Bismillah hir Rahman nir Raheem.

"I understand you and only you".

" How?".

"All doctors write their prescriptions in Japanese while you do not. I understand your writing and yours only, so that tells".

Jesima rolled her eyes as she stashed the last of the folded clothes in the walk-in closet. " I see. Should I start writing in Japanese then?".

"No", Aashiq was quick to dodge, " yours is more readable than mine. That's probably why you don't understand me much".

"Meanie", Jesima plumped beside him on the bed and tugged his left ear, " So much for apologizing". The whole tantrum started when Jesima apologised to Aashiq. She did so because she always has been mean in treating him, her love always came with skeptical responses, rude in showing her care. She wanted him to let him know that she was sorry yet not wrong.

We live a life-treating our loved ones without giving proper treatments, being too lazy to do the basic chores when our precious ones pleads to do something as a favor, we realise their absence only when the contact is forever deprived from ourselves. When we are separated for forever do we realise our mistake, too late to apologise, too late to rectify. We take everything for granted until the hour when those granted things get themselves deprived.

Aashiq crawled a few inches closer and laid his head on her adjoined legs, staring at her creed. "I am neither mad at you nor do I  hold any grudge against you".

" That's what I am saying, you are too soft, too tolerant", she stroked his hair, the smooth curves hinging her fingers into a close hug, making her forget what she was supposed to say in mid-sentence, "I love you", she confessed smiling.

" I love you more", he took her palms away from his hair to plant a small kiss over their top.

"How much is this more?".

" Infinite".

They stared at each other's gaze, too immersed to jerk away, too lost to be found, too far to be near, too deep to reach the shore.

Well, until a burp in Jesima's stomach made his vision enthralled. Amusement clawed his face and his eyes held questions to which she felt embarrassed to answer aloud. A blush crept her cheeks in a lethally slow way. "Someone's hungry".

" Slightly. Yes", Jesima agreed.

"You should eat. Wait--- you didn't eat?". It had crossed the time for dinner just then and they had the course with all the members of the family.

" I didn't", she whispered slowly.

Aashiq got up. "Why?".

" I don't like sooji and anything that's made of sooji".

"You should have told then, we would have made something for you".

" Your mom cooked with so much love that I didn't find it in myself to break her bubble up".

"It doesn't mean you get to remain hungry".

" Cook me something then", Jesima grinned, unhurriedly pulling Aashiq's neck towards her direction.

"Me? Now?". She nodded to his question enthusiastically.

He clamped his lips together and scrutinized his eyes at her posture. " What do you want to eat?".

"I don't want you to go oompa-lampa on anything, a simple dish made from the available ground ingredients in home would suffice".

" A fruit salad?". He asked after a moment of thinking.

"Well, you told me not to diet".

" Chocolate milkshake with added hazelnut?".

"I am not dieting doesn't mean I am in, for extra calories".

Jesima laughed at Aashiq's expression the next second.

" What do you want then?".

"A meal that is simple and also fulfilling".

" Shall I order Manus-Salwa from the heaven?".

"That would serve great", she clapped her hands in excitement.

" Order sey yaad aaya, can we do take-outs? Order online?".

"I am too lazy to move. You should be the one who is going to grab the meal from the delivery guy without being seen", she laid on the bed, head resting on the pillow.

" Sure", Aashiq whisked his phone from the nightstand. He opened the food delivery app and pushed the phone screen towards Jesima. "Indian, Italian, Arabian, Chinese, English, and also American cuisines. All in one place, choose something".

After half an hour of wait and a little bit of sneaking and peaking, they laid sprawled on the bed with two large cases of cheesy pizzas, a can of soda, and a melting vanilla sundae.

" You are the cheese on my pizza".

"Mmm-hmm", Aashiq chuckled.

"You are the bubbles on my soda, always energetic".

"In vanishing away?".

" For once. No sad thoughts, Aashiq", Jesima pinched his cheeks, "At least, not now".

