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The next morning, Jadwa stepped out of the shower, sulking as she caught sight of her reflection. Her long, healthy curls, freshly revived, dripped with water.

"I just got a silk press yesterday," she muttered, almost stamping her foot in frustration, a short towel wrapped snugly around her. Behind her, Imran stood, biting back a laugh.

"You can get another one today," he suggested, attempting to sound reasonable. She spun around, glaring at him with narrowed eyes.

"And then tomorrow morning, I'm right back under the shower," she retorted, rolling her eyes as he leaned in to kiss her head.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said with mock apology, his eyes twinkling. "But just look at you with those curls wow. You look like a muse I'd use if I knew how to paint." Admiration laced his voice as he caught her gaze in the mirror. A reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

"Your hair is gorgeous, habibti," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her damp shoulder. Just like that, the sulk melted away, vanishing into the air.

They got ready for the day together. He pulled on a dark blue kaftan and a Zanna Bukar cap, while she slipped into one of his comfortable shirts. She helped him fasten his watch, a small ritual they always shared, and soon he was ready to head out.

"Let's go on a date later," he murmured, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. Jadwa, standing on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck, tilting her head playfully.

"Hmm," she pretended to think, drawing it out.

"You've been thinking since before we got married," he teased, giving her a pointed look, full of amusement.

Grinning, she gave him a quick kiss. "Only if I get my tiramisu."

"You can have the whole restaurant if you want," he responded, kissing her forehead once more.

"Wait, babe breakfast!" she called, catching his hand just before he could leave.

"I can whip something up really quickly," she offered, but he just smiled, squeezing her hands affectionately.

"People are waiting for me, baby. I'll grab something at the office," he reassured her. She nodded in understanding, though she couldn't help the slight tug of sadness that he wasn't eating before heading out.

After he left, Jadwa set to work on her hair. Blow-drying her thick, voluminous curls was no small feat, and when her arms finally gave out, she let out a tiny scream of frustration. She headed to the coffee station for some comfort, preparing a cappuccino with perfectly steamed milk and foam. One sip, and her eyes fluttered shut in satisfaction.

"Alhamdulillah," she whispered, grateful not just for the coffee, but for the one who had bought the coffee machine. Alhamdulillah for him.

Her morning routine fell back into place after that. Ameerah sent her the number of a hair braider, someone named Fanna, which immediately clued her in that the woman was Kanuri. Jadwa threw on a pair of sweatpants under the oversized shirt of her husband's just before Fanna arrived.

Settling into the living room, Jadwa put on a documentary Imran had recommended—something about war crimes in technology. She had initially assumed it would be dry and boring, but knowing how little her husband watched TV or movies, she trusted his suggestions. To her surprise, she quickly got sucked into the film, only to be interrupted by her phone ringing.

Fanna had arrived at the gate, and Jadwa had forgotten to inform security. After a quick call, the woman was let in, helped by Jessica, the housemaid. Jadwa greeted Fanna, a middle-aged woman, and soon Jessica returned with a tray of refreshments. Jadwa also took the opportunity to ask Jessica to tell the chef to prepare some rice and spicy chicken stew for lunch, a craving she couldn't ignore.

Back on the couch, Jadwa resumed the documentary. Fanna, after exchanging greetings, began working on her hair. "Ashe kece amaryar Alhaji. Allah ya sanya alheri," Fanna said cheerfully, referring to her as "the bride of Alhaji." Jadwa shyly smiled, muttering a soft "Amin."

The title "amarya" still felt strange to Jadwa it seemed like she would hold onto that for a long time. When Fanna asked her what style she wanted, she thought for a moment.

"A very low shuku, or shade, would be fine," she described. "Small, but not too small."

As Fanna began parting her hair, she chatted, "Ina ta jin su hajiya na fadin Amaryar Alhaji mai jan gashi ce kuma ba Kanuriya ba sai yanzu na yadda. (I've heard so many times from many people and Hajiya that Alhaji's bride has red hair and she isn't Kanuri I had to see it to believe)" Fanna laughed, marveling at Jadwa's striking features and light hair, though she wasn't Kanuri.

