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My heart lifts over the waves of filth about to envelope it as my mind goes over a series of events that brought me to where I am today.

It has been a hectic lifetime.

Life took the most excruciating route in teaching me lessons. But the ones I value the most are the gift of life. The gift of love. The gift of growth and healing.

The gift of life taught me to go out of my way for the ones I love because, at any moment, they could be taken from me.

The gift of love taught me I am worthy of the good things and I don't have to go through ill-treatment or blatant disregard of my feelings as a test to affirm my worthiness.

The gift of growth and healing taught me yet again, the most. I spent my insecure years trying so hard to be perfect and successfully folded. My therapist had said and I now believe-nobody was ever thinking about you, it's all in your head.

Everyone is so caught up in their own drama. I might've drawn attention those painful years back but that attention had faded in less than the time I had imagined. Much like losing my parents, how everyone forgot about them and went on with life.

For growth, I have made peace with most of the things I thought I never would. I stood before a door and promised never to imprison myself again. The realization that some people and things will stay the same and it's not my job to fix them gave me my liberation.

For healing; what brought about my marriage. My yearning for peace overpowered my inherent self-destructive nature; bringing about a necessary discipline to practice.

As the corrigle wounds I have gathered began to heal, the motion set ablaze antagonists to my advancement and unshackled the positives I was worthy of.

And I am learning that I am healing, I am whole and I am enough.

Out my damn mind, I am grateful for not looking like what I went through. But I am more grateful for who I ended up with.

Sadiq.

Two weeks later, an hour or so to landing in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia considering we were hellbent on not wasting more time when my semester has begun a week back, we get to complete heated acts that innocently began in the fern-themed and choco-scented lodge we had reserved for our day stay.

I am a sinner.

One who repents. But still, a sinner. I find my acts not worthy enough to ask for heaven but I still do. After all, it is only Allah's infinite mercy that will save us. But for the minutes precedent to it and during it, I experience what I deem fit to be heaven.

I say this preceding numerous times which were spent getting used to the uncomfortablility before we both were ready to let go.

Long hours stretch into the night and that is when Sadiq spontaneously lays me down like a sacrificial lamb. I am caught in the fit of it, his fingers, the agony of pleasure warming me up until I am sure the entire width of the sheets needs a special wash day.

It is unbelievable the gift he has, the gift of reading the spot between my legs and not leaving a single word behind. Each word, sentence, paragraph, is carefully, and licentiously catered for. No alphabet untouched.

A smile takes over my face. Then it morphs into one even I have no words for. My eyes had long lost their composure, rolling to the back of my head as my back arched and my toes curl.

All I can concentrate on is nothing. I have lost it all, my senses- the one with over eight thousand nerves being stimulated.

My legs close on the damp skin of his neck, clutching him but pushing his head away with my hands. I can't decide. I am caught in the in-between.

I release a pleasant sound once I jerk back and he jerks me forward, grunting and licking the juice coating his mouth. The spontaneous laugh I release unleashes his sudden swiftness.

One minute he is kneeling before me and the next his fingers are responsible for his knicker flying to a destination I don't care for. It's the kiss that awakens me again and I am shaking before I can see it coming.

Whatever he did before, he is doing it again to my lips and all I do is take it. My legs are split apart in what I'll learn to call a habit as I welcome him home. Pull him in.

Our longing for one another filters to pure lust and this isn't like all the other times.

Sadiq understands me more than I do myself, he holds me down.

At the onset, our lips filter an O at once, our eye contact impossible to seize. It is as if my preceding moan is fuel to him.

My hand flies to his damp chest, splaying on them as I call him out in my stripped voice, all the air was knocked out of my lungs. "Sadiq-"

"Yes, baby,"

"It's -"

"I know," his eyes are clouded by lust and his words are jumbled between pleasurable grunts. It sinks in that he is too far gone to reason with him.

So am I. My thighs tense at the sudden roll of hips into mine and I clutch him, digging my nails into the skin of his back and wishing he would be eternally buried within me until I can never forget this wealth of pleasure.

I don't think we'll ever grow tired of this but that does not apply to my throat. It is damaged by cries, gasps, and spontaneous laughs. Sadiq will be paying for the damages.

