under the covers [hs au]

chapter forty-four.

Before last month, Samira's heart wilted, like a flower, and she had to dig the dying roots out all on her own. After Ramadan, it taught Samira to plant a new seed and take care of her iman, always, not just for the time it was there.

Now that it began to sprout, she couldn't forget to water it.

During the early morning hours of Eid, Samira ran around the house like a chicken with her head cut off, packing all the homemade sweets and ironing her father's clothes. She was the last to get ready, hands trembling with each movement she made. Her mother bought her an emerald satin dress, which she altered the previous night because it was too big for Samira's hips.

Samira stood in front of the mirror, scowling at her naked, unsightly body as she held the dress in her arms. She contemplated putting it on, pinching the delicate material. The pre-heartbroken Samira would've put it on without a second thought—the Samira now thought fuck it because she couldn't let anything weigh her down anymore.

She then pulled the dress on, adjusting where it fit around her body. Her glower faded just a little when she noticed how the verdure complimented her brown skin.

As Samira's eyes grazed her figure, her face reddened. For once, even as though her body wasn't her cup of tea, she felt good.

She rushed out of the bathroom, hearing her mother scold her for being late. With her hair in silky waves, Samira pinned some strands back. She then pulled out her makeup box quickly, blowing off the layer of dust that sat on it. Fingers shaking, she drew on her eyeliner, taking a few tries to get it right.

Searching for the cherry on top, Samira frowned, noticing her favorite lipstick peeking at her. She stroked the rosewood color on her hand, remembering the man that adored it on her lips. How it would drive him insane, how he'd devour it off her.

Blinking away the stinging in her eyes, Samira tossed it in the trash. She couldn't let that name—Harry—linger in her head anymore.

Clean every trace.

But Samira's heart had trouble obeying her mind's commands; she knew that all too well when she looked to her neck, seeing the sunflower sitting between her collarbones.

Sometimes, she wished to see her sabr pendant there too, but was instead reminded of who had it.

At that moment, she wondered what he did with her sabr necklace. If he pinched it for reassurance like she would. What sort of secrets it knew about him since she'd left. If it hinted that he was only human, he made mistakes and needed to be patient with himself to get better.

Samira wished to have that same token of patience, except now, she needed to imprint it in her mind, with or without it.

It was an untroubled Saturday, so Surat tagged along with them. Right after the Eid khutbah, Samira and her family drove to a gathering. The smell of sweet perfume hindered in the noisy house when they all arrived. As Samira removed her heels, children ran around her, screaming with joy. All the aunties were huddled in one room, while all the uncles conversed in another.

Despite the hammering in Samira's heart, she truly took the time to greet everyone, hugging each aunty. Everyone asked her questions from A to Z, which she was already prepared for because it was expected—especially marriage.

But instead of getting irritated or overly emotional, Samira replied with Insha-Allah. She'd learned to just rely on those words just so her heart would calm down.

Her time would come. Just not now.

Mahnoor sat on a couch, talking to one of their friends. She wore the outfit Baneen Aunty bought her from London; her lips were bright red, and a gold color rimmed her eyes. Samira smiled, thanking God that Baneen Aunty grabbed an anarkali a size bigger. Otherwise, Mahnoor's anticipated child wouldn't have had any room in the outfit—it was already big anyway she could tell by how the sleeves fell over Mahnoor's hands.