***

Before you could even say "Robert Downey," the weeks had disappeared in a whirlwind. Now, it was only three days to Eid, and the chaos of preparations filled every corner of the house. The days were a blur of to-do lists, shopping bags, and the rhythmic hum of Hajara's efficient footsteps. Alhamdulillah, with her help, everything was running as smoothly as a well-oiled machine.

What brought me the most joy, though, wasn't the glimmering decorations or the aroma of freshly baked kunun gyada. It was Sayyid. Over the past few weeks, our bond had transformed into something even deeper, even more beautiful than I could have imagined. He had a way of making me feel like the center of his universe, whether it was a lingering kiss on my forehead as he left for work or the sweet, unexpected notes he'd leave on my bedside table.

And next week—after Eid—we'd finally be embarking on our honeymoon. The thought alone was enough to send a thrill through me.

For now, though, I was lounging in the living room, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and watching Doctor Strange. For the umpteenth time, I found myself mesmerized by the vivid cinematography and Benedict Cumberbatch's iconic delivery. I was just settling in when the trill of my phone interrupted. Sayyid's name lit up the screen.

"Hey there," I answered, my voice warm.

"Hey, babe." His tone was calm but carried an undertone of urgency. "Can you do me a huge favor?"

I sat up, fully alert now. "Of course! What do you need?"

"I left some really important documents in the study. I need them here at the office ASAP."

"Consider it done," I replied.

"Thank you, love. You're a lifesaver." His gratitude wrapped around me like a soft blanket, and the call ended with a familiar, "Love you."

"Love you too," I whispered to the empty room as I set my phone down.

I pushed off the blanket and headed upstairs to change. My yoga pants and T-shirt weren't exactly office-appropriate. I reached for a simple black abaya from the wardrobe, slipping it on and securing the veil snugly around my face. A quick spritz of my signature perfume added the finishing touch before I grabbed my handbag and phone.

The study was quiet, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. The documents lay neatly stacked on the desk where Sayyid had left them. With the papers secured, I grabbed the keys to his BMW and headed out, locking the front door behind me.

Driving into the city, my nerves tingled with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. I had never visited MR Construction Company before, and I couldn't help but wonder what impression I'd leave.

The building loomed ahead, a sleek, modern structure of glass and steel that seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky. Stepping out of the car, I adjusted my abaya and took a deep breath before heading inside.

The reception area was expansive and coldly elegant, the air tinged with the faint scent of lavender and disinfectant. At the center of it all sat the receptionist—a tall, fair-skinned woman with immaculate makeup that bordered on theatrical. Her piercing gaze flicked up from her computer screen as I approached.

"How can I help you?" she asked in a tone that was as flat as her expression.

"Good afternoon," I said, maintaining my politeness. "I'm here to see Sayyid-Muhammad."

Her brows furrowed slightly as she tilted her head. "Your name?"

"Aidah Deribe."

She typed briskly, her manicured nails clicking against the keyboard. After a moment, she glanced up. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I don't see your name here. Mr. Remawa doesn't take walk-ins without an appointment."

I blinked, momentarily thrown by her clipped tone. "I'm his wife," I said evenly, keeping my voice calm.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "May I see your ID, please?"

Biting back a sigh, I handed over my ID. She scrutinized it with a level of intensity that felt almost insulting. "It says Halima Deribe, not Halima Remawa." Her lips curved into a faint smirk, as though she'd caught me in a lie.

Wow. Just wow. I raised an eyebrow, my patience starting to fray. "Perhaps you could call his secretary, Abdullah. He'll vouch for me."

"Mr. Abdullah has left instructions not to be disturbed," she replied with a tone that could have frozen lava.

That was the last straw. Without another word, I pulled out my phone and dialed Sayyid's number.

"Hey, babe. Are you here?" he asked, his voice a mixture of surprise and concern.

"I am. Your receptionist, however, seems determined not to let me through."

"What?" His voice sharpened. "Give me a second."

A moment later, the desk phone rang. The receptionist's demeanor shifted instantly as she answered. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir. My deepest apologies, sir. Right away, sir." She hung up and turned to me, her face now a mask of forced contrition.

"I'm so sorry, madam. I didn't realize—"

"It's fine," I interrupted, my tone cool. "You were just doing your job."

She stammered out directions to the elevator, and I walked away without another glance.

On the twelfth floor, Abdullah greeted me warmly, his smile erasing any lingering irritation. "Good afternoon, madam," he said, rising from his desk.

"Good afternoon, Abdullah. How are you?"

"Alhamdulillah, all is well," he replied, gesturing toward Sayyid's office.

I knocked lightly and stepped inside without waiting for a response. Sayyid looked up from his desk, his face breaking into a smile that could have lit up the entire room.

"Hey, baby," he said, his voice warm and full of affection.

"Hi," I replied, my annoyance melting away as I walked toward him. I placed the documents on his desk with a playful flourish.

"Thanks, babe. You're the best."

I smirked, my confidence returning. "That I am."

Eid Day

Eid Mubarak! It's 9 a.m., and I haven't even had the chance to shower. The day started at 6 a.m. with a frenzy of cooking, and I've been knee-deep in preparations ever since. Right now, I'm waiting for the meat to finish cooking. The desserts and drinks, however, are already done.

I've made zobo, tiger nut drinks, and a few other treats. The snacks—spring rolls, samosas, and more—are neatly arranged and ready to be served. Once the meat is done, we'll dive into the main cooking. On the menu: rice and stew, peppered chicken, and traditional delicacies like masa, sinasir, and miyan taushe. It's a full-on feast in the making, but honestly, I look and feel like a mess right now.

