Chubby nikkah girl ✅

🎆Épilogue🎆 : 9 years later

Pov Esan

"Come on big boy, let's get a move on!" I said to my son, Rizwan, now aged 10.

He waved his arms with his baseball bat as he quickly collected his things and rushed towards me.

"Did I play well, abu?" he asked me doubtfully, looking up at me.

I took him in my arms " Rizwan, you played very well, I'm proud of you " I said to him really proud of him

His eyes lit up and we headed for my car, I had come to watch his team's baseball match, he was one of the most talented players in his team and they had won first place, I looked at the gold medal hanging around his neck, expressing his victory.
Once the car was parked in front of Samira's house, which was now ours, Mr and Mrs Ghulam handed it over to us and went to live with my parents.

I quote the words they said: "Big boy, we're getting old, between old people, we'll live very well, take the house, you and Samira, you'll have more privacy and space with your children" Mrs Ghulam told us as everyone nodded in agreement.

We finally agreed and we'd been living here for three years without any problems. Rizwan hadn't even waited for me before rushing into the house.

When I arrived, I found him in the kitchen with Samira, who was holding his face and smiling. "I knew my son was talented, but once again you've outdone yourself, MashAllah", she said, looking at the gold medal Rizwan was showing her.

"Thank you Ammi ! Did you make my favourite dessert?" he asked with a voice full of hope.

She nodded positively and went to fetch him his lava cake. I watched the mother-son duo, even though Rizwan was aware that Samira hadn't given birth to him, he considered her to be his real mother. I still remember the day we told him, he cried for a long time in Samira's lap.

"I may not have carried you in my womb for 9 months, but I've been carrying you in my heart for 10 years now, and that's enough for me to be your mother entirely, you'll always be my first child, Rizwan".

Rizwan had burst into even more tears after Samira's tender words, and I was less tearful; the three of us had had a good cry that day, and in the end, their relationship had become even more fused.

Rizwan left for his room upstairs, and my kind wife, who hadn't noticed my presence, went off to the kitchen. I wanted to surprise her but it was she who frightened me by shouting from the kitchen, I immediately panicked.

"Sonia, Irfan ! You two little rascals, I'm really going to end up tying you to the stairs with a rope," she threatens furiously.

The twins, now aged 9, looked at their mother with innocence, and my daughter Sonia was the first to notice my presence, and came to take refuge in my arms, followed by her brother, Irfan. Samira had found the name for our daughter, and I for our son. She didn't want Sonia to be a bad memory in our lives, so she named our daughter after her.

My wife's furious look finally caught my eye. I was about to open my mouth when my daughter whispered to me to protect them. "Oh no, Esan ! They broke the oven, you're not going to defend them this time" she told me categorically.

I looked at my two children and questioned them, "We just wanted to make a strawberry cake for Ammi and Rizwan Bhai but we didn't know which button to press to start the oven", my daughter explained gently to me, under the angry gaze of her mother.

"And what happened?" I ask her, still not understanding how they managed to break the oven.

"Abu, so we turned on all the buttons but the oven made a very strange noise and then Ammi appeared and started screaming like gonzilla" exclaimed my son, Irfan then laughing and hiding behind my leg as he saw his mother grabbing a kitchen utensil.

I wanted to burst out laughing when I saw the comparison he'd made between Gonzilla and Samira, but I thought better of it.

"Imagine what could have happened if the oven had caught fire. Go and apologise to your Ammi," I said in a serious tone.

The two of them pouted, but complied as they approached their mother. "Sorry, Ammi, we won't do it again until next year," they said in unison.

Their mother arched an eyebrow but her gaze softened. "What do you mean until next year? You're not to touch anything in the kitchen until you're 18, but that's all right, I forgive you, take your lava cakes and run along" she told them in a gentle tone.

My two children, happy, took their dessert and left to join their big brother. I told Samira to go and rest while I cleaned up the bazzare they'd made.

When I'd finished, I went to my bedroom where Samira was lying with her eyes closed. I lay down beside her.

"Don't touch me! "she said, irritated

I rolled my eyes and looked at her 8-month-old baby bump. "And why is that?" I asked her.

She turned back to me, "Because I'm ugly, I'm swollen all over, I'm sore all over, and our daughter does nothing but kick me in the stomach," she said, starting to cry.

I smile as I try to calm her against my chest, Samira's hormones were in overdrive during her last trimester of pregnancy, I didn't even know what reaction she was going to get to a situation.

For example, the last time she cried because Sonia nearly fell to the floor, she didn't fall, she just nearly did, or another time, when I went to buy strawberries at midnight and came back to give them to her, she shouted at me because half of them were 6 centimetres long and the other half were 9 centimetres long, as if I was the one controlling their growth.

I just waited impatiently for our daughter to arrive, accepting my fate of being at fault in the most unlikely of situations in Samira's eyes, a word of advice to future fathers, if your pregnant wife tells you something, just nod, don't argue at the risk of losing your ears in the process.

"Samira, you are the most beautiful woman in the world, pregnant or not, swollen or not swollen, every day I am dazzled by your beauty" I tell her sincerely.

She smiles slightly with a sulky expression on her face, "Even with 100 kilos?" she asks me.

Samira hadn't yet conquered her body-related insecurities and her pregnancy kilos sometimes made her stink a bit, but I never let myself see her or find her beautiful.

"You're perfect, with as many extra kilos as you want, as long as it's you and not some woman at my side", I reassured her.

Satisfied with my answer, she turned round, I put my hand on her stomach and felt my daughter move, she seemed to be awake.

"Esan... Why do you love me so much?" she asked me suddenly.

I thought for a moment, there were so many reasons but the one that came to mind the most was this one: "Because Samira, you're my Chubby nikkah girl, the one who's only meant for me"
I could hear her smiling and reassured, she fell asleep, I stroked her hair still feeling my daughter moving in her belly, my other children soon joined us in the bedroom.

Rizwan and the twins played silently in a corner, not disturbing their mother's sleep, but from time to time they would come up to Samira and give her a kiss, making her smile in her sleep.

I looked at the precious people in my room, remembering where it all began, from my lie to Samira's forgiveness, which enabled us to build this present so peaceful, so calm, so full of love under the watchful eye of our Creator.

All this was really thanks to My chubby nikkah, my other half for the rest of my life.

                           Note :

That is the end of my seconde story !
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