Unexpected Love [GXG]

Chapter 44: Astaghfirullah

POV: ENID

Morning comes gently, the way it always does after prayer.

Today is one of those lazy weekends.

The house is still wrapped in that calm that settles right after fajr—lights dim, curtains half-drawn, the world not fully awake yet. The prayer mats are folded and stacked neatly in the corner, the faint scent of incense still clinging to the air. My abaya hangs loose on my shoulders as I turn
toward Hamida.

She’s already buzzing.

I should’ve known.

She sits on the edge of the bed, feet swinging, still wrapped in her little abaya, hijab crooked from where she’d rushed through tying it earlier. Her fingers don’t stop moving—tugging at the hem, smoothing invisible wrinkles, tapping against her
knees.

"So," she says, eyes bright. "Guess what."

I sigh, but there’s a smile tugging at my lips as I reach for her clothes. "Good morning to you too."

"Good morning," she repeats quickly, then leans forward. "Ollie says good morning too."

That makes my hands still for just a second.

I don’t look at her. I reach for her abaya strings instead, fingers steady as I untie them. "Did she?" I ask lightly, like it doesn’t matter.

Hamida nods hard. "In my head. Because that’s what she would say."

Of course she would.

I slide the abaya off her shoulders and hang it over the chair, then gesture for her to stand. She hops up immediately, almost knocking into me in her excitement.

"Arms up," I murmur.

She does, obedient for once, letting me pull her T-shirt over her head. It’s soft cotton, pale yellow with a little flower stitched near the collar. She won’t stop talking.

"She held my hands the whole time," Hamida says. "Like this—" she demonstrates, fingers curling around nothing. "And when I fell, she didn’t even laugh."

I reach for her shorts, guiding one leg through, then the other. "You fell?"

"Twice," she says proudly. "But it didn’t hurt. Ollie said that means I’m brave."

My chest tightens before I can stop it.

I crouch to pull the shorts up properly, smoothing the fabric at her hips. "You had that much fun, yeah?" I ask, carefully. Too carefully.

Hamida nods so hard her curls bounce. "Yes."

The word lands heavy.

She tilts her head, studying me like she always does when she senses something underneath my tone. "I really like her, Nini."

I look up then.

Her eyes are open and honest, the way only a child’s can be—no doubt, no complication. Just truth.

"She’s nice," Hamida continues. "And she listens. And she doesn’t rush me. And she bought me chocolate even though she said Nini said not too much sugar." She grins. "But it was just one."