Bitter Sweet | (Published) ✔

{12} Wait for You

Tasneem Uddin

The bells chimed against the door as Ibrahim and I walked in. The room was partially empty. There were a couple of girls whispering in the corner and a man on his laptop on the other side of the room. Mom was scrubbing at the marble countertop while Dad was on the phone, keeping his voice low to not disturb customers. As Ibrahim walked by my side, the room came to a silent awe, conversations halting.

Ibrahim stood tall and proud. His navy blue suit jacket clung to his body. It was only hours ago when my hands were caressing the hard muscles beneath. I blushed at the thought.

Girl, get a grip, I scolded myself. I noticed the group of girls was hungrily absorbing Ibrahim's look. Their eyes trailed over his body as if they were mentally undressing him. I felt bothered by that.

An arm went around my waist, pulling me to Ibrahim's side. I yelped in surprise. He kept a firm grip on my hip, tightening as he felt me tense under his touch. I felt like I was burning. His touch, it felt so right. I regained my posture and tried to ignore the electric feels surging through my veins. My heart thumped loudly against my chest as he brought his lips to my ear, which was covered by a teal blue hijab.

"Relax," he whispered. His voice was hushed against my scarf, only loud enough for me to hear.

I mutely nodded my head, looking away from him.

He didn't say anything as he pulled away, his arm still at my waist. Mom stopped her scrubbing when she heard the hushed murmurs of the customers. As our brown eyes made contact, her lips slowly twitched into a smile. Dropping the task that she was doing, she walked around the counter and pulled me into her warm embrace. Ibrahim's arm fell to his side and I wrapped mine around my mother's small frame. I missed this, I thought, I missed my family. Mom's floral scent comforted me. It felt like I was home again, back in the arms of those who raised and nurtured me.

"Tasneem!" exclaimed Dad as I pulled away from Mom. "You're home."

I nodded, "Ibrahim wanted to see how the new advertisements and equipment were working so I came along too."

Dad turned to Ibrahim, his smile widened as he shook his hand, "Thank you for bringing her to visit us."

"It was no big deal," said Ibrahim as he looked around the room. "Is everything working here?" he asked my father.

"Mostly, here I'll show the ones I have a few problems with," replied Dad as he gestured to the machines behind the counter.

"Are any broken?" I asked.

Ibrahim had stayed true to his promise and had made some improvements to my parents café. While doing this, he had managed to attract all sorts of customers who were dying to try our specialties now. Ibrahim had paid for some TV advertisements in an effort to get the word out about the café. My parents were more than grateful for the effort that Ibrahim put to make this place popular again.

"Only the milkshake machine. It stopped working this morning," sighed Mom, picking up the cloth from the table to begin cleaning some empty tables.

"I'll see if I can fix it," Ibrahim said, gruffly. He shrugged up his suit jacket, dragging it down his arms. He rolled up his sleeves, allowing his scars to be on full display, and he followed my father to towards the machine. His jacket was neatly placed on the back of a chair.

Mom raised a brow at me. "What happened to his arms?" she whispered.

"I don't know."

"He didn't tell you?" she asked.

I leaned against the counter. "It must have been so hard for him to heal such scars."

"Poor boy," she mused. "Whoever did that to him had some serious problems."