It was Sunday morning around 8:30 a.m. when Aisha walked into the kitchen. She knew Omar wouldn’t be awake for another half-hour, giving her enough time to get breakfast ready.
She decided to make Aloo Parathas with curd and green chutney. As she set the potatoes to boil and kneaded the dough, she softly hummed a naat about Prophet Mohammad (S.A.W). Singing alone in the kitchen had always been her quiet pleasure.
Upstairs, Omar was jolted awake by his ringing phone. Barely opening his eyes, he reached for the phone on his bedside table. “What?” he grumbled, clearly irritated.
“Good morning to you too, Omar,” Faraaz’s voice chimed from the other end.
“Just tell me why you woke me up,” Omar replied, his tone sharper than usual as he dealt with the consequences of last night’s drinks.
“Iqra’s Aqeeqah is today. You and Aisha are supposed to be here before lunch. Don’t make us wait,” Faraaz reminded him before hanging up.
Omar groaned, cringing at the piercing beep, and decided a long shower might help his headache. Emerging from the bathroom in a bathrobe, he noticed a tray on his bedside table, which hadn’t been there earlier. On it sat a glass of lime juice, a familiar cure for his hangover, with a sticky note: “Lime juice for your hangover. Omar, please stop drinking?”
This message, in Aisha’s neat handwriting, was a ritual he’d grown used to, though he rarely responded to her silent plea. He drank the juice in one go, then balled up the note. Yet, just as he was about to throw it in the trash, he paused and tucked it into his bedside drawer before getting dressed.
Meanwhile, Aisha returned from placing the juice on his table. She disapproved of his habits, considering them haram, but knew that voicing her thoughts openly would only result in an argument. Her silent notes were her way of expressing care, coupled with her prayers that one day, he would see the light. She went back to the kitchen to finish preparing breakfast.
She heard his footsteps as he entered the dining area. “Assalam-u-Alaikum, give me two minutes. I’m almost done,” she called, flipping the last paratha onto the pan and pulling out plates.
“Walaikum-Assalaam,” he replied, to her surprise.
The warmth of his response made her heart skip a beat. She smiled brightly as she brought over the freshly made parathas, serving him a generous helping with curd and green chutney. Omar ate in silence, his expression neutral. Her smile faded slightly, though she remained hopeful, filling her own plate quietly beside him.
“Faraaz called. Iqra’s Aqeeqah is today. We’ll leave in an hour,” he said, standing after he finished his meal.Iqra was Faraaz and Azra' s 4 months old daughter.
“Alright, I’ll clean up and get ready,” Aisha replied. She looked forward to the event. It had been a while since she and Omar went anywhere together.
Once everything was tidy, Aisha went to change for the occasion, choosing a pastel hijab and a sapphire blue abaya adorned with intricate embroidery. She completed her look with a gentle smile and bright eyes. Just as she fastened her watch, Omar emerged from the closet dressed in a kurta that matched her outfit almost perfectly, as if they’d coordinated by fate. His appearance left her awestruck, and she blushed as he caught her staring, raising an eyebrow as if to say, *What?*
“Let’s go,” he said, heading toward the door. Aisha followed, grabbing her purse and slipping on her grey heels.
As they settled into the car, Omar reminded her, “Seatbelt.” She smiled, enjoying this small habit of his, and fastened it obediently.
“Shouldn’t we bring a gift for Iqra?” she asked hesitantly, hoping he wouldn’t mind the suggestion. After all, they couldn’t show up empty-handed on such an important occasion.
Omar wordlessly reached into the backseat and pulled out a small bag, handing it to her. “I already got something. Check if it’s suitable.”
Curious, Aisha opened the bag to find a small box containing a delicate gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped pendant. Her face lit up in approval, clearly touched by the thoughtfulness of his gift.
In about 15 minutes, they arrived at Faraaz’s home, a cozy bungalow warmly adorned for the celebration.
Faraaz and Azra greeted them with open smiles, thanking them for joining Iqra’s special day.
Omar took the little one in his arms, and Aisha’s heart softened watching him playfully tickle her. She handed the gift to Azra, who looked surprised and grateful.
“You didn’t have to…” Faraaz began, but Omar cut him off with a grin, “Of course I did. I’m her favorite uncle, after all.”
As they entered, Faraaz introduced Aisha to his parents,and cousins whom she had not met before. “Everyone, meet Aisha, Omar’s wife,” he said, gesturing to her.
“Assalam-u-Alaikum,” Aisha greeted them in her soft, gentle voice.
“Walaikum-Assalaam,” came a warm chorus of replies, followed by compliments on her beauty. Omar’s mother gave her an approving smile, and Aisha felt her nerves ease as she was invited to sit with the ladies.
Omar joined the men in performing the Aqeeqah ritual.Some of the meat from the sacrificed goat was donated to the needy, while the rest was prepared for lunch, which was lively with laughter, stories, and the camaraderie of both young and old.
After the meal, Azra asked Aisha to help distribute the dessert, a delicious Gajar ka Halwa she had prepared. Aisha carried the tray into the living room, carefully handing a bowl to each guest, her smile warm and sincere. She was down to the last two bowls when she realized Omar was missing.
Just then, a man stepped in front of her, flashing a strange smile. She froze momentarily, then politely offered him a bowl.
“Thank you,” he replied, taking it with an odd smirk. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you a friend of Azra’s?”
Aisha began to respond when Omar’s voice broke through, unmistakably firm, “She’s Aisha Omar Siddiqui,my wife. Keep your eyes off her.”
It Baffled Aisha,Omar addressing her as his wife was something very rare and precious.She couldn't help but smile at how nice it sounded.She looked at Omar who was staring at the man in front of him and wasn't looking happy.
“Oh, hello, Omar. I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was your wife,” the man said, his tone laced with a hint of mockery—or so Aisha thought.
“Now you know,” Omar replied with a steady gaze, stepping forward to stand beside her. Then, without a second glance at the man, he turned to Aisha. “Let’s go.”
Aisha nodded and fell into step with him, quietly thrilled at the silent support he’d offered. As they walked away, her curiosity got the best of her. “Who is he?” she asked, nudging a bowl of sweet dishes toward Omar, noticing that the man hadn’t been around earlier when she’d met everyone.
Omar took a dish from the tray before answering, his expression shadowed. “He’s Tahir Ahmed, Azra’s paternal cousin. Not a nice guy. I’d suggest you stay away from him.”
Aisha felt a smile tug at her lips. Was that concern she saw in his eyes? Perhaps she imagined it, but it warmed her all the same. “Good advice,” she thought, grateful he cared enough to warn her. Tahir had given her an unsettling feeling too, and she silently resolved to heed Omar’s advice.
As the afternoon waned, the gathering continued with laughter, shared memories, and joy for little Iqra. Aisha found herself feeling more at home than she had in a long time, grateful for this unexpected, tender connection with Omar. She knew that beneath his quiet, guarded demeanor, there was a man who, in his own way, cared deeply, maybe even more than he allowed himself to show.
For the rest of the day,Omar stuck close to Aisha, his presence as steady as it was reassuring. Whether it was for the benefit of the family or something more, she wasn’t sure, but his quiet protectiveness left her feeling safe and, strangely, cherished.
They finally arrived home, exhausted. After freshening up, they went to bed early, each content in their quiet companionship, though neither would openly say so.
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and then Add to home screen.