I'm more than a bit early to the restaurant, but Wahaj is late. It's a good thing because I'm just about going crazy at this point. I'm pretty sure I pulled out about half of my head of hair yesterday.

I watch Wahaj closely as the hostess leads her to the table where I'm waiting. Every single time that Wahaj has approached me in those past weeks, she's appeared so in control, so confident and so...distrustful. I snort to myself as I observe her. Had I not been so blinded by equal parts bliss and disbelief a couple of weeks ago in that restroom, I would've seen it then; the resentment shining bright in her dark eyes, instead of seeing what I wanted to see: longing; need as acute as what I felt.

Today, she looks simply...tired; dark circles ring her eyes. She's wearing jeans and an over-sized sweater just like yesterday. With the same white hijab, she looks young and so innocent, instead of like the angry, worldly woman that roared back into my life a couple of weeks ago. And I know I caused it all; I'm only now beginning to realize how thoroughly I created it.

I stole her innocence...but she took my breath away - in every single way imaginable. Now I need to figure out what else she's kept from me.

I told her about her father to see if there was any possible way we could get past it all and start over, to see if she could ever forgive me for hurting her in the first place. Instead, I've found that I'm a father to my own childen.

How do we get past this?

Regardless, as I stand next to her, barely able to breathe, I know one thing: she still takes my breath away, and she will always take my breath away. I pull her seat out for her. She sits stiffly; her expression wary, refusing quite to meet my gaze.

"Would you like to order-"

"I'm not hungry." She draws in a deep breath and pulls something out of her purse, placing it before me.

It's a small, black flash drive. I frown down at it.

"I completed the first draft of the research study. Here's your courtesy copy, as promised. Camila will continue here and give you as soon as she finishes in a couple of days."

I flash my eyes up to hers. She holds my gaze, hesitantly; cautious.

"Do you really think that's what I wanted to meet with you about? Do you think I give a damn about that right now?"

"I don't know what you give a damn about, Ibrahim; that's the problem. Unless you're speaking in your lecture or explaining to your colleagues, you hide behind an impenetrable mask of indifference that no one can read."

"I hide behind a mask?" I snap challengingly, leaning forward.

Her wary eyes flash, ready for a fight.

I realize something right then and there, we both have a habit of snapping; of merely letting the words pour out. And though these particular words sting to hear, they are the only words consistent with her.

She doesn't trust me. 

I understand because of everything that's happened - and because I'm not so sure how much I trust her right now either after stabbing me, not telling me about my daughters. 

I draw in a deep breath and try, for her, I'll try to break down the mask of protection that's simply become second nature in the past two decades. I was always trying to be older than my age because I was always young, I was young when I entered med school, college, high school, but she seemed to be right in time. 

She seemed to be the right person at the right time and this was supposed to be our time. For her and my daughters, I'll do anything. She doesn't seem to understand this... and I can't really blame her.

"Wahaj...let's..." I lean back and place my hand down my face, do my best to wipe off the mask, "...let's try this again. I don't even know where to start right now. I am here for you because I simply couldn't let you disappear from my life once more. I wanted to clear everything up and make sure that you knew that I don't want secrets between us anymore,"

She's expressionless while I speak; her mask still up. "I should've been an honest man for you, and I wanted to be. When you came back, I-"

"Ibrahim, this is no longer about you and me, but rather about my daughters."

"Our daughters," I hiss.

She holds my gaze, her expression even; eyes that were once so familiar and warm are now unknown.

Finally, she moves in close.

I put my hand forward when she snaps, "What do you see happening here, Ibrahim? Please tell me. That's all I want to know right now because I came here to discuss Layan and Lila,"

I watch her mouth as it moves, as her lips form themselves around those names. I still can't believe that we're talking about my daughters – about our daughters.

"I want you and me to clear the air, and then I want to see our daughters."

"Clear the air about what exactly?"

"Wahaj," I say tightly, trying to keep the edge out of my voice, to remain as calm as she appears, "obviously something, a few things went very wrong somewhere. I waited for you; I never tried to kill your father for my gain but for you. And I was told by you that you miscarried."

"You almost led me to miscarry, you are the reason why," She seemed to not want to get angry anymore, "I don't want to talk about that right now."

"Why not?"

"Because it has no significance on the matter before us at the moment."

"No significance?" My temper flares. "Wahaj, You should have told me that you had the child, our childen!"

"You never told me I was carrying my own child when you suspected otherwise!"

"I didn't know myself," I explained, "Your father brought this mess five years ago when he kidnapped us, and we are still aching because of it- together. Why do you always accuse me when your fathe-"

She puts a handout, palms up. "Ibrahim, I can't."

Suddenly, her entire attitude shifts. She no longer looks like the hard, impenetrable woman that stormed into my life again a couple of weeks ago, but rather like the scared, innocent and heartbroken young girl that ran out after I wronged her so severely.

She fiddles with her hijab. "I can't even think...of him right now, of how it may have been if I stayed four years ago... if it would've changed anything at all."

