25. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒍𝒔?

"You want pickels?"

Hassan asked, his skeptical expression mirrored through the screen of our FaceTime call, I couldn't help but chuckle at his incredulous reaction. "Yes, pickles," I reiterated, trying to stifle my laughter at the bewildered look on his face.

"Pickles?" he repeated, as if the word itself held some hidden, mysterious meaning.

I rolled my eyes playfully, a grin tugging at the corners of my lips. "Yes, pickles. You know, those crunchy, briny delights that come in a jar?"

Hassan let out a bemused huff, shaking his head in disbelief. "Alright, alright. Pickles it is. Anything else, Your Majesty?" he teased, adding a mock bow for good measure.

I couldn't help but laugh at his antics. "No, no, just the pickles, thank you," I replied with exaggerated solemnity, playing along.

I woke up this morning feeling a bit off, like I had eaten too much spice the night before. I brushed it off, thinking it was just a passing thing.

But as the day went by, that queasiness lingered, and I found myself craving strange foods—pickles, of all things, which I never really liked before.

So I raided our kitchen cabinets for a fix, then realized that we never had pickles here because none of us ate it. Well that was about to change. Feeling determined to satisfy this sudden craving, but feeling too lazy to leave the house, I face-timed hassan in hopes that he could buy me some. But hassan was weirded out by this more than I was.

"Okay, I'll pick you up some pickles on the way, babe," Hassan affirmed with a chuckle, his voice echoing through the phone as I watched him sift through files on his desk.

"Thank you," I said gratefully, a warm feeling spreading through me at his thoughtfulness.

He was always so sweet and caring, a constant source of support and love in my life. I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with emotion at the mere thought of him.

As I watched him through the screen, a sudden wave of emotion washed over me, catching me off guard. What was happening to me? I could feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Hassan noticed my sudden change in demeanor, his brows furrowing in concern. "Baby, do you need me to come home? Is pickle a code word for something?" he asked, his voice laced with worry as he leaned closer to the camera.

"No, I'm sorry, I'm just feeling weird today," I assured him quickly, trying to compose myself before he could see the tears welling up in my eyes.

"Okay, well—" he began, but his words were cut off by the sound of someone entering his office, their voice muffled as they spoke to him about a meeting and a contract.

After the person had left, Hassan looked back at the phone apologetically, his expression softening with concern. "Baby, I gotta go. I have a contract meeting with some potential clients in less than five minutes, but I promise to get you some pickles, okay?" he said gently, his eyes filled with regret at having to end our conversation so abruptly.

I nodded with a watery smile, my heart swelling with love for him. "I love you," I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I love you, fi aminallah," he replied, the familiar phrase offering a sense of comfort and reassurance.

"Fi aminallah," I echoed softly as the call ended.

I glanced at the screen of my phone, noting with a start that it would be time for Asr prayer in less than thirty minutes. I decided to take a quick shower and prepare myself for Salah.

After the soothing cascade of water washed away the weariness of the day, I emerged from the bathroom feeling refreshed and spiritually renewed then performed my prayers.

As I settled into my post-prayer reflections, my fingers traced the elegant script of the personal Quran that Hassan had gifted me. Each word felt like a whisper from the Divine, a guiding light in the darkness of uncertainty. Reciting the words of Allah felt surreal, as I was communing with something greater than myself.

The weight of the Quran's message spoke deeply to me, and I will make a conscious effort to integrate it's teachings into my daily life. Whether it was reciting a few verses after each Salah or listening to the recitations during breaks.Truly, it was a mercy from Allah, the only source of hope in a world filled with fitnah and confusion.

As I completed my portion for the Salah, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway interrupted my reverie. With a sense of anticipation, I made my way downstairs, eager to welcome Hassan home after a long day.

Descending the stairs, I found Hassan closing the door behind him and removing his shoes. A smile spread across my face as I approached him, wrapping my arms around his neck in a warm embrace.

"Assalamu alaikum Nur Ayn", he greeted me tenderly, his voice filled with affection.

"Wa alaikum salam," I replied, returning his greeting with equal warmth. With a grin, I relieved him of his briefcase and led him upstairs to our bedroom.

As Hassan settled in, I couldn't contain my excitement any longer. With the excitement clear across my face, I eagerly awaited the treat I had been longing for all day.

Placing his briefcase on the table, I perched on the edge of the bed. When Hassan produced a jar of pickles from his briefcase, I couldn't help but laugh in delight.

Grasping the jar eagerly, I bounded downstairs to the kitchen, my mind already racing with ideas for the perfect dip for my pickles. As I rummaged through the cupboards, my gaze fell upon the jar of chocolate, it's contents calling me to grab it.

With a sudden craving overwhelming my senses, I succumbed to the it, dipping a pickle into the jar of chocolate and taking a bold bite. The contrasting flavors exploded on my palate, sending waves of pleasure through me.

Lost in the bliss of my unconventional treat, I only notice Hassan's bemused expression as he observed me from the doorway when he laughed, drawing me out of my reverie, and I glanced up at him with a sheepish grin.

"What?" I asked innocently, my mouth still filled with the combination of flavors.

