It had been exactly a month since Muhammad and I returned from our honeymoon. Time had flown by so quickly, and last week I officially started my NYSC (National Youth Service Corps). The busy schedule meant that we only really got to spend quality time together at night or during the weekends. Thankfully, today was the weekend, and for once, we were both free with absolutely nothing planned.

To make the most of it, we decided to watch Everything, Everything. Muhammad had grumbled about how "boring" and "childish" the movie was going to be, but I stood my ground, insisting it was a beautiful story. With a sigh and a reluctant smile, he eventually gave in.

For lunch, I decided to make lasagna—something I hadn't made in a while. The kitchen, one of my favorite spots in the house, was the perfect place to spend a lazy afternoon. Every detail of its design was thoughtfully crafted, from the polished countertops to the modern appliances, and I often found myself lingering there, even when I didn't have much to do.

Today, though, I had a purpose. I prepared fresh lasagna sheets from scratch, and by the time I was done, the house was filled with the warm, savory aroma of melted cheese, rich tomato sauce, and perfectly baked pasta. It smelled divine, and when I cut into the lasagna to serve it, the layers held beautifully together—a sign of success.

I plated the lasagna for both of us and popped the plates into the microwave to warm them up. While waiting, I perched comfortably on one of the stools at the kitchen island, savoring the quiet satisfaction of a meal well-made. A soft ping from the microwave broke the silence, letting me know the lasagna was ready.

Balancing the plates on a tray, along with two chilled drinks, I made my way back to the living room where I'd left Muhammad. He was sprawled out on the couch, flipping through channels but waiting for me to start the movie. As I approached, his face lit up with a smile.

As I made my way back to the living room, Muhammad's face lit up as he caught sight of the tray I was carrying.

"Have I ever told you that you're a great cook? It smells and tastes amazing," he chirped enthusiastically, already eyeing the lasagna like it was his greatest reward.

I raised a brow and smirked. "You haven't even tried it yet, and you're already saying it tastes good. But yes, you've told me that—a gazillion times," I teased as I placed the tray down and started the movie.

We were halfway through our meal, enjoying the cozy atmosphere, when the doorbell rang.

"Are you expecting someone?" I asked, glancing at Muhammad.

He shook his head. "No, are you?"

I thought for a moment. Our house had been unusually busy with guests ever since we returned from our honeymoon, but nobody had mentioned visiting today. "Nope," I replied, standing up. "Ben bir bakayım," I added instinctively in Turkish (I tend to do that a lot) and grabbed my long hijab. I had been lounging in yoga pants and a T-shirt, with my hair uncovered, so I needed to make myself presentable.

When I opened the door, I immediately rolled my eyes.

"Who's at the door?" Muhammad called from the living room.

"It's Norah," I replied, my tone light but teasing.

"Oh, okay," he responded nonchalantly.

"Hello, Layloş! You look like you're not happy to see me," Norah declared dramatically, clutching her chest like I had just broken her heart. She didn't even wait for an invitation before sauntering inside. "And by the way, I'm not here to see you. I'm here for my brother."

I rolled my eyes again and followed her to the living room. Norah plopped herself onto the couch like she owned the place, while I sat down next to Muhammad, who was already smirking at the unfolding drama.

"Ya Muhammad, your wife is not nice, wallahi," Norah complained, pouting.

"What did she do to you, Norah?" Muhammad asked, his voice dripping with amusement.

"When she opened the door, she rolled her eyes at me!" she exclaimed, her dramatics in full force.

Muhammad turned to me, clearly holding back a laugh. "Babe, why would you do that to my little sister?"

I shrugged, feigning innocence. "You really want me to answer that?"

Norah had been giving me excuses for weeks whenever I invited her over, and now she decided to show up unannounced—on the one day I was enjoying a quiet moment with my husband. "Since when have I been asking you to come over?" I teased. "And it's today you decided to grace us with your presence, when I have my husband here."

"Allah Allah! Layloş, I'm sorry! It was Mammy who wouldn't let me come earlier. It's totally not my fault," Norah said, waving her hands defensively. "Actually, I came to bring you Ibty's asheobi. You left it in the living room the other day when you visited."

