Beauty and the joker

4. The Joker card

Leant against the headboard, Zahran gently traced circles on the back of Fatiha's hand with his thumb, his fingers lost in her hair. She chuckled softly at something he'd said.

"I didn't say anything funny," he teased, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"I know," she murmured, "but I can't help it."

A moment of comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the rhythmic rise and fall of their breaths. Then, Zahran's voice, soft and earnest, filled the space.

"Do you love me, Tahira?"

A shy smile blossomed on her face. "Yes," she whispered, her eyes meeting his.

A warm glow filled Zahran's chest. "And Won't you ask me if I love you or not?" he asked, curious.

Fatiha hesitated, "No," her gaze dropping to their intertwined hands.

"Why?"

"If you... say you don't love me," she stammered, her voice trembling slightly, "my heart will break."

He cupped her face in his hand, his thumb brushing away a stray strand of hair. "My heart beats only for you, Tahira," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her skin. "I love you."

His words seemed to melt away her apprehension, and she leaned closer, burying her face in his chest. He inhaled her sweet scent, the fragrance of jasmine and innocence filling his senses.

"You're incredibly beautiful," he whispered, brushing his lips against her hair. "And so pure, so innocent. You're a treasure, Tahira. A gift from Allah."

Fatiha's voice, barely audible, reached his ears. "Don't praise me so much, Zahran. Or I'll have to praise you too."

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through her. "Then praise me," he encouraged, his voice filled with amusement. "Tell me the wonders you see in your husband."

Fatiha raised her head, her eyes shining with admiration. "Your kind," she began, her voice soft and sweet. "And strong. And so handsome, Mashallah."

"You think very highly of me. Don't you?" Zahran asked. "Don't think of me so highly. I am an ordinary man. Man, who made a lot of mistakes in the past." There was something in his tone that Fatiha couldn't understand.

Fatiha raised his eyes and looked at him.

"Past?" Something clicked in her mind. She suddenly asked, " Zahran, I don't remember my past. What if I have also made a lot of mistakes in the past? What if...," she was about to ask but Zahran didn't let her finish.

"What is in the past remains in the past. I don't care about your past. I only care about your present. To me, you are Tahira (pure) and will always remain Tahira." With gentle kisses, his lips traveled across her forehead, her eyes, and the tip of her nose, tracing the delicate contours of her face

"I also don't care about your past. I trust you. I know you are a good and honorable man, and I love you."

Zahran's heart swelled with love. He gently drew her closer, their bodies melding into one. "And you, my beautiful Tahira," he whispered, he leaned on her face. "You are the light that illuminates my life."

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After a day of exploration, they were now seated in a restaurant. Fatiha, in full burqa and niqab, glowed with contentment beside Zahran. He casually glanced around the restaurant, but Fatiha gently held his face.

"Only look at me and don't glance at anyone else," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

A smile spread across Zahran's lips. He understood her desire for his attention, given that many girls in the restaurant were not modestly dressed.