It takes me a few seconds to process my sister's words through the grogginess.

"Your husband's here."

I don't even open my eyes. 

Since I resigned from the job last month, I haven't heard one word from him. Sure, I blocked his number, but he could have reached any of my family members, or myself very easily. I turn on my other side to block my sister's voice.

She shakes me harder. "Ihsan! I'm serious, he's outside beeping so loud, and if you don't get to him before mom, it won't be good."

My mother really hates him right now. If she were to get to him first, she would yell so loud our neighbours ten streets over would hear her, and she'd probably end up chasing him with a broom and a string of insults.

But—

he's not here.

"let me sleep!" I yell under the blanket.

My younger sister yanks it and I turn to glare at her. "ihsan, I know we don't get along. But I'm not joking. he's actually here. He told me to get you."

I look at the clock behind her.

That's when I hear the loudest beep I've ever heard in my quiet neighborhood, at five in the morning, and it occurs to me that this might really be him. He could do something like this to get someone's attention. Sometimes, this man has no shame.

And no fear of my mother.

I quickly rise, put my glasses and hijab before looking out the window. And sure enough, I spot a small white car than can only be his. What is he doing here?

For my own good more than his, I grab my black abaya, some slippers, and get dressed halfway down the stairs as I'm taking them two at a time. As soon as I open the door, he lowers the window.

"get in" he says, "quick."

"no."

"please, I wanna talk to you."

"we can do it from here."

"Your mom is coming." Sure enough, when I look up, the light in her room is on.

I open the door noncommittally. As soon as I get in, he drives away.

When he leaves my neighbourhood and continues driving, I finally break the silence. "Where are you going? You said we'll talk."

"I broke off the engagement." He says, still making no sign that he'll stop.

I laugh dryly. "you're always too late, Rafiq. And it really pisses me off that you think you can play with my feelings, then tell me you fixed it and I'll forgive you. What if I don't want to?"

"I'm sorry, I know you never liked her, and I always disregarded your feelings but now I see what you meant."

He switches lanes and gets on this huge road that seems to lead to the... airport. He doesn't catch my puzzled look.

"My dad and stepmom wanted me to marry her when they knew you moved out. And you know, my mother always thought her and I would get married. When they proposed the engagement, I said I'd think about it. can you blame me for considering it when I thought you didn't want to live with me anymore? That you've been..."

He continues quietly "Thinking about divorce?"

I don't answer. "I thought about it the weekend you left, but when I went to work on Monday, I decided I wouldn't go with it. But she was at the office, and frankly you were there too, and things spiralled down before I could officially call it off."

"Anyways, I don't want to marry her. I've only ever wanted you."

"Where are we going?" I say, when I realize we're really close to the airport. He doesn't answer me, and five minutes later we pull into the airport parking lot. Then he turns off the car, and folds one leg to face me.

"You love to travel. And you know that I am terrified of flying. I cannot stand it. But a few months back, I planned a trip to Santorini and went to therapy to try overcoming this fear. It was going well, but the week before, when I was getting ready to surprise you, I worked myself up too much because of stress and ended up in the hospital."

My eyes bulge out of my head. Even the doctors couldn't figure out how a healthy 30-year-old with no history of heart disease or smoking could suffer a heart attack. It was because of that?

"I'm ready to try again. We have a short flight to Montreal because I know you love that city. I also packed you a suitcase, and I've brought you shoes because I figured you probably would be wearing slippers."

He lifts the bottom of my abaya, and smiles. "I knew it."

He hands me a brand-new pair of dunks. "what's in the suitcase?" I ask jokingly.

"Some stuff is new, but most is from the house. You didn't take everything." His smile falls towards the end.

I sit back straight again. "I don't understand the point of this trip. Why?"

he reaches for one of my hands, but I pull away slowly. I'm not ready to be that close to him. I need to keep my clear judgement because if my body remembers how it feels like to be close to him, I will stop being logical.

He acts unphased. "I want you to know that I'm serious. I don't want any other woman. I want to try to make this work with you. So, I'm trying something you've always loved, but terrified of for your sake."

After a moment, he adds, looking down "I'm sorry. I know I really hurt you."

A month ago, I was ready to fight for this. But I've had a lot of time to think since then. For us to end up here in the first place, we must not have gotten along as well as we thought. and I'd sensed that our marriage was falling off the seams, but divorce? That never seemed a possible ending for us. Besides, his family wants him to be married to someone else. And while in the movies, you are taught to go against everyone's wishes if you really want to do something, it seems like a lot of friction to go against in real life.

We stopped getting along as well as before. My family does not think it's a good idea to be together, and quite frankly, me too. It doesn't even seem to be a good reason to go on the trip right now. It's all just rubbing the knife in the wound.

Rafiq understands my silence. "I know I messed up real bad this time. But please come, and make a decision after the trip. and whatever it is, for better or worse, I'll accept it."

"What made you think flying was a good idea? What if it's too much?"

I still remember how sick he felt during our honeymoon flight. He was livid, sweating profusely and clutching my hand like I was his only source of salvation. It would have been funny if he hadn't looked so terrified.

Rafiq is so nervous to board planes, that if he ever has to fly somewhere, he invites the people he wants to see here instead of going overseas himself.

"It won't be." he says, getting out of the car and grabbing the suitcases from the trunk.

"But what if it is?" I come around.

He grabs my shoulders, his eyes playful. "Ihsan, everything will be alright." And he flexes, flexes, in the middle of the parking lot, in the dawn sunlight.

I run away. "I can't believe you've just done that."

I hear him laugh from the other side of the car, rolling our suitcases in the morning light . "Let's go, Suha."

Security is a breeze. After grabbing a light breakfast, we are seated onto the plane. When the pilot announces takeoff, Rafiq grips my hand so hard my knuckles turn white. His eyes are forced shut, and his forehead is sweaty.

After we are safely into the air, he relaxes his grip on me, and falls asleep on my shoulder.

Thirty minutes into flight, Rafiq wakes up from his nap puking on me. puke is the single thing I hate most in the world. I cannot take its smell, or the texture.

But surprisingly, it doesn't make me angrier at him to have agreed to this flight. If anything, I feel bad for him, for putting himself through so much for me.

Yes, I love travelling. And I would love to do it with him, but we can take it slow. He doesn't have to put himself through all of that all at once. It hurts me to see him so hurting.

That's when I decide that we're not taking the return flight back home.

And that I will fight for us. But he doesn't need to know that yet.

"You must hate me more." He says, after the flight attendant leaves with our spoiled tissues.

I pretend to think about it. "Well..."

He blows a sigh, and when I look at him he seems to believe. That's when I grab his face him in all seriousness.

"The only way I won't hate you is if you cancel our evening flight. We'll take a an intercity bus."

"but —"

"I'll give us another chance if you do that. Please. You don't have to put yourself through that."

Rafiq finally stops arguing, and nods, slowly. It hurt my heart to see this 5'9 man laying limply in his seat just to make me happy. You shouldn't push yourself that far for a relationship. Where's the balance?

He lays his head on the headrest and grabs my hand, thoughtful. "you're right."

—-

And we're back. What do you think will happen next? Will the peace last?

I feel like Rafiq is redeeming himself, you know. Or is he? 👀

Anyways it was fun to write this chapter. Really loved it. I'm excited for you guys to read what's next.

By the way, I was wondering what day of the week would you like me to update on ? I was thinking Friday, so you have something to take with you into the weekend you know?

Special shout-out to zlvsxe   for the amazing cover ! 

Tag someone who should read the story here :) I would really appreciate it!