Healing

41.

I yawn and turn around to look at the clock.

"I should probably wake up," I mutter.

"You probably should," a deep voice mumbles from behind me.

I turn around and there lays Omar in all his glory. My eyes trail over his face. How could one look so good right after they wake up. That's when I realize he's looking anywhere but my face.

"My eyes are up here," I say.

"I'm aware sweetheart." He has a devilish smile on his face as I feel myself blush.

We had been married for a month and still, I couldn't get used to his constant compliments.

"I just woke up. I probably look horrible," I groan as I bury my face inside his chest.  

"You look beautiful," he assures me and he hesitates for a moment before he reaches his hand out and caresses the outline of my face. I shiver slightly as his fingers are slightly cold.

After a moment, I slap his hand away and get out of bed. I'm pretty sure my face is now beat read. Thank god for the dark.

I hear the smirk in his laugh as he rolled over on the bed and reached for his phone.

As soon as I get into the bathroom, I look at my face. I didn't look bad. But there were still slight eyebags underneath my eyes. Far from presentbale.

I had to wake up like this next to him every single day? My insecurites slowly rose until I decided to look at this from his point of view.

He was probably feeling the same way I was right now. When he had reached his hand out towards me, I could see that they were shaking slightly.

I shake my head from side to side, shooing away the thoughts. He married me for a reason. I had to stop overthinking.

I'm doing Wudu when I realize I didn't bring a hair elastic with me to put my hair up.

How was I going to wash my face now.

I sigh as I try to hold my hair back with one hand and wash my face with the other, although I was used to using both.

But then, I feel a hand carefully take my hair into his. I jump slightly.

"Its only me, my love," he says softly. "Now finish Wudu so we can pray."

I finish the rest of my wudu, no hair complications in sight, and make my way back to our bedroom to put on my prayer clothes. By the time he comes out, I've layed down both of our prayer mats.

He gives me a peck on the forehead before ushering me to my prayer mat.

"Allahuakbar," he raises his hands and starts salat.

I do the same.

We finish prayer and lay there, on his lap, and listen to his beautiful voice as he recites Quran.

This is how most of our mornings went. We didn't talk much, just enjoyed each other others presence as we prayed to Allah.

Afterwards, I leave him to clean our bedroom and make breakfeast. Todays menu was cinnamon oatmeal.

I'm making chai when I feel an arm wrap around my waist and I suck my breath in, almost dropping the cup in my hand.

"I've told you to at least stomp your feet a little so I know you're coming into the room," I swat at him. He was always sneaking up on me in some way.

"I'm sorry, it's just a habit. I've been trying though," he hurries his face in my shoulder.

"I know you have. And thank you, but try a little bit harder," I say as I finish pouring the chai into our cups.

"I will," he says and takes the cups form the counter and puts them at our seats on the kitchen island, while I prepare the rest of our breakfast.

"Don't forget to say bismillah," I remind Omar as I put down the plate in front of him. I had put bananas on top of mine and strawberries on his (he didn't like bananas) with chia seeds and other toppings. Very cute if you as me.

"Bismillah hirrahma nirrahim," he says before picking up his spoon. "Thank you for making breakfast." He gives me a cheesy smile before digging in.

I smile as I sit right next to him. We eat and talk about our plans for the following day, a compromise we had made so that we would both know what to expect. He had to work a little late as he was opening a new branch for his cafe on the other corner of Paris, so I would be home alone until 11.

He worked really hard on whatever he did and opening was less than a month away. I had classes and nothing else, so I offered to babysit Dua and decided to go to my parents house for the rest of the day.

It was weird. No longer was it my house. I couldn't refer to it as that. It was my parents.

And that's how our first month of marriage went. Trying to get used to each other. It was a struggle, but we were getting better.