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The next morning, Jadwa stepped out of the shower, sulking as she caught sight of her reflection. Her long, healthy curls, freshly revived, dripped with water.
"I just got a silk press yesterday," she muttered, almost stamping her foot in frustration, a short towel wrapped snugly around her. Behind her, Imran stood, biting back a laugh.
"You can get another one today," he suggested, attempting to sound reasonable. She spun around, glaring at him with narrowed eyes.
"And then tomorrow morning, I'm right back under the shower," she retorted, rolling her eyes as he leaned in to kiss her head.
"Sorry, ma'am," he said with mock apology, his eyes twinkling. "But just look at you with those curls wow. You look like a muse I'd use if I knew how to paint." Admiration laced his voice as he caught her gaze in the mirror. A reluctant smile tugged at her lips.
"Your hair is gorgeous, habibti," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her damp shoulder. Just like that, the sulk melted away, vanishing into the air.
They got ready for the day together. He pulled on a dark blue kaftan and a Zanna Bukar cap, while she slipped into one of his comfortable shirts. She helped him fasten his watch, a small ritual they always shared, and soon he was ready to head out.
"Let's go on a date later," he murmured, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. Jadwa, standing on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck, tilting her head playfully.
"Hmm," she pretended to think, drawing it out.
"You've been thinking since before we got married," he teased, giving her a pointed look, full of amusement.
Grinning, she gave him a quick kiss. "Only if I get my tiramisu."
"You can have the whole restaurant if you want," he responded, kissing her forehead once more.
"Wait, babe breakfast!" she called, catching his hand just before he could leave.
"I can whip something up really quickly," she offered, but he just smiled, squeezing her hands affectionately.
"People are waiting for me, baby. I'll grab something at the office," he reassured her. She nodded in understanding, though she couldn't help the slight tug of sadness that he wasn't eating before heading out.
After he left, Jadwa set to work on her hair. Blow-drying her thick, voluminous curls was no small feat, and when her arms finally gave out, she let out a tiny scream of frustration. She headed to the coffee station for some comfort, preparing a cappuccino with perfectly steamed milk and foam. One sip, and her eyes fluttered shut in satisfaction.
"Alhamdulillah," she whispered, grateful not just for the coffee, but for the one who had bought the coffee machine. Alhamdulillah for him.
Her morning routine fell back into place after that. Ameerah sent her the number of a hair braider, someone named Fanna, which immediately clued her in that the woman was Kanuri. Jadwa threw on a pair of sweatpants under the oversized shirt of her husband's just before Fanna arrived.
Settling into the living room, Jadwa put on a documentary Imran had recommended—something about war crimes in technology. She had initially assumed it would be dry and boring, but knowing how little her husband watched TV or movies, she trusted his suggestions. To her surprise, she quickly got sucked into the film, only to be interrupted by her phone ringing.
Fanna had arrived at the gate, and Jadwa had forgotten to inform security. After a quick call, the woman was let in, helped by Jessica, the housemaid. Jadwa greeted Fanna, a middle-aged woman, and soon Jessica returned with a tray of refreshments. Jadwa also took the opportunity to ask Jessica to tell the chef to prepare some rice and spicy chicken stew for lunch, a craving she couldn't ignore.