"If it would've changed anything at all? Wahaj, You never talk about things, you always run from them, you should have talked to me four years ago! Of course, it would've changed things!"

"Would you have revealed your secrets and told me everything?"

I took a step back at her question I knew her tricks now, "Wahaj I will answer honestly because that is what you want," I looked into her eyes as I spoke, "Trust me when I say that I would have told you anything that won't hurt you or break you because above all I wanted you to be okay,"

I continue, "But I now know what you want is an honest man, You are so afraid of what will happen tomorrow that four years ago you decided to leave without a trace. and now, you and I, are both afraid that we are always wearing masks, but if you decide that you will drop yours, I will drop mine,"

"Will you?" she asks, her voice already full of doubt. "Because I learned how to wear my mask from my professor and he was the best at it,"

The accusation in her voice seemed to detect that she will never trust me, "If I stayed four years ago would you be that cruel to me just so you would prevent me from seeing the cruel world," She cocks her head sideways.

"I would've taken care of you!" I answered, "I suppose I can't blame you for how little...faith you have in what I felt for you. I would've taken care of you," I repeat through clenched teeth. "Of you and our babies. Of my responsibilities-"

Her eyes seemed to lead astray from me, "Don't say things you can't complete," She spoke.

I swallow through the tightness in my throat. "Yes, I lied, manipulated you, but I am here waiting for you to meet me halfway,"

She won't meet my gaze, but I can see her bottom lip trembling.

"Wahaj, you were always the only real thing I can count on, and you have no idea how much I regret that you doubted that even for even a second; I'm sorry I made you doubt that, but it was always you. And it would've been you and our babies."

"I have no way of knowing," she murmurs in a choked voice. "I have no way of knowing how to trust you."

"Wahaj..." I reach up and wipe off a tear that's trailed down her cheek; her face is so warm and smooth. She closes her eyes at my touch.

"I went into premature labour because of you because of what you have been given me; my daughter had suffered tremendously."

My heart feels as if it's being cut open with a knife.

"Wahaj," I swallow thickly, "Oh Allah, Wahaj..."

She draws in a sharp breath and allows her eyes to meet mine once more.

"It's too much right now, Ibrahim; too many scenarios and what-ifs that I can't make heads or tails of at the moment and perhaps that's unfair to you, I don't know. I don't know what's fair or not right now. All I can focus on at this moment is how all of this affects my daughters in the here and now."

"Our daughter. Alright, Wahaj. We won't go into all of this right now, but at least tell me one thing now, Wahaj. Why were you in front of my house yesterday if not for them,"

"I came yesterday to tell you that I recorded the conversation between my father and me the other day. I have gone to a lawyer to give every information necessary so no one can take either of my daughters away from me. I need you to help to reveal everything."

My eyes widen in horror, "You mean everything, you really meant it when you said that I would lose everything." I assure her quickly before she snaps back, "I will do whatever you want,"

I reach out and grab her hands, enveloping them inside mine, holding on tightly. Thankfully, She doesn't pull away. Instead, she weaves her fingers through a tunnel and holds on just as tight.

Suddenly, she withdraws her hand as her gaze detaches from mine. I looked back and saw her, "Hello, professor" She greeted.

"Hello, Maggie is it?" I questioned as I looked at the face of the woman wondering which teacher assistant was she as I stood from where I sat and shook her hand. 

She nodded, "Yes I watched you when I came inside the restarant and thought of speaking to you if you have time," I looked over at Wahaj who seemed to be so different than she was four years ago. She seemed to look at us with uninterest. 

"I am busy at the moment, I will speak to you when I go to the campus," I informed her. Wahaj took the cup of tea in her hand and drank it as she disattach herself from our conversation as we both continue talking before I dismissed her while Wahaj was on her phone texting. 

After that I looked at Wahaj for a few seconds before she dropped her phone, "So when will I meet them ?" I ask anticipatingly. 

"On Friday but when you meet them, you can't tell them who you are."

"What? they are my daughter, Wahaj! I'm their father! I have rights-"

"Don't tell me about your rights, Ibrahim! They have rights too, and regardless of what rights you may think you have, I won't let you jump into their life only to run right out while you figure out what you will gain,"

"I know what I will gain. I want to see my daughters," I say impatiently.

She scowls. "If you meet them, we'll say you're a friend. This way, you can talk and get to know them without risking their-"

I shake my head from side to side. "No, Wahaj. I won't lie, I'm not playing this game. I'm sick and tired of games! I'm their father-"

"You know nothing about being a father!"

"That's not my fault," I clench out.

She jerks back when she speaks again, her voice trembles. "Listen to me. They are sweet, innocent four-year-old little girls who have been through tremendous things already. Once we tell them that you're their father, I will not allow you to turn your back on them."

"Get your knife out if I do because I will never turn my back on them."

The scepticism on her face kills me, "Inshallah, you mean what you are saying."