I can feel Your heartbeat

Chapter 10

Imran paused, his gaze wandering until it landed on a beautifully designed fridge magnet shaped like a crescent moon, a common motif in Islamic art. Inspired, he cleared his throat and began his tale, his voice carrying the warmth of a seasoned storyteller.

"So, well, it happened like this," Imran started, watching Amina nod eagerly, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"It was during the blessed month of Ramadan, a few years back, when I first saw you. You were dressed modestly in a red hijab and a long white dress, carrying a basket covered with a small embroidered cloth, filled with dates and homemade treats for iftar. You walked with purpose, eager to reach your grandmother's house to break fast with her. She had been feeling unwell and wanted nothing more than to have her beloved granddaughter by her side."

Imran paused, observing Amina closely to ensure she was following along. "And then what happened?" Amina asked, her voice filled with anticipation.

Imran leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to add a touch of mystery. "When you arrived, you found something rather unusual. The figure wrapped in your grandmother's blanket seemed different. It wasn't your grandmother but me, hiding, not a thief but caught in a mischievous situation!"

Amina's eyes widened slightly, her initial surprise melting into a gentle amusement. Imran, remembering the slight discomfort in his posture, instinctively adjusted his stance, maintaining an engaging distance as he continued. "I was there helping your neighbor with a charity project, but when a sudden downpour began, I sought refuge in your grandmother's house. Mistakenly grabbing the blanket, I wrapped it around myself just as you walked in."

Amina's laughter filled the space between them, soft and melodious. Imran smiled, pleased with her reaction. "You were startled at first, but then, recognizing the misunderstanding, you joined in the laughter. From that day, our meetings grew more frequent, and here we are," he concluded, his story wrapping around them like the comforting folds of a familiar blanket.

"Is this really how we met?" Amina's voice was playful yet tinged with skepticism.

"Yes, Amina," Imran called out softly, his tone a blend of amusement and sincerity.

Her gaze narrowed playfully. "Suniye, we're married, right?" she asked again, her tone light yet seeking affirmation.

"Yes, absolutely," he replied with a nod, his heart warm with the exchange, enjoying the dance of their conversation as much as the tale itself.

"Then why do they always refer to me as Miss Amina in the hospital? Even on my files, it says Miss Amina, and you never corrected them," Amina asked, her eyes filled with gentle curiosity as she patiently awaited his response.

Imran faltered slightly, his eyes darting nervously—a subtle dance as he searched for the right words. "Well... actually, Amina, when you were admitted here, the staff registered you as Miss Amina. It was just a formality, nothing meant by it," he explained, his voice a mix of reassurance and hesitation. He closed his eyes briefly, bracing himself for a flurry of follow-up questions that he feared might unravel the delicately maintained balance of their interactions.

Opening his eyes, he feigned surprise, adding a touch of drama to lighten the moment. "Oh, wait—they called you Miss Amina? Why didn't I notice that?" His tone was a blend of mock astonishment and a tinge of regret, as if he'd just realized a minor oversight. "I should have caught that! We were so caught up with everything going on... the treatments, the paperwork... it must have slipped through."

"Oh, okay," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of acceptance mixed with disappointment. Then, standing up from her bed, the movement revealed the graceful lines of her figure. She approached him, her presence commanding yet vulnerable.