Amani

Today, I petition for a change in Cappadocia's tribute to be the city of love, not Paris. This is the place me and Mine have planned to visit not just a year after our first meet up, unbeknownst of all the trials life was going to throw at us.

It is with great honor, that I attach the attribute, the city of love and pottery, to Cappadocia, and no, nothing is changing my mind about it.

Over the course of our two weeks long stay in Saudi, I managed to push myself and reinstall Instagram on our last day thereafter. I had a panic attack at the bursting notifications coming in from the likes, dm's, and reposts I got. How nice and hypocritical.

My favorite sentence for this vacay-sorry, honeymoon was and will continue to be, "Oh no, my husband's paying for it," as I pick everything I feel the urge to possess.

I was introduced to more fun and euphoric activities with my lover than I could've ever pictured. True to the saying, 'You don't know it until you experience it.' But the top emerging best was the balloon ride and pottery.

With pottery, my body was hot throughout the session; accounting to the fact that I had begun my immature carving of the clay and the know it all, you already know who took it personally to see that I did it right.

If you ask me, it was another excuse to close in on me, tease me, and make me crave his touch throughout the long and excruciating day we had ahead of us. It was an intense game, and each was conniving enough to seek and take one step ahead of the opponent.

My opponent prods me up, sliding and settling on my seat, then pulls me down unto his widened lap.

My temperature rises and I curse my body for betraying me, my heart almost leaping out of my chest. I curse myself for choosing to wear this milk-shade fleece gypsy top and wide-leg pants underneath my camel coat. I had thought of no scenario that would require me to get rid of my coat to reveal this outfit that showcases most of my shoulders until this pottery house promised us a warm reservation and they didn't disappoint. I couldn't risk sweating or defiling my coat.

Sadiq wets his hands and proceeds to clasp them over mine, guiding my fingers as he takes the lead to whatever it was we were carving.

It doesn't stop there, his beard is perched on my bare shoulder and it gives him room to make sounds from the back of his throat that seeps through my ears.

The alarm is blaring over my head and I shiver every once in a while, careful not to be too loud as our poor tour guide was caught between taking pictures of us and averting his gaze.

It is crazy how we got from being afraid of losing ourselves by coming close to each other and now being so intimate with each other in front of everyone-someone.

My hands follow his lead until I couldn't hold it any more.

"Is that a bulge I feel?" My tone is low, my breath landing on his ear and my butt making a deep and unnoticeable move on his pulsing bulge. I feel him, how this is not just torture to me, but more torture to him.

"Is that you...grinding on me?" He throws, moving back until our lustful eyes meet and I am first to accept defeat. I turn away from his torturous and promising eyes.
I can't deal with this.

My divided focus settles on the work of art in front of us. Our fingers mold it to what we picture ourselves once we find the much-needed privacy we deserve.

And until this brewing fire in us finally sets free to an expulsion deep into the night, we don't get to sit with our senses straight.

I know bliss, and this is one of the ultimate forms of it.

"Someone said they've been thinking about you," Sadiq says as his arm around my bare shoulder pulls me closer to him.

"Who?"

He answers my question by sticking his phone at my face. It is a comment under our post.

Again, and this time not under the influence of Sadiq, I have posted a picture of us, pushing the media into a holocaust.

Growing over habits begins with stopping those habits, even if it is one step at a time. To overcome my social fright, posting a magazine-worthy picture of me and mine at the pottery house from earlier was my first step.

It came as a shock for most people; one because not a lot of people knew I wed over four weeks back as I neither reposted the stories that tagged me, even Nadeen's and Sabrin's and also made sure I restricted being tagged. Two, because it had been five years since my activeness.

First, I post a magnificent picture of myself, a first in history picture without my signature black and white filter, then less than a week later, I post a picture of me sitting butt to lap on Sadiq without any official announcement of our wedding?

My followers surged by over 2 thousand in a matter of 12 hours.

I pick up my phone, sticking my fingers all over the screen to the post in search of the comment.

Interesting.

I skipped the comment Sadiq was talking about, reading a few;

Are you guys married?

A comment went under it,

Yes, they got married last month.

A few others read,

Isn't this the girl he got arrested for few years back?

this you @amani_theexplorer ?

I always knew their love would conquer, this was a comment from Sabrin and I moved to a more comfortable position to reply to her.

I replied to Nadeen's comment, How did you guys do it🥺, with heal, my love. Heal first. I meant it as no joke and hope people take my reply and implement it. It's what got me here.