Jadwa chuckled, responding with a soft, "Ayyah, Allah sarki," her curiosity piqued by the woman's words. When Fanna asked where she was from, Jadwa simply said, "Zamfara," knowing the reaction she'd get. As expected, the silence was deafening, so she added, as she always did, "And Lebanon."

Fanna seemed satisfied, chuckling as she continued. "MashaAllah, both you and him are from Zamfara, ashe."

Jadwa only nodded, knowing that despite how deeply Imran's Kanuri heritage ran, his Hausa side from Zamfara always surfaced when he used the accent to tease her.

The rest of the session passed mostly in silence, Jadwa raising the volume of the documentary to avoid further conversation. By the time they were nearly finished, Jessica arrived with lunch.

"Jessica, please tell the chef there's no need for dinner today, I almost forgot," Jadwa sighed, "for me and Alhaji." She used the title the household used for her husband. "He can make whatever the staff wants."

Jadwa helped serve Fanna, pouring her a drink before settling down to eat on a sofa across from her. Imran called to update her on his day, as usual, the first meal of his day long overdue. She showed him her braids that is half done and he admired it so much... These little conversations, once casual, had grown to feel essential when they stopped, she always noticed their absence.

After a comfortable silence, Jadwa finished her hair and thanked Fanna for her skillful and gentle work. Fanna, cheerful as ever, gushed, "Kai, Alhaji has gotten himself a trophy, MashaAllah."

Jadwa smiled at the compliment, taking it lightly.

"I'm happy he married you, not one of those chaotic girls they kept throwing his way," Fanna added with a laugh. Jadwa chuckled too, already planning to book Fanna for another session in three weeks -this married life wouldn't let her leave her hair unbraided for long. Three weeks in braids, one week out, and then the cycle would begin again.

****

Immediately after Maghrib, Imran returned home. He slipped out of his kaftan, took a relaxing shower, and dressed up for their date. Before heading downstairs to sign some papers, he left Jadwa to her usual routine. She had already selected a daring red dress, tossing it onto the gaffas to enjoy smoke.

As she began applying her makeup, she suddenly cursed under her breath and rushed to the bathroom. Her period had started. Jadwa wasn't the type to track her cycles closely or suffer from intense cramps or symptoms. Instead of letting it spoil her mood, she freshened up again, determined to go out as planned. The red dress was modest enough for a night out with her husband but still hugged her figure perfectly, making her feel very comfortable and beautiful.

She spent nearly half an hour on her makeup, crafting a subtle but flawless look. The mirror reflected her glow, just as Imran appeared at the door, watching her spray on perfume.

"How do I look?" she asked with a playful smile, twirling and resting her hand on her waist.

"Like a dream," he replied, the honesty in his voice making her laugh softly.

"Thank you, Albi," she blew him a kiss. He glanced at his watch, raising an eyebrow.

"Let's pray Isha before we head out," he suggested.

"I'm not praying," she replied, her lips forming a small pout as he walked closer.

"Are you okay? Feeling fine?" he asked, a hint of concern lacing his tone.

"I'm okay," she shrugged, "just got it." She gave him a reassuring smile. He nodded before leaning in for a quick kiss.

"Alright, let's go downstairs together. When I get back from the mosque, we'll leave," he said, offering his hand. She took it, linking her fingers with his.

"Okay, Sir," she teased, then narrowed her eyes. "Albi, do your students ever throw themselves at you?"

"Sometimes," he replied, purposely avoiding her gaze, a smirk creeping across his face.

Jadwa clicked her tongue, unimpressed. "Sai kishin Bala'i," he teased back, playfully biting the hand that was now in his grasp.

"Tell me!" she demanded, stamping her foot as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"No, never," he grinned. "That only happens when a professor gives the face for it."

Her smile widened, hands raised in mock victory. Imran looked down at her, shaking his head at her antics. He raised his palm higher, and she jumped, trying to high-five him, but he playfully lifted it even further out of reach. She pouted, prompting him to lower it just a little, and this time she jumped high enough to give him a solid high five.

