Author's Preface
Months had passed since Faris first saw his destined one in the reflection of the Sacred Lake. He went to the water every week. He could have gone every day, but he held himself back, because each visit left his heart raw with longing for a woman whose name he didn't even know.
How did my brother last five hundred years? he wondered, staring at the dark surface. He felt weak. He was sure the waiting would kill him long before that.
But Yahya had waited, and now he was about to become a father. Faris was glad for him, truly glad. He was going to be an uncle! His brother was proof that a destined one existed and would come. If Allah willed it, Faris would find his own.
Halima looked perfectly happy these days, though her belly had rounded out and no one could miss it. The hardships had come along with the joy: sleepless nights, endless trips to use the washroom, swollen ankles, a weight she still wasn't used to.
Yahya stepped into the tent and stopped. Halima was being sick again. He was so grateful for their firstborn, but it pained him to see her suffer like this. Fazia, the experienced midwife, had warned them that the child would be big, given the difference in their natures and the build of their bodies. The baby had taken his strong blood, and it was hard on its mother. Yahya blamed himself for every bit of her suffering. He tried to surround her with care and lift whatever weight he could.
When she finished, he went over to her. Halima looked up and gave him a tired smile. As she had for months now, she sat down, and he knelt behind her, beginning to knead her lower back with slow, practiced hands.
"How are you today?" he asked quietly, working at the tight muscles.
"Well... fine."
Yahya only sighed. He knew his wife too well. Halima kept her pain to herself.
"I'm sorry you have to go through this, my love," he said softly, leaning closer. "A woman's burden is never light. But remember how cherished you are in the eyes of the Almighty. Every moment of your hardship, every step, even this sickness — it is all counted as a blessing. Allah sees every drop of sweat and eases your sins. But I still beg Him every day to keep you safe. You mean too much to me. I wouldn't survive losing you.”
"I'm afraid of losing you," he said simply. "It's hard to watch you suffer. If I could, I'd take all of it onto myself."
"Yahya, don't be afraid. With Allah's help I'll be fine. Put your trust in Him. I want this baby with my whole heart."
He sighed again and, unable to stop himself, went on lecturing her about taking care of herself. Halima listened to his murmuring, and it stirred an odd, unfamiliar thought. She remembered her mother and the other women in her family. In her old world, everyone said that pregnancy was neither an illness nor a sentence. Women worked until the day they gave birth and expected no favors. And Yahya treated her like the most precious thing he owned.
She looked at him, deeply touched.
"I would bear a piece of you into this world a thousand times," she said. "I never had a real family, one that loved me. Maybe by loving this baby I can heal some of those old wounds. I'm glad our child will be born into love. I was born into fear."
"Yes, our child will be born into love, InshaAllah." Yahya smiled tenderly. "And I think I really have gone too far. It's just that I've never been a father before, and it feels like such a huge responsibility. Will I be a good parent? Am I doing enough to make things easier for you?"
"You're doing everything right. You're the best husband, and you'll be the best father, InshaAllah."
"All right. If you say so, I'll believe my wife."
"You'll be a much better father than mine was. He..." Halima faltered, trying to go on.
Yahya wanted to stop those heavy memories before they reached her. He covered her lips with his and kissed her, warm and sure. It had always worried him, the way she talked about her past, so calm and distant, as if she'd only watched her own pain from the sidelines. He wished he could go back and protect her then. Now all he could do was give her every bit of the tenderness he had saved up.
During the kiss, Halima breathed in his scent. Like any devout Muslim, Yahya wore clean fragrances and oil-based perfumes before prayer and before going out among people. It was a mark of respect. That dark, rich aroma had always calmed her like medicine.
The scent of safety. The scent of her husband.
She drew it in as she held him, feeling his broad, strong shoulders under her fingers. That solid body made her feel completely secure, as if those shoulders could hold up against any storm. His hands slid from her waist to her neck, and his lips moved lower, breathing in her own scent. Halima gasped softly at his touch. To be valued so sincerely and wanted so fiercely. What more could anyone ask for?
She could feel how much he wanted her. Since they'd learned about the pregnancy, Yahya had stopped spending their nights the way he used to. She was far along now, and though they both knew there was no real danger, they were still a little afraid of hurting the baby. But now he lifted his head from her neck and began carefully feeling for the buttons down the back of her dress.
For months he hadn't touched her like this, unwilling to burden her tired body. His love for the woman of his life, and his desire, had won out. He looked into her eyes, silently asking permission.
Halima nodded, shy but sure.
Yahya had always been a gentle, attentive lover. He listened to her body and stopped the instant he saw she was tired. Now, with her consent, he smiled bashfully and kissed her again, teasing this time, catching her lip lightly between his teeth.
Halima kissed him back just as eagerly.
It had always been like this with him: tenderness that filled her completely. She used to ask herself whether she deserved this kind of happiness after everything she'd been through. But when she saw the tremor in Yahya's eyes, she finally knew.
Yes. She deserved it. She deserved the very best this world had to offer.
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