I could hear Ibrahim's silent cries from my room. It didn't matter how tired or how groggy I felt, I could still hear his distress from a mile away. His silent sobs seemed to shake the enormous house, hitting every corner of the room and filling the halls with despair. The heartbreaking screams haunted him in his slumber, refusing to let his soul rest.

Walking down the dark hallway, I felt chills run up my spine as I neared his room, feeling shadows loom over me. I sensed his pain, his horror, his struggle against the unknown. His mind tormented fragments against memories, breaking the thin line between peace and destruction. My feet took me closer to his door until I stood in front of it, my mind in a haze.

Pushing it open, I stepped inside, allowing the cold air to caress my body. Ibrahim tossed and turned in his sleep, his arms flailing in front of him as he mumbled incoherently. Lines traced the creases on his forehead, his jaw clenched and his body visibly shivered. My heart lurched for him, it felt his sorrow, sinking deeper into my mind.

I slowly walked to the empty space beside him, sitting down on the soft mattress, and reaching out to him. I brought his body close to my warmth, praying that there could be some way to wake Ibrahim from his nightmare. Gently shaking his tense shoulder, I leaned close to Ibrahim's ear.

"Shh," I whispered, "it's only a bad dream. It's not real."

Unconsciously, his hand gripped the fabric of my pajama bottoms, holding onto me for his dear life. His eyes were shut, his lips trembling, and I ran my fingers over his forehead, smoothing the harsh creases. I could feel his rapid heart beat that pounded against his chest, his veins pulsing within his rigid body.

"Ibrahim!" I yelled.

His eyes shot open, terror lacing through his pupils and widening as he scanned the room in panic. Without realizing it, tears began to form and they slowly dripped down his cheeks. The pain of the past was killing him internally, but he didn't seem to realize it. He buried himself in work just to avoid his emotional stress.

"T-Tasneem?"

I gently smiled, "I'm here."

He placed his head on my lap, wrapping his strong arms around me. His body shook, his eyes leaking everything that he ever hid from people, all the secrets, the mysteries, and the lies that he was told. I gently rubbed his back, making small circles with my fingertips. Ibrahim tightened his grip.

"I can't take it a-anymore. It hurts s-so much," he choked out.

"I know, shh, it'll all get better soon."

A silence stretched between us. I heard his shallow breaths and his quiet sniffles. His body felt cold, almost frozen, and I knew the culprit was his nightmares. If there was anything I wanted the most in the world, it was to keep those monsters away from my husband. I wanted to shield him from all those painful memories, to protect him from himself.

Slowly, his body relaxed under my touch. I kept my movements slow and controlled, trying my best to soothe him in a way he never was before. Although we had been married for a short amount of time, I noticed things that many often overlooked.

Ibrahim and I weren't like most couples, we were unique in our own way. I didn't feel a stereotypical love for him, there was the emotional connection between us. His pain was my anguish, his tears were my sorrows, his smiles were my breath of air, his laughter was my enjoyment. We were two souls bonded together by the grace of Allah.

My husband's deep voice broke me away from my thoughts. "I used to laugh at Damon for saying he was in love."

"What?"

"I used to tease him and everyone else who claimed happiness from being married. I thought it was all a joke. It felt like a twisted joke. Maybe the whole time, I was just blind," he confessed as he sat up beside me. His eyes were red and puffy, his nose had a tint of pink, and his cheeks were flushed. A look of sadness entered his dark eyes. "I haven't been able to sleep properly in nine years. I kept thinking back to that one painful day that ruined my life. It never leaves me, Tasneem. I tried for years, seeking all the help I could, and it never left me at night."

I reached out to him, my palms caressing his cheek as I shifted closer. He placed his hand on top of mine, holding my hand there as he leaned into my touch. The scars on his arms were visible in the soft moonlight, making him appear stronger in every sense. The jagged lines hid the dark truth in them.

"It's funny," he softly chuckled as tears formed in his eyes. "I've lived so much of my life in a disguise, unable to open up to anyone. I've kept these secrets in my heart since the day it happened. The world had never been kind to me, Tasneem, but I tried to keep believing, trusting Allah to save me one day."

Dropping his hand, muscular arms encased me to his body. I gasped at the impact, but said nothing, knowing that Ibrahim was trying to let me into his heart. He was trying to confess, to tell me a subject of importance. His hot breath touched my exposed neck, nuzzling his nose against the soft skin, thus making my cheeks burn a crimson color.

"Every day was a war, a battle against myself. Everyday was a struggle to just wake up and live another day. Everyday was a torture, knowing that I had to keep being patient, keep trying in order to see results. I had to be strong for Bashir. My parents' last wish was for me to take care of him," he whispered, brokenly. He pulled away, holding me in his arms and looking into my eyes with a raw intensity. "My little brother needed me. I couldn't abandon him when he had no one left. He had no mother or father to remember. He only had grandparents and an older brother who tried to run away from everything."

"Ibrahim-"

He placed a finger to my lips, giving me a reassuring smile that he rarely wore. "Then you came along," he said, softly. "Never in my life did I think I would get married. I never believed in romance. I thought it was for the weak-minded. I created an empire around myself, but I had no queen to rule with me."

His words, they made a palace before my eyes, giving me everything that I ever wished to hear from my significant other. His poetic verses kept replaying into the back of my mind like a record. The way he gazed down at me made me feel like I was the only girl in the world, who stood at the top of his empire. I felt as if it was the first time we met again, my heart falling apart from the level of honesty that his voice portrayed.

He inhaled a deep breath, mentally giving himself courage to speak the next few words. "When I'm around you," he murmured, "it feels like I'm safe from everything. You chase my monsters away, you've stuck by me through every type of hell that I've given you. Sometimes, I wonder if I even deserve you."

"Don't say that," I breathed. "You deserve the world and more, Ibrahim. You deserve to be loved."

"If you knew what I did, you wouldn't feel the same."

"That's a lie and you know it," I fiercely stated. "The past does not define you, the past does not get to dictate your life, the past does not complete you. The future is in your hands, Ibrahim. Stop dwelling on the unchangeable, look to a brighter day. Change the future and live in the present."

He leaned his forehead against my own, closing his eyes as a faint smile touched the corners of his lips. "Would you believe me if I told you that you are my future?"

"Perhaps," I teased. "Would you believe me if I told you that you are my present?"

He chuckled deeply. "I'd believe you even if you told me a million times."

The playful atmosphere shifted, turning into a much more serious one. At night, we were allowed to be ourselves because no one saw the hidden monsters in us except a husband and wife. They knew each other's flaws and strengths. A loving couple supported each other through everything, giving the reassurance they always needed. That was what Allah intended when He created the beautiful bonds between a man and wife. They completed each other like a missing puzzle piece.

Dating and the immoral pursuit of a man and woman was forbidden in order to protect the purity between a couple. Islam protected believers by keeping them shielded from the tainted romances that aired on television where only physical desire was shown.

"Do you feel that?" asked Ibrahim in a voice so quiet I almost didn't hear him.

"Feel what?"

He took my hand into his calloused one, pressing my palm to his chest. "That," he whispered, "is what you do to me."

In that dark night, something beautiful happened. A connection so deep that not even the strongest blades could break it, a love so pure that it made bystanders shiver from the light, a couple so lost until they met each other. That was the greatest blessing Allah had given.

"Stay with me."

I pulled away from him, tilting my head. "Just for tonight?"

"Forever."

I smiled, I could never say no to that, not even if I tried.