"Good boy," she teased, and he laughed.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said with a mock bow. "I appreciate the acknowledgment that I've been a good boy for you."

She giggled, following him to the door, watching as he left for the mosque.

While he was gone, she passed the time on her phone, sipping water. When he returned, she picked up her handbag, slipped on her heels, and he, ever the gentleman, took her hand, leading her to the car.

The drive was short but filled with laughter. They exchanged their usual inside jokes, and Jadwa played her favorite songs, serenading Imran with dramatic renditions since he hardly knew any of the popular hits. In his defense, music wasn't really his thing. But he smiled, listening to her sing her heart out, their night already off to a perfect start as they pulled up to the restaurant.

Imran stepped out of the car, moving with quiet confidence as he rounded it to open the door for his wife. As he did, a rush of memories flooded Jadwa's mind, like the gentle flow of a serene river -subtle, calming, and deeply soothing. She smiled, lost in the moment, as their fingers intertwined.

Hand in hand, they made their way into the sophisticated restaurant. The air was laced with familiar fragrances, a soft blend of nostalgia and excitement. Imran's grip on her hand tightened slightly, as if silently communicating his devotion, before he led her to a private room reserved just for them.

The moment they entered, Jadwa's eyes fell on a bouquet of pristine white flowers elegantly arranged on the table. Her heart skipped a beat. She reached for the card nestled within the blooms, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened it.

"For being the biggest blessing of my life and finally accepting to go on a date with me. Thank you, Mrs. Muhammad."

Her breath caught in her throat, the words touching her soul and somehow she found a giggle bubbling in her chest. She looked up at Imran, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He met her gaze with a soft, knowing smile, and with a playful shrug, he clicked his tongue gently.

"No tears, mama," he murmured, brushing a tender kiss against her lips. "Please," he added with a smile, his voice a quiet plea that melted her completely. She chuckled, feeling her heart swell with love as she melted into his embrace.

For a moment, time seemed to pause. Wrapped in each other's arms, they stood there, the world outside forgotten. Jadwa's face nestled into the familiar warmth of his chest, while Imran's arms held her tightly, as if she were the most precious thing in the world. Their heartbeats synchronized, the only sound in the stillness besides the faint trickle of the nearby waterfall.

"You're the best," Jadwa whispered, her voice soft but full of conviction. "Really, you are the best husband. I never thought I'd have a man like you, someone so perfect... but somehow, I did."

Imran smiled down at her, his eyes full of admiration. He leaned down to kiss the top of her head, just as he was about to speak when a waiter appeared, gently interrupting the moment.

Reluctantly, Imran released her and they took their seats. He sat close, his arm naturally draped around her waist as her head rested against his biceps. There was a quiet intimacy between them, a closeness that needed no words. The food arrived quickly, he had planned everything down to the smallest detail.

They spoke in soft, hushed tones, their laughter quiet yet full of joy. The room was their private little sanctuary, a world where time didn't exist. Jadwa marveled at how seamlessly they fit together, how every word, every shared glance felt like a continuation of the relationship they had built.

Just as he had done the last time they were there, Imran picked up a piece of sushi and fed it to her. The wave of nostalgia was almost overwhelming, but it was nothing compared to the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach now, even after all these months.

As Jadwa indulged in her dessert, Imran couldn't help but watch her. His mind drifted to the first time they had come here, to the way he had tried and failed not to stare at her, this radiant woman who had captured his heart. But tonight, she was his, and he no longer had to hold back. He leaned in slowly, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of her nose before brushing his lips against the side of her mouth, tenderly licking the bit of dessert that had clung there.

Jadwa smiled, her heart overflowing. In that simple gesture, in the softness of his touch, was everything she had ever dreamed of and more.

500 MEANINGFUL (ONLY MEANINGFUL COMMENTS) and it'll be published.

NEXT CHAPTER IS READY TO DROP AND TRUST ME IT HAS ALL THE GOOD STUFF! WE JUST STARTED GETTING TO THE REAL DEAL🤭