I then look at his hand to find a ring on it, similar to the ring I found in the hospital that the nurse stated it belonged to me, "Ohh for crying out loud," He says frustrated, "We are married, Dory." He ceases.

Memories of a ceremony began to flood my mind as images of my Profesor danced around in my vision. Him and I as I appear in a white dress. Him and I eating a cake. The Professor in his bed. Me in his bed.

Ya Allah, What have I done?

Present-day

"Does your ears hear what your mouth is saying ?" I chuckle as he kept telling me the story of how I got married to him and how my father was miraculously alive, at first I thought it was a joke to lighten the mood, but he seemed serious.

"It is the truth, Ms.Muhammad," He insisted.

"You are sick," I quickly come back, "I don't know what happened in those twenty one days, but it isn't that," I say as I take the books of the ground and walk away from him.

He is deranged, isn't he?

"Ms Muhammad," he says, firmer this time. "You need a ride home." The inflexion is gone from his tone this time. It's not a question. Despite the cold, I feel my cheeks heat under his piercing gaze as I look at him. He's such a picture in contrasts.

Sometimes, in class when he looks at me, he's like a missile about to detonate. I'll be laughing at something one of the other students have said, and his face is barely hiding his fury. Other times when we are alone, he would surprise me with irrational thoughts and theories.

I knew that one night that happened, I remember a ceremony, but to recognise a father who I sow bleed to death in a basement, which my grandmother swear he died in a car accident.

It seemed more of a fiction made story than the real truth.

"Okay, I won't say anything more, just get in the car," he says, taking my books from my hand as he walks past me and I leave the book and run the opposite direction.

Suddenly, the Professor wraps a firm hand around my abdomen and tosses me over his shoulder. I scratch at his back, but he doesn't even seem flustered by my vain efforts. Just irritated.

"Let me down, Iet me down," I reply furiously.

"You will follow," He asks.

I nodded as he let me down.

I follow, because his voice does things to my insides that make me lose all coherent thought, and obviously because it's freezing and my many layers of clothing are not doing anything to alleviate that.

I find myself jogging to keep up with his long strides. When we reach a shiny silver Lamborghini parked across the street, he holds open the passenger door for me, and I slide in and belt up, immediately overwhelmed by his scent saturating the whole car.

It was worrying at first that his sent didn't make me want to gag, but as I sit there, I relaxed which was unsettling since the last time I was in a car with him, I almost died.

But there was a sense of deliverance I felt that I couldn't explain.

He drops my books into the back seat and gets into the driver side, immediately starting up the car. He pulls on his seatbelt and sets his cellphone in its holder in the centre console. All of his movements are controlled, precise.

"To Chamberlin mansion?"

I nodded, it would be a 15-minute walk for me, takes less than five minutes in his car. He doesn't speak, stares straight ahead at the road, his grip on the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles are white.

When he pulls up at the mansion, I feel forlorn. I don't want to get out of the car. Despite his brooding silence.

He turns off the engine and takes off his seatbelt, still staring straight ahead.

"Well, thanks for the ride." My voice is small; I feel the need to whisper after such a long silence.

"Wahaj, You shouldn't be walking home alone at this time." This was the first time he addressed me with my name. "Even if you don't believe anything I say,"

"I do it all the time," I reply. "Well, that's a lie. Not all the time. I used to have a car, and my cousin drives around now. He was going out tonight, and I didn't even plan to come out, but there were a couple more books I wanted from the library."

He seems placated by my answer. He nods and purses his lips, still staring straight ahead.

"Well, thanks again, Professor." I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the car door. He gets out too, grabbing my books from the backseat and handing them to me.

"I will see you safely to the door, Wahaj," he says by way of explanation. "No need for this professor," I say afraid of what will happen if any of my family sow me with him.

"I insist," He says as he walks behind me.

The wind is stronger now, whipping through my hijab and blinding me. I stumble up the last step, bracing myself for a fall when I feel his arms wrap around my waist and pull me flush against him, preventing my fall.

Time freezes. His breath fans over my face as we stand there, staring at each other in the bitter cold. I feel the warmth of it right down to the tips of my toes.

I right myself, standing up straight as the Professor pulls his arms away, leans back against the door and lets out a humourless chuckle.

"I feel... very protective of you," he says.

I'm not sure how to respond to that. The Professor shakes his head and looks at the ground. I want him to elaborate, but I can see him shutting down before my eyes.

"I have to go. I shouldn't be standing here with you." I say as I start walking toward the door of our small house, but he held my hands firmly.

I turn to see if he walked away, but he stops, and my heart sinks as he looks back at me.

He comes near me as he brushes my windswept hair inside my hijab and cradles my jaw in his hand. His eyes dart between mine as if trying to gauge my reaction. He leans in and presses his lips to my cheek. It's brief, and it's chaste, but it fills my innermost parts with heat and desire, leaving me breathless. He pulls back, his eyebrows knitting together in a frown.

"Don't overthink it."

I didn't realize how many minutes I was standing outside blown to my core as I realize that he kissed me without premission.

Such a irritating professor.

My aunt suddenly opened the door all cheering, I looked to find that the professor was long gone and I looked toward my aunt.

"Aunt Seren, what are you doing?" I asked as my aunt lured me into the living room of our modest residence as I looked at her face, she seemed to be crying just a minute ago.

It wasn't my birthday. It wasn't any holiday; there wasn't any reason for Aunt Seren to be so excited. But for some reason, Aunt Seren was smiling. She was pulling me across the room with such strength that I wondered if my arm was dislocated. A few moments later, We entered the living room.

In the corner of the room stood a person. One was tall with brownish hair. I didn't have to ask who he was. I turned my back and walked out of the room, leaving my aunt, the man standing in the corner, without a word.

It had been fifteen years; fifteen years since he departed as I was five years old. I didn't need to reminisce; I didn't need to mourn. Him being alive meant that what the professor said was real and I couldn't contain myself. I didn't have to keep a constant vigil. My life didn't revolve around my dead father; I wouldn't do what the professor says I did.

The whole situation wasn't making any sense.

"Wahaj, Wahaj ?" My grandmother came out of the Chamberlain residence as she was on her way to our house when she sow me halfway.

"Mama Ghada, tell me this is a dream," I say shoving myself into her embrace as I looked behind me to find my aunt and father following me.

"H-how dare you ?" My grandmother began shouting that she scared me more than my father's sudden condition.

"I told you never to come back, I told you, you are dead to me," My grandmother shouted with rage and from her hatred I could understand she knew he was alive.

Aunt Miray was behind her as she left the cleaning supplies on the green grass and went into grandmother side as she tried to hold her from going at my father's direction.

I let go of her as I sow my father from afar with a horrified expression on his face. "I had too, Ummi," He pleaded. "No one believed me, I had too"

My aunt Seren seemed to be as lost as I was as the conversation between the two continued. While Aunt Miray seemed to know eveything going on and didn't seem fazed by any of it.