Ah, that reminded me! My best girl, Ibty, is getting married to her cousin Ahmad soon. And Niimah is marrying Muhammad's friend, Huzaifa Bobbo. Ni'imah's wedding is first, followed by Ibty's. I couldn't be happier for my two best friends!

I took the asheobi fabric from Norah and held it up for Muhammad to see. "Hayatim, will this color look good on me?"

Muhammad looked up from his phone, his face softening as he smiled at me. "It'll look great on you," he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek.

Norah groaned dramatically as she stood up. "Ahh, let me leave before I go blind from all this lovey-dovey nonsense," she teased, making Muhammad laugh.

"Bye, Norah. Don't take too long before visiting again," Muhammad said as she headed for the door.

She waved us off. "Goodbye, Layloş! Bye, bro-in-law! Try not to miss me too much!"

And with that, the whirlwind that was my little sister disappeared as quickly as she had arrived.

Few weeks later

Ni'imah's room was an absolute mess. Cans of soda, food wrappers, plates, and cups were carelessly strewn everywhere. The chaos wasn't entirely surprising, though; today was the day Huzaifa's female relatives were bringing her kayan lefe—the gifts and essentials traditionally sent by the groom's family. Ni'imah and a few of us, her relatives and friends, had just returned from Aunt Sadiya's house, only to find the place in utter disarray. With her wedding just a week away, the house was understandably busy and hectic.

The chatter in the room was nonstop. Some of the girls were eagerly opening and admiring the dozen designer boxes that had been delivered, snapping pictures and commenting on every detail. Others were sprawled out on the bed, either chatting or glued to their phones. I lay among them, silently listening to the ceaseless prattle without joining in.

Lately, I hadn't been feeling like myself. I was constantly tired, no matter how much I slept. Even after a long morning rest and a two-hour nap at Aunt Sadiya's, I still felt drained. On top of that, I'd been feeling nauseous—especially when eating or even smelling certain foods. It started a couple of days ago, and Muhammad had been insistent about going to the hospital. But I stubbornly refused, dismissing it as nothing serious.

My phone buzzed beside me, interrupting my thoughts. I reached for it lazily, but a smile immediately lit up my face when I saw the caller ID.

"Baby," came Muhammad's soft, charming voice.

I smiled wider. "Hayatim, I miss you so much."

"I miss you more," he replied without missing a beat. "Should I come and pick you up? I know there are a lot of people in the house, and they're probably disturbing you. You should've just stayed home, Layla."

I chuckled. "You shouldn't bother, really. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Because I know you're not feeling well," he said, concern lacing his tone.

"I'm fine, okay? Don't worry. Have you eaten?"

"Yes, Khalifa and I ate at a restaurant on our way back from work. I hope you've eaten too, or should I call someone to bring food?"

"No, please," I said quickly. "Everyone here is busy, and I'm not hungry anyway."

He sighed audibly. "Alright. Just make sure you eat something, and call me whenever you miss me, okay?"

I laughed softly. "I will, inshallah."

"I love you so much," he murmured.

"I love you too," I replied before hanging up.

The girls in the room were teasing Ni'imah, laughing about the over-the-top preparations, when Ya Lou poked her head through the door.

"Layla, come with me," she said.

I reluctantly got up and followed her to another room on their father's side of the house.

"Have you eaten?" Ya Lou asked as soon as we stepped inside.

"No, but I'm not really hungry," I replied.

She frowned and gently pulled me by the hand to sit on the bed. "Muhammad told me you weren't feeling well. Wait here, I'll bring you some food."

"Ya Lou, I'm fine, really. I'll eat later," I insisted, but she shook her head.

"No, Layla, you have to eat now. And you do look unwell. What's wrong?"

I shrugged. "It's nothing serious, probably malaria."

"Even so, it's better if you see a doctor," she said before leaving the room.

A few minutes later, she returned with a tray of food. "What would you like? Masa, pounded yam, or fried rice?"

I hesitated before answering. "Masa, please. Thank you very much."

She handed me a plate and sat beside me. "I'll stay with you until you're done."

I started eating, but halfway through the meal, I felt a sudden wave of nausea. My stomach turned violently, and I barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up.