It takes me by surprise how my body flipped in a matter of seconds with my arms immobilized on either side of me. My back arches in as the sudden boost pushes me into overdrive. I am too weak to fight it, I pulsate beneath him, feeling knees on my shin and the hands on my arms holding me down tighten. I would collapse and tremble if not for Sadiq's strong hold on me although I doubt I am any good at controlling my trembles and jumbled cries.

I can't run nor hide, so my only option is to fling my head back and forth while my fingers claw the sheets.

***

My first post on Instagram after about six years is a picture of my smooth and clear facial side view with a direct view of the Ka'abah.

It took a lifetime of convincing and reassurance from Sadiq. Without his words, no amount of gathered courage in the world would be enough for me to press the post button.

In Sadiq's attempt at making this huge step for me easier, he suggested a combined post. A feature on Instagram that I will forever be indebted to.

As if the phone was blazing steel, I threw it away and thankfully, Sadiq caught it, seeking what was wrong with me and why I would do that.

I wasn't going to admit how scared and nervous I was as this was something I never was; at least when it came to social media. I post and people like, comment, and share. More so, it was hardly a me-picture. I went more for family, views, side views, aesthetics, and so on.

And now I am here, posting a no-filter picture for the first time in years. The thought of what was to come was overwhelming and a part of me knows I am overreacting but I can't help it.

Our first rule for our stay in Saudi was that I and Sadiq would minimize our screen time as much as possible. We were here for worship, to bow, kiss the floor of the Mecca and Medina Masjids, show our appreciation, shower blessings on the prophet, and ask for forgiveness and jannah for the whole ummah while still praying for our long-lost loved ones.

This made it easier and my husband took it up a notch, setting our phones on do not disturb as we performed our Umrah rituals and operations.

My anxious self gets to sit still on a couch back at our reserved hotel after a long day of worship as I gape at my phone, unable to move nor unlock it.

"Amani."

I raise my eyes and settle them into Sadiq's determined ones. Those eyes seek wordless questions I have no answers to so I avert from them.

"We shouldn't have done this," I say instead, dumping my phone face down unto the coffee table beside me.

"You're thinking too much," his back raises from the headboard and I turn to watch his shoulders tense, his muscles flex. He nods, sandwiching his phone between both palms with a clap and unfolding his legs. "But you're right. I pushed you too soon. We're here," he gestures at our surroundings, "In this holy and peaceful place. Social media shouldn't be our concern. Especially if it'll occupy our minds and push us to overthink."

It is almost shocking how calming I find his words as my breathing slows and so do the pessimistic thoughts raging through my head.

"I shouldn't have shoved you to go back to how things were..." It seems like a task for him to keep going so I nod, lifting my palms towards him in encouragement.

Moments of vulnerability are what I seek more from this relationship. I am satiated with the feeling that Sadiq can trust me. Knowing how hard it is for both of us to express our emotions and feelings verbally without feeling like a shard of glass is stuck to our throats makes me internally jubilate at the progress I am charmed to witness.

"For that, I am sorry."

What began with tensed shoulders concluded with hanging ones and a comfortable quietness smearing around us.

I find it easier to not say, 'It's okay,' more often than I need not. Most times, After evaluation of my thoughts, it comes forth clear to me that a lot of things I said were okay or fine were not and so was Sadiq's pushy attempt at retrieving my lost media confidence all at once and especially-like he said, in this peaceful place.

"Apology accepted." I smile fully, eyes and mouth and it pushes a smile on Sadiq's face too. I waste no time in asking, "How are you feeling?" I further my query, "Forget the media, I mean about being here. Us being here."

We haven't had time to sit and talk about it. I know I am imposing my newly formed habits on Sadiq but he signed up for it. This version of me likes to talk about things, the good and the bad. But chiefly the good. I want to hear his thoughts and share my mind-blowing ones too and he doesn't disappoint.

"I feel..." it begins with a trail, "I feel ecstatic. I feel like I am floating and this is a dream," Sadiq raises an exceptional index, "One I hope I never wake up from," which pushes a cackle off the both of us and he continues. "You...you feel like a dream, Amani. I've always wanted this, wanted you and now that I have you, I keep wondering what I did to deserve you. You deserve so much better and I promise I'll try and be better but..but—" he is in front of me now but with his eyes up, almost in search of the words to grab and feed it to himself just to spit it on me again. He doesn't find it so he tuts, "Ughh." And bends into me, first sliding his arms around my waist and swiftly lifting me.