Marriage is no joke. Days like this remind me just how exhausting it can be. Right now, I'm in the pantry, trying to assemble gift bags for the kids who will be coming over. I've been racking my brain about what to put in them, but I finally settled on candy and the cookies that Ya Bebi sent earlier this week.

It's funny how kids these days don't really understand the tradition of getting money for Eid. Last year, when I was in Miami, I handed my niece and nephew some money, and their reaction was priceless. They just stared at me, confused, and said, "Huh? Why are you giving us money?"

I had laughed and explained, "It's Eid! You're supposed to get money!" But they didn't seem to get it. This time, I'm going for candy and cookies. Hopefully, that'll do the trick and bring some smiles to their little faces.

****

I had plans to make kebabs tomorrow, so I started marinating the lamb earlier in the evening. After finishing up, I slid the bowl into the fridge and headed upstairs for a much-needed shower. Sayyid would be back from the mosque any moment, and I wanted to look my best for him.

The hot water washed away the weariness of the day, and after drying off, I slipped into a gorgeous Ankara skirt and blouse in shades of vibrant purple and blue. I decided to keep my makeup minimal—just a touch of lip gloss, a trace of kohl, and lightly shaped brows. Sometimes, simplicity speaks volumes.

As I was adding the final touches, I heard the buzz of voices downstairs. Sayyid was back, and it sounded like he hadn't come alone. When I descended the stairs, I was greeted by the sight of him surrounded by his friends and nephews, the room filled with chatter and laughter.

I offered them a warm salaam and exchanged pleasantries before noticing something alarming: there were more children than I had planned for. With a polite excuse, I sashayed to the pantry to put together extra gift bags. The candy and cookies I had set aside were dwindling fast, but I managed to piece together enough to cover the unexpected guests.

The rest of the day became a whirlwind. Guests streamed in and out, and I found myself endlessly fetching food, pouring drinks, and ensuring everyone felt welcome. I was in the kitchen when Sayyid called out, "Babe, please get me a cup."

I handed him the cup with a quick smile and turned back to my tasks, only to feel a small hand tugging at my sleeve.

"Aunty Aidah, I want water," Ammar said, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes.

"Coming right up," I said with a soft laugh, filling a cup and handing it to him.

As I returned to the living room, Sayyid motioned for me to join him. "Aidah, meet my friend, Bilal Umar," he said, gesturing toward a tall, sharp-featured man standing nearby.

I smiled warmly. "Hello, Bilal. How are you? How's Eid?"

"Alhamdulillah," he replied, his grin sincere. "Your food was incredible, by the way."

"Thank you," I said, a faint blush creeping up my cheeks.

By the time the last guest left, I was utterly spent. My back ached, and my feet throbbed with every step. Instead of climbing up to my room, I collapsed onto the bed in the first-floor guest bedroom, too exhausted to move another inch.

My eyes were just fluttering shut when I felt strong arms slip under me. Before I could protest, I was lifted effortlessly and carried upstairs. I didn't even have the strength to open my eyes, but I knew it was Sayyid.

Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I felt his presence—a steady, comforting reminder of why I'd endured such a hectic day.

****

It's the third day of Eid, and I can't believe I completely missed out on the second. Yesterday was a blur—cooking, visiting family, and more cooking. We made the rounds, stopping at my sisters' houses, Sayyid's sisters' homes, and Adda Meera's place.

Dinner at Adda Meera's was the highlight of the day. We brought food along—lamb kabsa, grilled potatoes, and lamb—and I have to say, that kabsa was probably the best I've ever made. The compliments I received were the cherry on top of an exhausting yet fulfilling day.

This morning, however, feels different. For the first time in days, I slept early, and my body is finally catching up on rest. It's quiet, peaceful, and I'm curled up on the couch watching CNN.

As I sit there, I find myself craving a smoothie. The problem? I've never been much of a breakfast smoothie person. It's the bananas—I just can't get past the taste. So, the craving remains unfulfilled as I settle for more lazing around.

The rest of the day drifts by in a haze of nothingness. I lounge at home, watching movies and soaking up the quiet. At some point, I feel a light tap on my shoulder.

"Aidah?"

I glance up to see Sayyid standing there, his eyes warm and inquisitive.

"What's up?" I ask.

"Nothing," he replies casually, picking up the remote that was lying next to me.

"So...what are you up to?" he asks, settling onto the couch.

"Nothing much. I'm just so tired, and I've got this headache," I say, leaning back into the cushions.

He leans over, pressing a gentle kiss on my cheek. "Sorry, babe. Take an Advil and get some rest, okay?"

I nod, offering him a small smile. "Okay."

Sayyid flips through the channels, landing on Eurosport. A Premier League match is on, but I can't tell the teams apart.

"Seriously, Sayyid?" I groan. "Change that. Let's watch a movie instead...please?"

He chuckles and nods. "Okay, baby. Anything for you."

I grin as he switches the channel to M-Net, where Mrs. Doubtfire is playing. It's a classic, and we both agree to watch it. The movie pulls us in, and we're laughing at the hilarity of it all when Sayyid suddenly yawns.

"Babe, I'm going to bed," he says, stretching as he stands.

"Yeah, me too. I'm so sleepy." I turn off the TV and the lights before following him upstairs.

In our room, I slip into my pajamas and return to find Sayyid already in bed, fast asleep. The soft rhythm of his breathing fills the room, a comforting sound in the stillness of the night.

I turn off the bedside lamp, slide under the duvet, and snuggle up to his chest. His arm instinctively wraps around my waist, pulling me closer as he presses a kiss to my temple.

"Goodnight, belle," he murmurs sleepily.

I sigh, my heart full. "Goodnight, baby."

And just like that, the third day of Eid ends in warmth, peace, and the quiet hum of love.

Vote, comment and share💕

Love, Chiickadee🫶🏽