcome back." she replied respectfully.

"You can rest. I'll help out from here," he added.

Khadijah looked between the two of us and gave me a tiny smile before nodding. "Nagode, thank you."

As she slipped away, Ayman dropped his bag in the sitting room and returned to find me by the sink again, now washing carrots. Without a word, he reached for the chopping board and knife, standing beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I was about to tell him I could handle it when he leaned slightly and pressed a soft kiss to the side of my temple.

My entire body froze.

I turned to him slowly, my face a mixture of confusion and something dangerously close to panic. But he only looked at me with this gentle smile. "You look beautiful," he murmured, then nodded toward the carrots. "Do you need help with anything?"

I could barely find my voice. "Just the veggies."

He chuckled lightly, already reaching for one. Every chance he got to brush against me whether handing me something or reaching past me, he took it. But it wasn't overwhelming. It wasn't rushed. It was delicate. And very new.

Once dinner was done, we both headed upstairs to freshen up and pray Maghrib. I still felt like I was holding my breath. But when we returned to the dining area, he pulled out the chair beside him and insisted I sit there.

I complied, wordlessly.

He took a bite, then turned to me with a smile that made me look away. "This is really good. Thank you."

"I'm glad," I mumbled, sipping from my glass.

Halfway through the meal, I decided to tell him. "Uhm Ayman I applied for my masters degree and I'm just waiting for a reply from the school now." I said, quietly.

He looked up. "When did you apply and for what course?"

I nodded. "I think it was the day before yesterday and I picked psychology."

He placed his spoon down gently. "I'm proud of you, Bibi. Wallahi. I really am. Allah ya bada sa'a." He prayed and I muttered an "amin."

That made something warm uncurl in my chest. I tried not to let it show.

After dinner, we cleaned up together a routine we'd never done before but somehow slid into easily. As we dried the dishes, he cracked a joke about the way I arranged the plates, and I elbowed him lightly, half-laughing, half-blushing. I didn't even know where this version of Ayman had come from. But I liked him.

We started up the stairs to retire for the night. Just as I was about to head into my room, he stopped me.

"Bibi?" he said, voice lower now.

I turned. "Will you please move into my room?" he asked. "Or if you're more comfortable in yours, I can move there. I just I want us to be closer. If you're okay with that."

My throat tightened. My room was my haven, my little bubble of safety. I wasn't ready to let him into that space yet. But I could take a step toward him.

"I'll come to yours," I said, finally.

I went into my room, changed into my loose pajamas, brushed my teeth, and picked up a soft scarf before heading into his room. The lights were dimmed. He was on the bed, laptop open, typing something. When I stepped in, he lifted his head and gave me a soft smile before returning to his screen.

I took the opposite side of the bed, heart pounding, and tied my scarf over my head. I lay down, pretending to fall asleep almost immediately, I needed time to process, to breathe.

Later, when I felt the mattress shift slightly, I stayed still. He leaned in slowly, pressed a kiss to my temple the second that night and whispered "good night." and I, I nearly stopped breathing. Did he know I was pretending?

I didn't move. When he woke me for fajr the next morning, I noticed my scarf was missing. Panic rose immediately, but when I looked up, I caught him watching me.

"Is something wrong?" I asked quickly. He shook his head. "No, it's just, this is the first time I've seen you without a scarf." My face went red. I knew it did.

"You have beautiful hair." "Thanks," I muttered and rushed out before I could combust on the spot. After wudhu, I returned, still searching for my scarf. And he was exactly where I'd left him. He looked up and said quietly, "We should pray together." Pointing to the prayer mats he had already laid out.

And we did.

As I stood beside him in salah, hands folded over my chest, I realized this, this new side of him the gentleness, the patience, the softness I was beginning to fall for it. For him. And that scared me in the best possible way.

السلام عليكم
I don't know why but I miss their fights already 😂 writing this chapter feels so wrong😂 but I'm sure you all loved it. Have we forgiven Ayman or not yet🤭? I'm trying to update as much as possible to make up for when I go MIA😂❤️.