𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 - 𝟎𝟏

FAIZAN

[28 weeks later]

“When I called you to ask if you could come home a little early I didn’t mean ‘leave work right that instant.’” my wife says as I step out of the bathroom after freshening up.

“Traffic would have made me late,” I say and take my seat on the bed.

“Oh, really? Was there traffic?”

A pause, “yes. A little,” she raises an eyebrow in question, “don’t worry about it, amar.” I gently place her feet on my lap and start massaging them.

“Stop. You just got home.” She tries to reach me but her bump doesn’t let her.

“Don’t do that.”

She sighs and sits back, placing her hands back on her bump, “Faizan-”

“Did you eat?” I cut her off before she starts talking about how guilty she feels because I do ‘so much’ for her.

In my defense, I don’t do enough. If I were allowed to take a few days off work, I could do more for her but no, my wife thinks I need to go to work.

She’s only two weeks away from labor, she needs my attention and I need to be by her side, making sure she’s alright and not overworking herself- or more like not doing anything that I can do for her.

“Yes.” She replies, “Salma doesn’t leave me alone till I’m well fed- or in her words, the baby is well-fed.” I hum, “how was work?”

I shrug, “same as always. Counting the minutes till I got to see my beautiful wife,”

She tries to hide her smile but fails, “be serious.”

“I’m always serious, amar.”

“Fine.” she says, then adds, “I want cuddles, come beside me.”

Without another word, I get up to go to her. Sitting with my back to the headboard, I put my arm around her so that her head rests on my shoulder and my fingers thread her hair.

She releases a sigh, her hand moving over her bump.

“Do you need anything?” I ask.

She shakes her head, “only you,”

I hum, “then how come you’re so strict of me attending work? My attendance isn’t mandatory. The business won’t collapse.”

“It’s not that…” she trails off then sighs, “I just… you’re always doing something at home, making sure I’m okay, my appointments aren’t late, the baby is healthy, we’re being fed. You’re already doing so much and I don’t want you to be tired.”

“I’m not tired-”

“You’re a human, Faizan. You get exhausted.”

“Not from this.”

She looks at me. After a moment, she asks, “don’t you feel like you want a break? Aren’t you exhausted from making sure I’m fine?”

“Why would I be exhausted, amar? The things I’m doing don't even compare to what you are doing and what you will do.” I move her hair from her head as I continue, “you’re carrying our child, you’re going to give birth and then, you will take care of the baby. You will take care of them when I won’t be home. You will take care of them even when I’m helping. Believe me, amar, the things I’m doing do not compare to what you do.

“Even during this pregnancy, you make sure that I'm alright, am eating properly, keep checking up on me while I’m at work.” She sometimes sends me voice notes, updating me about her day, those are my favorites because I get to hear her voice. “Even right now,”

“Well, you don’t take care of yourself.” She argues.

“And you?”

She scrunches her nose, “I take care of myself just fine. You barely let me do anything.”

“You shouldn't do anything. You should rest.”

“You’re changing the subject,”

“You did it first,”

“You’re unbelievable!”

I hum and peck her lips, “I love you,”

“You have to stop saying that whenever we’re in an argument,”

“We’re never in an argument, amar” I say and capture her lips in a kiss.

I feel her smile through the kiss as she returns it. She pulls away with a soft laugh, the sound warms up my heart, making a smile take over my lips.

Arzo’s mood swings sometimes throw her into a depressive episode where she tries to shut everyone out. I make sure that I am with her during that time because those depressive thoughts pull her back from asking for something she wants.

I know she thinks that I need a break from taking care of her but I don’t. I want to be by her side, I want to make sure she’s getting everything she wants.

“Are you feeling okay?” I ask, caressing her shoulder.

She nods, “a little nervous. But I’m fine,”

“You’ll do great. I won’t leave your side.”

Her smile turns soft, “I know,” she says as our gaze lock, “you’ve never left my side. And I know you will always be beside our baby. And I love you so much for that,” her voice cracks at the end, her eyes glistening with tears.

“Amar.. don’t cry.”

She sniffs, “they’re hormones! Deal with it!”

I chuckle, “okay,” I say, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her in a gentle hug. I kiss her head and softly say, “I love you, amar.”

“I love you too,” she says, “the baby does too.”

“I love the baby too,” I say then kiss her head.

She hums and slowly starts to drift away in her sleep. Her hand doesn’t move from her bump. She always keeps her bump supported, saying she won’t let anything hurt our baby and that that way the baby won’t feel that they’re alone.

All of her gestures have a unique meaning to it, just like her paintings. That's why they’re so loved around the world. Arzo could make the cruelest thing beautiful.

Our child will have the best mother.

And I love her so much.