She Is My Hayaat

Chapter 39: You'll Never Forget

ATTENTION: A little warning due to some mature content towards the end of the story. You have been warned, so please read that section at your own risk. Dear Haram Police, Izhar doesn't appreciate your disapproval.

Now... where were we? :)

After the news had reached my ears, all the emotions had deprived me of my tired and frail body. All the life had been sucked out of me, and I didn't know how to feel or what to do. But then instantly, all the feelings came rushing back, filling me with serenity, peace, and gratefulness. Tears of happiness filled my eyes, but when I reached out for Izhar's lifeless body, he was no longer there.

He had escaped my cumbersome hold and afar into the numinous night. Allah's name stained my lips, and I kept sending my thankfulness above and beyond me. There was nothing in the world that could take away the amount of happiness my heart had absorbed by the smallest fragment of news that made my whole world.

"Izhar?" I whispered into the dim night as the curtains swayed without any shame to the beat of the wind.

My eyes were foggy with absentminded tears that had been pent up for too long. I wiped away the tears of joy and unknown fear and moved the stray blanket away from my small waist. Satin slipped against silk as I removed myself from the king sized bed.

My eyes scanned the open expanse of our master bedroom, everything in its place. Everything except for Izhar. I wrapped my arms around myself, Izhar's musky smell flaring in my nostrils from the hoodie, and looked around. There he stood under the pale moonlight, washing over his body. His muscular and lean back was to me. His hands tightened around the white marble railing of our balcony outside. I walked over the threshold and through the glass doors and very carefully watched him with pleading eyes.

What tumbled inside of him like a wave of a growl scared me the most. Before I could even understand whether or not he was angry or mad, he had escaped the abode of his existence. Not in a million years would I have expected Izhar to think that he was at fault for my pregnancy. Not in a million years would I have predicted his reaction and the way his tears had fled in fear instead of happiness. They were droplets of melancholy, stained with a tainted past.

The wind innocently blew through my ears, and the hair cells stood on end. I rubbed my pinked cheek against the seam of the hoodie and walked closer to Izhar. Tension and urgency was filled in every muscle of his back. His hands tightly gripped the railing, turning his knuckles white. His hair was a whirlwind of emotions, each follicle bowed in prostration.

I untucked a hand from my stomach and brushed it on the hard bone of his scapula. The muscles tightened even further, and my hand fell flat against him. I kneaded my head into the wide curve between his shoulders and inhaled a sharp intake of breath. My fingers trailed down his back and placed themselves gently on the curve of his hip.

I could feel him easing under my touch, as my fingers glided over their marked territory, the scars playing out where they were underneath his shirt. I turned my cheek into him, my lips sealing him through a kiss, but he still didn't move, and neither did he turn around and hug me and kiss me with happiness from our newfound joy. I felt as if the fever that had started to roar nomadically had subsided completely. It felt as if I was never sick, Alhamdullilah.

"Izhar," I whispered shamelessly into the night.

My voice had awaken the stars, and they gazed down upon us in mere fright and wondrous emotions. I picked up my head from his back and looked up towards his head. It was very slightly turned towards the side, trying to catch my voice in the midst of the silent commotion in our battling hearts.