Lamia Shah didn't have the light in her life.
Being told that her father was no more and spending her childhood in pain from her abusive mother was enough to shatter any hopes for a better life. The sudden marriage of her mother to a man unknown to...
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Spritzing the last hint of perfume on his toned chest, Mohammad clasped the metal watch around his wrist and examined himself in the mirror.
His dark grey shirt was unbuttoned from the top, his white inner shirt slightly exposed. Beige khakis and white sneakers covered his legs and feet.
Overall, he looked good and ready to impress, as he thought.
"Assaf!" he called out to the other room, giving himself one last glance before making his way out of his bedroom.
"Na'am?"
Footsteps approached his room as they turned louder, and his son stood in front of him the next moment.
The nineteen-year-old boy had thrown over a black T-shirt and light grey shorts which went an inch below his knees. Sunglasses rested in front of his eyes and his feet were covered in matching white sneakers as his father's.
Mohammad smiled fondly at his son.
"Ready?" he questioned.
Assaf messed his hair up in the mirror as he hummed in response.
"Come on," he gestured with his finger to follow him out.
They soon entered their car, him in the driver's seat and his son in the passenger's before he wore his shades and roared the engine to life.
Mohammad was dropping off Assaf to his friend's home on his way, his main destination to one of the few halal restaurants in the city to meet up with his fiancée.
"You're not going to her house, are you?" Assaf questioned with slight unease, thumbs twiddling together.
The man chuckled. "You really think I'm going to a non-mehram woman's house without my son to keep an eye on me?" he said teasingly, giving the boy a sideways glance to see him covering his flushed cheeks by casting his head down.
If Mohammad had to describe his relationship with his son with one word, it would be ideal. Ever since his late wife had passed away a few years back, him and Assaf had grown closer than ever, sharing every bit of their lives with each other after they realised it was just them against the world.
Mohammad stopped the car around the corner just to pull his son's cheek. "Stop blushing."
He swatted his father's hand away.
"It's a restaurant, just to clear your doubts," Mohammad voiced with a teasing tone, causing his son to release a breath.
He pinched his son's cheek again, causing him to bend his head down to somehow avoid the playful torture.
"Khalas," he whined before turning to face the other way, cradling the side of his face he pinched. "sometimes I forget you're actually a grown man in your late-thirties," he sighed. "it feels like you're younger than me sometimes."
