I'm scribbling with the second draft of my research paper as I try to study for my midterms, while in the lecture of professor Yilmaz. My eyes wander periodically to the ceiling above me when his gaze connects with mine.

The professor discourses, "Genetic testing also harbours the potential for yet another scientific strategy to be applied in the area of eugenics, or the social philosophy of promoting the improvement of inherited human traits through intervention,"

I draw in a deep breath and let it out silently but its caught by the Professor, "Am I boring you, Ms Muhammad?"

The class filled with students all strip their attention from what they were doing and into me. My eyes flare as much as his, "Well not bore me persee, but Professor, you are contradicting your colleague with the genetic modification since in ethical practices we have been taught that this technology will raise issues more than benefits."

To the contrary belief of so many students that questioned the Professor before and got kicked out after losing to justify their arguments, this time was different. We discussed the topic as he continued with his points, and I stayed with my justifications, and the continued debate left me not being able to tell time.

The students around me shifted their attention between the Professor and back to me rapidly with each passing sentence.

Most of the students didn't get what I was aiming at; in other words, just the Professor and I knew what we were talking about was something that happened between us.

When I don't respond, after his latest comeback, his green eyes smile softly at me. "I think Class is over," He started looking at the clock placed behind him, "Good job, Ms Muhammad,"

The students fiddled around me as I picked on many smiles and praises for my acquaintance, But none mattered as much as the Professor's words. After all these years, his mind still amazes me; his knowledge captivating me.

"Can I speak to you for a second," He mutters, mouth barely moving.

The Professor that once stood to lecture that amazed me every time he opened his mouth was once again returned to Ibrahim Yilmaz.

I looked around to find students still picking up their stuff, "of course, professor." I smiled.

"There's something important we need to discuss."

"What is it?" I whisper in an admittedly clipped tone. I refuse to get distracted. Ibrahim runs a hand through his hair. His voice still silky and smooth, "I've asked Ahmad to move Lila to our hospital to children ward befo-." he confesses.

"What?" I cry to the shock of multiple students who I forgot were even there; I looked over to them with a smile and back to the Professor with a glare. "Ibrahim, are you mental? That's simply not necessary!" I whisper.

He whips his head to face me again; expression is insistent. "Listen to me, Wahaj. You and I both know that your father won't leave this alone. Ahmad will move Lila to our hospital so we could check on her more often. We could take care of her. Now I know you said you were going to take care of him, but in the meantime, Ahmad will stay and help keep an eye on Layan and Lila. I'll be back to check on them between lecture-"

"You won't take care of anything, Ibrahim. I simply don't trust you."

He closes his eyes, exhaling through his nose. "Wahaj, I admit I did this all...wrong the first time around. I kept secrets between us. I waited too long to come back. I risked the lives of our children. I...wasn't there for you when you needed me when Lila and Layan needed me."

His expression darkens. "I'm not making that mistake again. Not to our daughters, not to you." – he sighs. "In between, there's no one I trust more than Ahmad to watch over our daughters; you can't keep them in a daycare and living in a motel room with a nanny forever." – he sighs.

Most of my money was invested in the lawyer and on the hospital bill of Lila.

He flashes me an anxious look, and I nod in agreement and then slowly he reaches out for my hand, squeezing it tightly between his, enveloping me in the warmth I haven't felt in... a long, long time.

"Thank you."

Before I can get lost in those eyes, or anywhere else for that matter, I blink and walk out of the lecture room.

"You're welcome."

*******

"Wahaj, don't. Don't fall for it. Don't fall for his games again."

I remind myself of what Alexander once warned me as I study for his end game there. I am sitting in the hospital room holding Lila's hand as Layan sat in Yilmaz's lap while the doctor tried to explain to us her sudden collapse. As a new parent, he is unaware that we are parents, not doctors. I suppose it's one of those things I'll have to give him a hand at understanding.

"She is drained, weak, and didn't want to eat or do anything," He worriedly explains to one of his colleagues that supervises Lila's case.