My body prostates to his call with a gasp and I wrap my arms around his neck to keep me from falling off.

Sadiq seems to be high. High in love. And I'd be lying to say I wasn't.

My healing journey has made me a good conversationalist. I was always the talkative with Sadiq and now, look what I've turned him into.

It is only fair I tell him what has been running through my mind but I do that once he finishes swirling us in the air of the intense cinnamon and berries-scented room and places me on the bed. I fall on my side from the dizziness and his body mirrors my action.

Our heaving breaths slows but our raging hearts continue to beat for one another.

"This..." I begin but pause, needing to calm down more. I give myself time, and rest, i go gentle until I am ready. "This is the beautiful life I've always dreamt of." I sigh, contented and he does the same.

I go first and he follows, bursting into fits of giggles. Mine is because this is a man that stands before hundreds of people in lavish clothing with a determined stance and presents projects, and signs deals with plentiful of people I probably would never meet in life but here he is, a sick, cheesy lover boy with me, both in light pajamas as we float in the beatific and euphoric whiff of love.

"It eases my heart to know that your name," I poke my index into his chest and his palms fly to grasp it and glue it to him, He "Was written next to my name before earth came to life. My heart," I stir more effort for him to release my fingers just for me to grab him and lay his palm on my braless chest. Half on my hot temperature boob and half above my racing heart, "My heart is at peace knowing the wait was worth it all and I am with you."

Sadiq's big pupils never cease from mine and if not for our heightened senses, I wouldn't grasp our slow but downright rise in temperature. It was hot. We were hot.

It is as if he stares at me like he does a business deal. Solid on investing. Investing in my love, in our love. Knowing well that the gains will be more than the pains and the interest he won't lose. We won't lose. Not to anyone in life.

His almost weak fingers lift from my chest and find a home on my face, his thumb stroking my somewhat divine face, at least from his entranced face. I think I hear a crack in his voice when he says, "Allah has given me a chance to love you with all my heart." He squeezes my face, "And I will, my love. In all," he makes sure to crack up both up by dragging the 'all' in all his exaggerating might, "Pains and health, joy and sadness."

I want to live here forever. Cut these minutes of my life and put them on an everlasting loop because these are the moments we live for. Moments we'd die for. And live for, again.

I suggest we pray salatul shukr instead of bursting into tears. I know I am now all about vulnerability but I'd rather fall to my knees and forehead when I feel so close to Allah and cry a river of joy and gratitude to him.

A few raka'ats of gratitude are what we've turned into a routine since the first night we landed in Saudi. We humans have no way of denying our lords blessings but ultimately no way of showing gratitude to him other than our acts of worship which is again, another bonus to save ourselves and seek ranks in Jannah.

We perform wudhu and spread our prayer mat. We offer prayers, each showing gratitude to our lord in our words before we did a combined supplication for a peaceful, loving- long-lasting, and successful marriage that ends when death does us apart.

I see us.

Me and Sadiq alone, bringing forth the unique seeds of peace.

Yet I would be the biggest bigot if I do not admit that all this peace I keep obsessing about wouldn't have enveloped me had I not taken that journey towards my deen. Had I not realized the missing peace I sought even after all the therapeutic sessions, the self-help books, the writing, the growing, and the healing, was a result of my missing prayers.

Peace never fully located me until I located my five daily prayers, my Quran, my deen, Islam, the way and only way of life.

It is a misconception that I attained once Allah placed a quench for peace in my heart that being tested by Allah was not hatred of us by Allah. Rather, it is one of his purest means of cleansing us all.

His tests are his invites to snuggle closer to him, seek him, not drag away from him or seek temporary and fatal comfort from worldly drugs or alcohol, fornication, or parties that only throw us closer to hell.

My biggest takeaway from this all is that Allah could decide to grant us the worldly gift; riches, power, and the lot of it. And it could still be our greatest loss so long as we don't have the heavenly gift; Prayer, Quran, belief in the oneness of Allah, a strong deen, Islam.

It is with the need to tell my story to those seeking respite from Allah's test from anything or anyone other than him, that I fall asleep on the pillows of Sadiq's chest, the one polish that I apply to make me sparkle.

One more chapter, we say bye🙃