When I returned to the room, pale and shaken, Ya Lou helped me wash up and sat me down again.

"Have you taken any medication?" she asked worriedly.

"I took PCM for the fever," I said weakly.

She nodded, her brows furrowing. "Layla, when was your last period?"

The question hit me like a truck. My heart raced as I struggled to think. "Uh... last month, I guess?" I replied uncertainly, more like a question.

Her expression shifted, and I knew what was coming.

"You might be pregnant," she said cautiously.

Pregnant? Allah Allah! The signs were all there—how could I have missed them?

"Pregnant, Ya Lou?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, but I'm not sure. I'll call Muhammad so he can take you to the hospital," she said, already reaching for her phone.

I nodded numbly as she dialed his number.

"Hello, Ya Lou. Is my wife alright?" I heard him ask anxiously through the phone.

"She's fine, but there's a little issue. Just come over now," she reassured him, adding that it wasn't urgent but that he should hurry.

After ending the call, she left me to rest while we waited for Muhammad to arrive. My mind raced with thoughts, my hand instinctively resting on my abdomen. Could it really be?

*****

I felt someone sit beside me, and when I slowly opened my eyes, I saw Muhammad there, his eyes soft and filled with love. He opened his arms for a hug, and I gladly leaned into him, feeling his warmth.

"When did you come in?" I asked, my voice groggy from sleep.

"When you were sleeping soundly," he replied with a small smile.

"Oh..." I murmured, my cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

"What's the problem, baby?" he asked gently, concern evident in his tone.

Before I could answer, Ya Lou walked in, cutting the moment short. "Muhammad, you need to take her to the hospital," she said firmly.

I nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle over me. After bidding Maama and Ni'imah goodbye and promising to call Ni'imah later, insha'Allah, we left for the hospital closest to Muhammad's family home.

At the hospital, we went through the usual questions and answers session with the doctor. After jotting down notes, the doctor looked up from his chart.

"I think your wife needs to do an ultrasound," he said.

Muhammad looked puzzled. "Ultrasound? Are you saying she might be pregnant?"

The doctor smiled and nodded. "It's a possibility. Let's find out."

We were escorted to the ultrasound room, where I lay on the examination table with Muhammad seated beside me, holding my hand. The doctor began the scan, and after a few moments, he turned to us with a broad grin.

"Congratulations! You are pregnant, six weeks along."

"Alhamdulillah," Muhammad exclaimed, pulling me into a warm hug. "You're going to be a mother, and I'm going to be a father. Ya Allah, this is amazing!"

His excitement was contagious, and I couldn't help but beam as he held me close.

The doctor shared that my due date was estimated to be December 18th and gave us valuable advice about pregnancy care. With the ultrasound results in hand and a heart full of joy, we left the hospital, walking hand in hand to the car.

Muhammad wasted no time sharing the news with Ya Lou, who was ecstatic and immediately started making plans to spoil the baby.

Once we got home, I couldn't wait to call my best friend, Ibty. As soon as she picked up, I shared the news.

"You're pregnant?!" she squealed.

"Yes, I found out today," I replied, grinning from ear to ear.

"Wow, wow, wow!" she said, her excitement evident. "I am so happy for you, Layloş!"

"I'm happy for me too," I said, placing a protective hand on my stomach.

We spent a while talking about the baby, her upcoming wedding, and so much more before ending the call.

Muhammad walked into the room shortly after, now dressed in a plain black shirt and grey sweatpants. His grin widened as he knelt in front of me and gently placed his hands on my still-flat stomach.

"Hey, little blip," he said softly. "I hope you're doing great in there. I love you so much—both you and your mommy. I promise to be the best father, insha'Allah."

I smiled, tears of happiness welling up in my eyes as I watched him.

Rising to his feet, he helped me into bed, where he gathered me into his arms, resting my head on his chest. Together, we prayed silently to Allah, asking Him to bless our child with piety, love, and obedience to Him, as well as success, mercy, forgiveness, and His satisfaction.

With hearts full of gratitude and joy, we fell into a peaceful sleep, dreaming of the happy family we were starting to build.

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