The surgeon explains that Lila had a HeartMate ventricular assist device implanted during an open-heart surgery a few months ago. She also had kidney failure, which required another surgery. The device is a mechanical pump that supports heart function in weakened hearts and can provide a "bridge" to patients, who are waiting for a heart transplant.

The attending surgeon advised, "Professor, You should take her out to stay active and build strength while you wait for a heart to become available for transplant,"

His face is set in pure concentration – the same look I so often see on Layan. Lately...lately, I feel as if I can read more from his expression than I used to; it's not all just in his eyes anymore.

My own eyes alternate between watching my daughter in that bed weakened as a bittersweet ache is in my chest again when I see her eyes widen and a huge grin light up her weak face every time he looks at her with an easing smile.

The thing is, I'd imagined this scene so many times over the years. I'd look around and see other mom's with their husbands, with their children's dads. The dads would always be more adamant into getting results than most moms, and for one split second, I'd let myself hope before I'd push the dream away.

The attending doctor finishes his talk as the professor guides him outside; it seems he is still determined to play the doctor instead of the parent. He longed for control over the unpredictable circumstances.

When Ibrahim gets back inside, he kisses Lila's forehead, "Everything will be okay, I am here now." He kisses her with such helplessness that Lila studies him with an alarmed face before she looks at me and I smile at her.

"Ibrahim, can we speak outside" I spoke through gritting my teeth as he gazed at Lila not paying attention to me while Layan tried to capture every part of the room with her camera with similar expressions to Yilmaz's concentrated face.

I held his hand and guided him outside, away from Lila's needing eyes, "What is wrong with you?" I spoke.

"You are built for these things; you thrive in crashes." I joked but with no response, "Stop acting like a helpless man and be a man she needs a man she can count on,"

When I look up at him, his features are set with an emotion that sends shivers down my spine. "Wahaj, why didn't you tell me ?"

"Ibrahim, it's too late-"

"We won't give up; I won't give up easily. I know she is a strong girl and she will fight through this. I will bring the best surgeons, the best equipment. Wahaj. I am not. Giving up. Not on our daughter."

"I don't trust you to-" He cuts me off.

"If you need time to trust me, to trust yourself, to try to forgive me, I'll give it to you because they need all that too. But whenever I look into Lila's eyes, all I see is her trust and forgiveness and hope. I'm not going anywhere. I am not giving up. I'm here for our daughters ...and for you."

"The person who needs you right now is Lila. I don't need you; I don't even like you" I snort. "I don't even know."

He shuts his eyes and draws in a deep breath, and though I can't see his eyes, I can see the pain and anguish marking his features. When he opens them, he wraps his hands around my face, just like he once had.

I close my own eyes instinctively because of the heat...Ya Allah, the heat...

"Don't do that. Don't...hold me like that!" I hiss, pushing his hands off, but he puts them up again, cradling my face firmly between his hands, refusing to let go.

Few patients and doctors in the ward look at us, and I look at them but his gaze is focused on me, not on any of them.

"That's how I know," he hisses. "You're hurt; you're confused. I understand, Wahaj, because so am I. But this time, despite the pain and confusion, I'm not going to let you run away. And I'll wait because I know that deep inside you still feel something. Whether or not you decide that it's something worth fighting for, I don't know; I can only hope. But I'll be here, waiting; taking care of you and our daughters the way I should have the first time."

"I don't need to be taken care of, Ibrahim. Not anymore," I hiss. "I will make you pay for what you did. For every bit and piece."

He shakes his head. "I'm doing right by you and our daughters. I'm not playing games anymore. I am not keeping secrets. I swear that to you."

I want to doubt him. I want to feel the familiar resentment and distrust that have become second-nature when looking at him over the past four years. I want to remind myself of how he deceived me, of how the second that the going got rough, he waved the white flag and played his games. Of how though his eyes may have burned with fire. And his face...his face was an impenetrable, unreadable mask that was ready to lie so comfortably.

But when he looks at me that way, when he drops his mask so amply, it's so hard to doubt him for a second.