[Ongoing]
#1in replacement
#3 in nikkah
Shehryaar's patience was wearing thin, and so was mine. "If you say yes to this marriage, you will regret the day you were born," he threatened, his tone chilling.
With a heavy heart, I bowed my head in resign...
• Since English is not my first language you are going to find a lot of grammatical as well as spelling errors in the book. I haven't proofread most of the chapters but I promise you that you will find improvements in my writing before the end of the book if you are patient enough to ignore the errors.
And-
Though my characters may practice Islam, they are not perfect muslims. If you're someone who wish to learn about Islam, read Quran and it will help you not this book.
To the Muslim readers, don't miss your prayers to read this story. The story won't help you in the Akhirah but the prayers will.
Good Luck! Thanks for selecting my story :)
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'As Ahil and Aslah dashed toward me, their footsteps echoing the familiar rhythm of yet another scuffle, I braced myself for the inevitable. "Mumma, Aslah beat me," Ahil's voice trembled with tears, his accusatory gaze darting toward his brother. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his attempt to appear innocent.
"Who started the fight?" I interjected, my raised eyebrows conveying both exasperation and a hint of amusement as I crossed my arms defensively.
Caught between my scrutinizing gaze and his brother's smug grin, Ahil faltered, his protests fading into sullen silence. "You don't love me! He is your favourite, after all," he finally muttered, his lower lip jutting out in a pout that spoke volumes of his frustration.
"I know that!" Aslah chimed in, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he delighted in needling his younger sibling.
Summoning my patience, I intervened before their bickering could escalate further. "Both of you stop this. Go and study. Your Dad will co-"
"Babez, I'm home!" The sound of my husband's cheerful voice interrupted my admonition as he strolled into the kitchen, a smile playing on his lips.
"Dad!" Both boys exclaimed in unison, abandoning their squabble to rush into his waiting embrace.
"Someone is angry, I see," my husband observed in a hushed tone, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he surveyed the scene before him.
"Yes, Dad!" The chorus of agreement from our sons filled the room, their earlier grievances momentarily forgotten in the warmth of their father's arrival.
“Safa, look at me,” I huffed before turning to him.’
“Amiii!” I jolted awake, the remnants of a disturbing dream still lingering.
How could he? How dare he hold my children in his arms?
For two years, I’ve dreamt about him. How could I let this happen?
