𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 | 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝟎𝟏

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 - 𝟎𝟒

ARZO
[6 Months Later]

My peace-filled folding laundry moment comes to an immediate halt when my mother-instinct turns on.

The house is quiet.

Too quiet.

With a toddler who loves babbling and running around the house, the silence was terrifying. Except when we knew she was asleep.

However, she wasn’t.

She woke up from her nap as soon as Faizan came home and refused to be picked up by me when her father came into view. The kid has a radar for whenever her father steps through the front door.

She may have inherited that from me.

I didn’t mind that Maham wanted to stay glued to her father, it warmed my heart in a way I wanted to cry but it also gave me time to do light chores since Faizan would be too occupied to complain about ‘me working too much’.

Abandoning Maham’s half-folded red onesie, one of the many gifts from Rose, I quickly head out of the nursery towards our room.

Faizan is with her so I shouldn’t worry. She probably fell asleep again but considering that kid has a fixed time schedule when it comes to sleeping, it was unlikely.

Unless she’s exhausted and one warm embrace from that man would knock her out in deep sleep. Like me every night.

Like I said, I shouldn’t worry but my mother-instinct still makes me want to go check.

I come to a halt at the entrance of my and Faizan’s room and my heart may as well melt into a puddle.

The scene that greets me is of Faizan praying and Maham, in her green abaya and scarf that my mother gifted her, is copying her father standing on her own small prayer mat that Faizan got her just because she pointed at it when we went to the mall.

A watery smile takes over my lips as I watch Maham watch Faizan kneel and go into sujood from the corner of her eyes. Then she drops herself onto her knees and does the same.

When Faizan sits up, Maham peeks out and does the same then immediately goes back into sujood following her father.

Chuckling, I walk behind them and settle on the edge of the bed as they finish the rest of the prayer.

I was planning on talking to Faizan about how we’re going to put the love and need of prayer in Maham’s heart. It was something that has been on my mind ever since I found out I was pregnant.

I don’t want to force it on her. I want to show how beneficial and beautiful it is so she can fall in love with it. And I wanted Faizan to help me.

But just like every time, this man read me before I could even utter the words.

Ya Allah, thank you for bringing this man into my life.

By the time Faizan says salam, Maham following after, my heart has officially melted into a puddle.

And I think there is water in my eyes.

“Ammi!” Maham exclaims, scrambling onto her feet and padding her way towards me. She drops her hands in my lap, beaming and says, “I pray like baba!”

“You did, beta,” I say, cradling her face and pressing a long kiss on her cheek, “Masha’Allah,” I whisper, Maham lets out a heartfelt giggle.

“What’s wrong, amar?” Faizan asks, his face etched with concern after noticing the moisture in my eyes.

I wave a dismissive hand then point to myself as Maham goes back to settling in her father’s lap, “I think it’s the period hormones.”

His face softens, “come here,” he says, patting the floor space beside him.

I lower myself onto the floor, settling beside him. I rest my head on his shoulder and watch Maham play with the ribbon of her scarf.

Faizan takes my hand, flipping it so that he can recite dhikr on my fingers. I smile.

I will never get over this. I don’t want to.

After he’s done, Faizan threads his fingers through mine, “Are you in pain?” He asks, his thumb grazing my knuckles.

I shake my head, “No, I’m okay,”

“Were you working again?”

I press my lips into a thin line and bury my face into his shoulder, “maybe,”

“Amar.”

“Well, chores aren’t going to do themselves,” I argue, lifting my head up, meeting his eyes.

“I never said that.” He says, ever so calmly. I wish I had that power. “However, we have a housekeeper. You can ask her to do those chores,”

“I can fold my child’s clothes. They’re so small.”

He chuckles. The sound just as beautiful as the smile that follows.

Our attention turns to our daughter when she lets out a tiny grunt, trying to pull her scarf over her head.

Before I can help her, Faizan beats me to it, gently pulling the scarf over her head. He puts the scarf aside, Maham turns and melts into her father’s embrace with a dreamy sigh. Faizan kisses the top of her head, stroking her hair.

I smile as I watch her eyes slowly droop and she snuggles closer to Faizan’s chest.

“She is my daughter,” I mutter under my breath.

Faizan turns his head towards me, “did you say something, amar?”

I shake my head and wrap my arm around his, “Nothing, meri jaan,” I say with my heart full.