under the covers [hs au]

chapter twenty-five.

Love was a ravenous beast, and it ate at Samira's heart, mind, and soul every single day.

It took a toll on her whenever she slept without Harry. In the room Samira rested in, she tossed and turned relentlessly; not one moment did her eyes shut. Looking to the ceiling, all she could think of was him doing the exact same—eyes tired, hands running through his messy brown hair. She imagined him going on walks without her until he was tired enough to get back into bed. And she didn't enjoy picturing it one bit.

When the sunlight bled through the windows of her hotel room, she was overcome with disappointment; she barely got a minute of sleep. Part of her wanted to cry at how exhausting it was to love a man—she lost her fucking sleep. What was next?

Her body begged her to stay in bed, but she had to start her day correctly. She picked her phone up, scrolling through her phone.

Harry: Good morning, glambysam.

Seeing the picture he sent was enough to make her smile. It was him in his bed, his hair curled and messy. Samira wished she were there to scratch the scruff on his face and kiss his nose like she did every morning.

Samira: Hey Haroon

Harry: I miss you, darling

Samira kept looking at the picture—it seemed he slept better than she did. Maybe he had peace because he told her he loved her. She couldn't say the same.

Fear planted a seed in her brain—she was determined to dig it out before it could sprout.

Samira: i miss u too albi

Samira remained in the comfort of her sweats when she strolled through the London streets. She stopped at a cafe; she had her coffee black, like always, to wake herself up. After walking around some more, she got back to her hotel room and switched into her professional attire. She failed to hide the bags under her eyes—she hoped no one would ask her about it.

Soon enough, she arrived at the door of the bride's room. She didn't know what the bride looked like, but she also hadn't known the groom, her cousin, all that well. But a lot of relatives who 'knew' Samira expected her to be there—she didn't have a choice.

The door opened—Baneen Aunty answered, smiling widely as she let Samira in.

"Salam, Samira!" Baneen Aunty greeted. "Did you sleep well?"

Samira embraced her tight, kissing her cheek.

"Yeah . . ." She mumbled.

"You cut your hair." Baneen Aunty squeezed Samira's hip. "Have you been eating?"

When Samira let go, she made a face.

"What, did I get fat?"

"No, ma, this blazer looks big on you."

Samira looked down at her body. She didn't expect to hear that.

"Oh."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Baneen Aunty led Samira down the hallway. Samira dragged her enormous case for makeup and lighting, sighing deeply—she was already ready for the day to be over.

There was a short, white woman—she was old, with brown hair. Next to her was Samira's aunt, whom she didn't remember the name of—she was short and stout, wearing a purple salwar kameez and excessive kajal.