I read others from Walid, Akram, Hafiz, Basma, Fadila, Jays, and even Umma, replying to their prayers with amen and finally reposting their reposts.

"Why does your mum have to see this dan iskan picture of ours and even like and comment her prayers on it?" I voice my first thought at his mother's comment, Masha Allah my babies😍 May Allah bless you and reunite us all in Jannah.

Sadiq's chest vibrates against my head, his howl of laughter pushing my disgusted face into a half smile.

"We can ask her if you want." He offered and I hit his offer away with a tut. I know how the idea that Sadiq wanted to marry me after all these years came off in her eyes. A part of me believes she has just given up and put her trust in Allah that we won't be a disaster.

"How can I ever look at her again?" I ask this one question I've been asking myself.

"You'll live."

It consumes all my time feeling the love I hadn't expected radiate through my media. Although exceptions applied to people who believed we were in a haram relationship, but I'll leave them to their sins.

This is home and if that makes the world jealous- jealous that it can't accommodate me and the only right and dwelling space for me is in Sadiq's heart, So. Be. It.

Sadiq excuses himself from me, from what began as a pleasant call from the only family of his that I will never like, Muhammad Yakasai. I continue to scroll through my phone.

It is until the call lasts too long that I rise from the scrambled sheets coating my nude skin. I gather it around myself as much as I can and call out Sadiq to no answer. A lack of response equaled my surge for one, I seek to find him stiffened on the accent chairs on the balcony.

"Are you okay?"

My question is answered with a jerk, his eyes meet mine and I instantly know something is up. The chilly night atmosphere around us falls into dreadful silence despite the sound of airwaves and those drivers that do not sleep.

I step on the cold tiles, my breath ceased and my muscles rigid.

"What is it?" I ask again and he sucks in a breath. My cynical thoughts are already accumulating, the most dominant being, 'Who died?' as nothing in the world is capable of making Sadiq this upset in a matter of minutes

"Don't keep anything from me, Sadiq."

"You're not going to like it."

"That makes me eager to know." I retort, walking to him and squatting in front of him.

Sadiq sighs, studying me and I study him back. This must be grave news since he is here, in his boxers, under this chilly night and I sense nor see any sign of discomfort without regard to whatever it is he is withholding from me.

"It's your mom." He says, almost fearfully, and afterward opens his phone.

The three-word sentence knocks the breath out of me. My hand reaches to clasp my throat as a heavy feeling settles in my stomach.

"My..." The words are stuck, almost like I am being held underwater. My mom is dead, wasn't that established?

"Kawu was um..." Sadiq trails off at my expression. He curses, reaching for me and clasping me, holding me from falling unto him.

I haven't heard a thing and I am already falling apart.

"It's best if you don't know, Amani."

"I want to," I oppose, grasping his arms and pulling him to me, "I need to know."

We share eye contact for what seems like forever and I shake him, "Sadiq. Tell me, tell me, tell-"

"They found something okay-" he releases a shaky breath and I nod for him to continue. "Kawu was working on a new case that required him to go through your case. He found...he just-He fou-"

"What did he find, Sadiq?" I try not to yell, emphasizing each word and catching my breath.

"The person who hired the...the waiter that spiked your drink at Jays' book launch. It was..." It is like he is afraid I'll fall apart if he says it so he holds me tighter and I do the same. Our eyes sync and he says, in a low voice, "It was your mum. She made the transaction. She hired the waiter to spike your drink."

And fall apart is what I do.

"No...no..." It was your mum... "no..." She made the transaction... "Sadi-noo...it's a-" She hired the waiter to spike your drink... "It's uh-it's a lie..."

It was your mum...

It was your-

It was-

Mommy? Impossible.

-THE END OF THE DWELLING-

I know what you want to ask, "Ammy! Book 2!" Waii🫠🫠 i don't promise that but

Please do answer these questions;

Who was your favorite character?

What was your favorite scene?

While reading, did you foresee the killer or were you shocked finding out?

What message did the book pass?

What lesson have you learnt from this book?

What did you like about the book?

What did you not like about the book?

What can i improve about the book or my writing?

Any advice, message, or critic for me?

Any genre you'd like me to write on? Crime? Royalty? Politics?

The questions will help me grow and improve, i hope you know that.

Now that you're here, i want to say a big thank you for giving my book a chance. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Allahumma barik! I hope i see you in my next book, next book and next next book, insha Allah. Until then, stay safe and stay away from these men that make bare minimum seem a luxury. Be like Amani, don't settle😗