Aashiq didn't say anything and for a moment, it put Jesima to go into deep thinking. He quickly grabbed the last piece of the pizza and winked. " I missed quoting- vanishing the last slice away".

"Hey! That's cheating", Jesima squeaked.

Aashiq took a big fat bite from the thin crest and lifted it towards Jesima's mouth. "To put a morsel of food into your wife's mouth is sadaqah (Charity) ", he quoted the hadith of the Prophet Muhammad (Peace be upon him).

" Do I look like a charity case now?", Jesima groaned in joy, nevertheless took the full bite in.

Aashiq shook his head, perhaps, their relationship would never change. If she was the fire, he was ice, made of the perfect consistency to melt her down. What would happen to the fire when the ice would be compelled fro. her? She would burn, flames would dance with her pain and the irony was, no one would be available for her to quench down her thirst.

....

Jesima helped Aashiq to throw the last of the pillows and cushions over the spread comforters over the two adjoining sleeping bags. After completing the task, Aashiq laid first and Jesima on top of him, not a single gap separating them both. Jesima pulled the extra bed sheet over her while Aashiq hugged her from behind, encircling his hands around her waist.

They peered at the vast sky, beautified with glorious lanterns, millions of stars twinkled at the couple, and the moon glistened with warmth in the chilly climate.

Shadows casted from the trees, squeaks of distant birds, buzzing sound of insects, whew melodramatic noise of the air played as the back ground music.

"Aashiq?".

Aashiq hummed in reply, too engrossed in the Creation's beauty and the tranquility he found just by being close to his wife. He nestled his chin over her neck when she didn't reply, " what is it, habibti?".

"I was intrigued by Saad and his way with words".

" What did he say?".

"What he said doesn't matter as much as the underlying meaning in them did. They opened my notion, Aashiq", she craned her neck back to look at his protruding gaze, " We aren't like any other married couple. We both come under the category of friends, more like..., two best Friends in that sense".

"Is that not a good thing?".

" It is", Jesima stirred, "I feel like we lack a spiritual bond with each other".

" I didn't get you".

"What Saad said is, Allah will replace us with someone better when we lose our beloved", Jesima wrapped her slender fingers over his hand that circled her waist, " If it's not too much to ask for, Aashiq, I want you to give me someone, if you are too sure that you would leave me stranded".

Aashiq didn't reply, his breathing became slightly chaotic, Jesima could notice due to the close proximity. Her heart raced when he fetched his hand back. She sat straight when he stood up, came to a kneeling position in front of her, cupping her face.

Jesima's throat clogged when she looked up to see his stardust sprinkled ocean green eyes. "I am ovulating, Aashiq", she stifled, telling aloud the condition of her body. If only they could try during this time, perhaps, there might be a chance that they could succeed.

His face was tragic, grief-stricken, he gulped the sob that threatened to break out. He didn't want his wife to see how weak he felt at the moment. He didn't want her to know how hard it is for him to know that he will leave her, all alone, in a world that is filled with hatred. No one could give her the love his heart sprouted each day with. She would be deprived of every happiness she ever had, happiness that was him, being with him. He knew all this but on the other hand, he felt fragile as glass, too broken to be reprimanded, for he didn't had the control in his life to extend his stay. He didn't have that control even though he was one of the richest men in this world. He had thousands of employees working under him but he had no one to exchange souls when the angle of death will come to take away his rooh. His bank balance was huge but even if he tried, that specific,  God fearing angel can never be bribed.

Jesima caressed his stumble, grabbing his attention back to reality.

