Life Without You✔️.

43: Study breaks & Checkpoints

Bibi's POV
Abuja, Nigeria.
3 months later.

It's strange, isn't it? How life can feel completely different and yet exactly the same all at once.

It's been three months since we got back from Qatar, and I still find myself waking up some mornings just... grateful. Grateful for the stillness. For the quiet. For the way things have started to make sense again. There's a softness to our days now, a rhythm I never imagined we'd find so easily. But here we are. Ayman and I—we're no longer just two people adjusting to each other. We're building something that feels like it was always meant to be.

He makes it easy to breathe. To smile. To feel safe. Sometimes I catch him watching me when I'm reading or praying or even when we're out or eating, and in those quiet moments, I realise how deeply I've fallen into this life we've made together. It's not loud or dramatic. It's calm. Warm. Real.

School, on the other hand, has gone from zero to intense. Every class is packed, every assignment feels heavier than the last. It's like the professors sensed I was finally stable and decided now was the time to go full throttle but I was glad this semester was almost over. But I don't mind it as much as I used to. I still get tired, still complain, but I have a goal. And more than that, I have someone cheering me on—even when he's quiet about it.

Sometimes I wonder how we got here. How something that started with so much uncertainty has turned into this—love that doesn't demand, but wraps around you gently.

The evening light filtered in through the curtains like it had something soft to say. I sat cross-legged on the carpet, books scattered around me like fallen dominos—Logic, History, Philosophy, all talking over each other in my head. My highlighter had run dry an hour ago, and I'd been using a blue pen to underline everything I vaguely understood, which wasn't much at this point.

The front door clicked open, and in came the scent of his cologne before I even saw him. Ayman.

"Ya Allah, you're studying again?" he said, toeing off his shoes like he lived in a constant state of admiration. "I thought this exam would be over by now."

"I have one paper left and It would've been if your ancestors didn't invent logic," I muttered, not even looking up.

He laughed—that laugh—and crossed the room to kneel beside me. His hand brushed gently through my braided hair, now finally growing back. Alhamdulilah. The tender pride in his eyes made my chest warm.

"You're doing amazing, my love. The world doesn't deserve this level of brilliance."

I groaned and leaned into his hand like a cat. "I feel like my brain is melting. I can't even remember what a syllogism is anymore."

"You don't have to. You just have to pass. And when you do, we're celebrating so hard they'll write headlines about it."

I smiled despite myself. "You're annoying. But effective."

He leaned in closer, his forehead brushing mine. "You know, I could sit here and watch you study all night. You make it look beautiful—even when you're tired."

I rolled my eyes, but my heart was thudding like he'd whispered something far more scandalous. "I probably look like a mess."

"You look like my home," he said quietly.

That stopped me cold. My breath caught, heat rushing to my cheeks. He said it like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

He tilted my chin up and pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose. "Come on. Just a few more pages. Then I'll quiz you. And after that... I'll bribe you with mango ice cream and back rubs."