HER CRUSH

Chapter37

One week later
Zarah...
The sunlight crept into the room, poking me right in the eyes. I groaned, stretched, and immediately realized Abdul was glued to me like super glue. His arm draped across my waist, his leg pinning me down.

"Abdul," I whispered, nudging him gently. "It's morning."

He didn't budge. Instead, he buried his face in my neck and muttered, "Morning is haram. Sleep is sunnah."

I gasped dramatically. "Wallahi, you just twisted Islam for laziness!"

He smirked without opening his eyes. "Prove me wrong."

"Fine," I said sweetly. "I'll just go and finish the leftover chicken without you."

That did it. His eyes snapped open like someone pressed the alarm button. "Chicken ? Where?"

I burst out laughing. "Caught you."

He  rubbed his face, making him look like a lost lion.

"Fine. Let's eat. But don't touch that chicken without me."

Ten minutes later, we were in the kitchen. He insisted on helping, but it quickly became clear the man had zero skills.

"Abdul, do you even know how to crack an egg?" I asked, hands on my hips.

"Of course I do," he said confidently, then proceeded to smash the egg against the counter with such force that half the shell flew into the bowl.

I clutched my stomach, laughing. "Ya Allah! Did the egg offend you?"

"Zarah, don't laugh. This is serious work." He fished out the shell with his fingers, looking so focused I nearly melted.

"You know what?" I teased, "if we ever get stranded on a desert island, we'll both starve. You can't cook, and I can't stop laughing at you."

He narrowed his eyes. "Keep talking. One day, I'll surprise you with  rice."

"Hmm,"I and one day, Tinibu  will cook tuwo for Nigerians. Keep dreaming, my love."

He shook his head, trying not to laugh, and eventually gave up, letting me handle breakfast.

While I fried the eggs, he came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Abdul," I protested weakly, trying to stir the pan. "You're distracting me."

"That's the point," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. His hold tightened, and for a moment the sizzling pan, the smell of onions, everything faded into background noise. It was just us...his arms, my heartbeat, and the warmth of the kitchen.

"You're ridiculous," I murmured, leaning back into him anyway.

"And you," he said softly, kissing my temple, "are my peace."

By the time we sat down to eat, the eggs were slightly burnt on one side, but he swore they tasted like gourmet food just because I made them. He finished his plate in record time, wiping his mouth with exaggerated satisfaction.

"Chef Zarah," he declared. "I'm applying for lifetime membership at your restaurant."

"You'll pay with dishwashing," I said.

He groaned. "This human rights organization really needs to look into you."

I giggled, shaking my head. "Eat your food, Abdul."

After breakfast, he  jingled the car keys like a man on a mission. "Come on, Madam Undergraduate, let's go."

I rolled my eyes. "Stop calling me that. You're making it sound like I'm seventy and just got admission."