HALF HER DEEN

20.

The kitchen, a mix of old and new, triggered memories as I noticed changes—a missing fruit bowl replaced by cookbooks, a new table, and a revamped fridge. Mom worked on cleaning chicken at the sink, and I focused on chopping onions.

Physically present, my mind drifted to Hassan, back to work for two weeks now. His absence during my online school hours intensified feelings of attachment. His routine departure at eight and return by late afternoon left me feeling like those wives portrayed in stories, waiting by the window.

Then there's the unexpected sight of Hassan in a suit. Accustomed to his casual style, seeing him in formal wear was surprising. Two weeks ago, he walked into the kitchen seeking help with cuff links.

He was dressed in a navy suit, his broad shoulders and warm complexion stood out and I couldn't help staring at him.

Caught in my admiration, I noticed a glint of appreciation in Hassan's eyes as he adjusted his tie.

"Baby, you're staring," He said accompanied by a smirk, bringing me back to reality.

Blushing, I tried to salvage my dignity.

"I-I was not!"

I walked over to help with his cuff links, Hassan turned the moment into a subtle tease, being one to never miss an opportunity to make fun of me. This man I swear.

As I finished cutting onions and washed my hands, my phone pinged on the countertop beside me. Glancing at it, I saw Hassan's message.

Baby: need help? Just say it, and I'll be there, inshaaAllah.

Me: so thoughtful of you but no x, I replied back with a snicker. He just wants to find an excuse to leave work early and wants to use me as the excuse.

Baby: ok habibti, I knew you would need help with something, so I already left the office twenty minutes ago. You'll see me any moment now. I love you!

I laughed in disbelief, hearted the message, and told him I loved him back. I guess we're both a little obsessed with each other.

I heard a throat clearing, and when I looked up from my phone, there was Abubakr, towering over me as usual. Apparently, he plays for the school team, though I have no idea why because he's not exactly Mr. Athletic.

"Oh, you're back. What did you even do there? You don't look like someone who just played basketball," I teased, noticing he wasn't sweaty at all. Dude looked the same as when he left.

"Ever heard of gym showers?" he shot back, giving me a deadpan look. He went to the fridge, grabbed an orange juice bottle, ready to drink straight from it. Quick as a flash, I slapped his cheek, making the juice spill on his white sweatshirt. Well, it used to be white.

My eyes widened, and without wasting a second, I bolted out of the kitchen, my mom yelling my name in the background. Heavy footsteps followed me as I squealed, making a beeline for the front door. Lucky for me, Hassan walked in just in time.

I wrapped my arms around Hassan's waist from behind, hiding from Abubakr. Hassan tried to get me to let go, leading me to the front, when Abubakr rushed in.

He stopped, greeted Hassan like it was nothing, then turned to leave, mouthing to me, 'you're dead.'

I waited till he left before I let go of Hassan and stood in front of him. We shared a hug, and then Hassan lifted my niqab, flipping it onto the top of my head for a soft kiss.

"You totally spilled that orange juice on him, didn't you?" he chuckled, clearly amused.

"You totally just wanted to leave work early to see me, didn't you?" I fired back with a cheeky grin, giving him a peck on his cheek. He laughed as we walked away from the doorway.