He chided his head to clear off the thoughts of having a child born, half of him and half of her, his blood running through his/her veins, the baby would bear the title of an orphan, lacking the support and love of the immense love their father would have for them. His face would forever be missed in the photo frame of their little family. He wouldn't be there for the child when he/she borns, he wouldn't be there to kiss his wife for tolerating such immense pains, he wouldn't be there to hear the first audible heavenly cries, he wouldn't be there to witness the face of the little one, will he have his mother's beach curls? Will she have her father's dimple? He would never know. He wouldn't be there when they start to crawl, sit, stand and walk. He wouldn't be there to spoil them rotten with his insurmountable love. He wouldn't be there to teach his children words, he would never have the chance of hearing his child address him as their dad. What would they call him? Abbu, Baba, Papa, Abba, Dadda, Daddy, or even with his name, Aashiq?

His heart cracked at each possible thoughts. Each inkling. Each breathing. Wherever he would be, his heart, his mind, his soul would always will be concerned for the ones he will leave behind. His wife's name would stand on top of the list. How will she undergo each of these steps, climb this ladder of her life, all alone?

" Aashiq?", Jesima broke his chain of thoughts yet again.

"Yes", he smiled, scolding his mind for entering the maximum territory of selfishness. If anyone deserved a pinch of happiness, a speck of light in the darkness, it was Jesima. " I am straight, Jesima. Don't have any doubts about that", he joked making her laugh. His heart soaring to no bounds with gratitude to see the face of his most beloved possession his Rabb had adorned him with.

"I don't doubt you. So, Don't worry".

It was Aashiq's turn to laugh, his dimpled cheeks made Jesima's heart to skip a beat. How she wished to look at this face for eternity and some time ahead. " We share such a beautiful bond that the thought of consummating didn't even have to come to fulfill our desires. Sometimes, this smile you glow with is enough to extinguish my craving needs".

Jesima's eyes glinted with joy and a sprinkle of mirth. "You don't have to control your desires. You know, in Islam, it is asked to leave the roti, strangled in the stove if the husband calls you out".

" Will you leave your roti strangled for me?".

"Heck! I don't even know how to fry a roti, how am I supposed to leave it alone?".

Aashiq burst out laughing. " Jesima, you don't fry rotis".

"Like I give a damn".

Suddenly, the air turned eerily quiet, the night turning to an erotic silence. " You will blush to death if I start explaining what thoughts my mind dives with".

Jesima coughed. "Did you forget that I am a doctor?", a pink hinge colored her cheeks, " Doctors don't blush at these matters", her words became muffled when Aashiq's face started to come near, "I am a Gynecologist at that one".

" Mmm-hmm", he murmured, his face crossing the invisible territory, hearts pausing to beat, clock stopping the tickling, time freezing the moment, an everlasting memory was about to happen, the sky hesitated to view the exchange, the waves halted to witness the greatness, the trees stopped dancing to the song of the wind, birds ceased their humming in mid-song.

Everyone has a wish to have their first kiss, special and rememberable. Jesima blinked back the tears realising that this was that moment, too special, too much to take in to give back. Too precious and deceiving. Surreal.

What if this is the first and the last?

Her breathing started to hitch and she choked, a tear rolled out of her right eye without her control when Aashiq's lips were about to meet hers. Seeing her erupt into a cry, Aashiq pulled away, wiping the tear away. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing.

Jesima broke out, not having the control to stop the heavy cries, her stance broke like a dam that kept the reservoir of emotions she suppressed cooly until that instance. She couldn't suppress more. She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head over his chest, his heartbeats a soothing lullaby that he was there, breathing and alive. He was in a hurricane of storms and she was a whirlwind of cyclones.

Aashiq stroked her hair, muffling slow soothing words. Why does it have to be this painful?

She cried for all the harshness this transient life threw her way and the irony was, he lacked the words to comfort her, promise her that he wasn't going to leave her, no matter what.

The silence of the night, cold and calm wrapped them in its blanket, and when finally, they laid down, hugging each other as if their life depended on it, Jesima's face peeped up, she let her fingers snuggle Aashiq's hair, her lips reached his, closing all the distance that threw them apart.

Aashiq held her close, his hold growing tight, and all he wished from the deepest of his heart was to live this moment for an eternity to come, again and again.