Hassan chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Oh, nothing. I've just never seen this... combination before," he replied, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Undeterred by his skepticism, I offered him a taste, but he declined with a laugh, opting instead to fetch a jar of juice from the fridge. He poured some into a glass and took a sip, his eyes sparkled with affectionate amusement.

"No, that's for you, babe," he said, his voice filled with fondness. "Just for you."

"Your loss," I responded with a shrug, setting the jars of pickles and chocolate back in the fridge for later.

"Chinese?" Hassan proposed, retrieving his phone from his pocket.

"I'm sorry I didn't prepare dinner; I've just been feeling so tired these days," I admitted guiltily, looking up at him.

Hassan's concern was etched on his face as he approached me, placing a hand on my forehead and neck. Leading me to a chair by the counter, he said, "Baby, you don't have to feel bad. I was craving Chinese anyway. Do you think you're coming down with something? I'll book an appointment for tomorrow, that's fine right?"

I nodded, knowing Hassan's determination. "Sure, I'll go," I agreed, unable to resist his maternal-like fussing. Hassan was secretly a mother goose.

Without hesitation, Hassan unlocked his phone and quickly booked an appointment for me at the hospital, where he attended his therapy sessions. Once done, he looked up with a soft smile. "So, Chinese?"

Eagerly, I nodded in agreement, a smile mirroring his spreading across my face. His laughter filled the room, momentarily lifting the weight of my fatigue and the impending doctor's visit.

I hope whatever I was coming down with wasn't anything serious. The mere thought of falling ill sent shivers down my spine. I despised being sick; it made me feel vulnerable and weak. Hopefully, the doctor would just prescribe some medicine, and it would effectively ease the symptoms.

"I'm gonna go take a shower before the food gets delivered, okay? Will you be okay?" Hassan's voice broke through my thoughts as he stood over me, rubbing my back soothingly.

"Babe, I'll be fine," I assured him, chuckling at his reluctance to leave my side. You would think I had just fainted with the way he was acting.

"Go," I urged softly, finally convincing him to leave. With a promise of returning in ten minutes, he headed upstairs.

"I won't hold my breath, but I'll take your word for it," I called after him, knowing how long Hassan could take in the shower, especially after a long day at work. Sometimes, I wondered if he lost track of time the moment he stepped into the bathroom.

Just as Hassan disappeared upstairs, my phone rang, displaying Ayesha's name on the screen.

"Assalamu alaikum, bestie," I greeted her with a smile.

"Wa alaykum salam, ex-bestie who forgot her only friend when she got married," Ayesha teased.

I laughed, knowing she was just pulling my leg. "Fear Allah, Ayesha. You're the one who never wants to leave the house! I've been begging you to come see me or for us to go out since the last time you bailed on me."

"Okay, fine, you got me," Ayesha relented playfully. "Anywho, I miss you and want to hang out now."

I pretended to hesitate. "I don't know... I'm a married woman now, I have so many responsibilities."

Ayesha groaned dramatically, then laughed. "You're so annoying, wallah."

"Love you more. Text me the details, In shaa Allah, and we'll make it happen," I replied, just as the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of our food delivery.

"Coming!" I called out as I stood up, ready to answer the door. "Ayesha, I gotta go answer the door , I love you, talk soon."

"Love you too!" she responded before hanging up.

As I made my way to the door, Hassan zoomed down the stairs, intercepting me before I could reach it. He took the money from my hands and turned me around, gently guiding me back into the kitchen.

"Where are you going without your niqab?" he exclaimed in shock.

My eyes widened as I realized he was right—I hadn't put on my niqab. How could I forget such a fundamental part of my attire? It was unlike me to overlook such an important thing.

The doorbell rang again, and Hassan, sensing my distress, reassured me with a soft smile before answering the door. I stood there in a daze, unable to shake off the unsettling feeling of almost stepping outside without my niqab.

When Hassan returned with the food, he sensed my lingering unease. "Don't overthink it, you just forgot," he consoled me, his words offering some comfort.

"But in all my years of wearing the niqab, I have never forgotten to wear it. I've never been so forgetful," I groaned, feeling disappointed in myself.

"You're human, and humans forget. Don't beat yourself up over this," Hassan reassured me, his voice calm and soothing. "I'm just glad the delivery guy didn't see you. I would have honestly dropped to the floor in despair," he added with a chuckle.

As we sat down to enjoy our meal, I chose to let go of the what-ifs and instead focused on being grateful that nothing had happened and that Hassan was there to comfort me.

I sat and ate my sweet and sour chicken while he ate his beef with broccoli.

"By the way, how on earth were you done so quickly with your shower? You're normally in there for an hour," I asked with mock curiosity, raising an eyebrow as I glanced at Hassan.

"Eat your dinner, woman," he responded with an eye-roll as he lightly nudged me.

"Abusive!" I exclaimed dramatically, playing up the theatrics as I glanced around as if seeking validation from an imaginary audience.

"Dork," Hassan countered with a playful smirk, clearly amused by my antics.

His dork.

~

Wrote this in like an hour, alhamdulilah.

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