I watched Tasneem, my eyes following the movement of her hands. Her back was turned to me as I sat silently on a chair, a marble counter separating us. She was so occupied with her stirring that she didn't catch my wandering eyes. Tasneem's soft humming filled the thick air around us.

She was wearing her baggy wool sweater, her pajama bottoms clinging to her thighs and outlining the curve of her hip before leading down to her long legs. Memories of our entwined legs came to mind, and I closed my eyes, relishing the moments where she would cuddle close to my chest. In bed, Tasneem would always hold me close as if I would disappear if she let go.

"Do you want sugar in your tea?" she asked, breaking the silence.

I opened my eyes. "Yeah."

She nodded and turned around again, opening a cupboard and trying to reach the sugar that was on the top shelf. Tasneem stood on the tips of her foot in an attempt to grab the sugar, but her fingers only brushed against the jar.

"Why is it so high up?" she muttered to herself, taking a step back.

I stood up. "I got it."

Immediately her light brown eyes went to me, widening. "No! I can do it, just... stay there," she rushed out.

I tilted my head at her. What was she doing?

Tasneem placed her hands flat against the counter, her arms straining as she lifted herself up. She stretched her body up, placing her knee on the counter, much to my surprise, and quickly grabbed the sugar before she went tumbling down the floor. She let out a yelp of surprise. A loud thud was heard as her back collided with the ground, other contents from the cabinet fell in a pile on top of her.

"Ouch," she winced, hugging the jar of sugar to her chest.

Quickly, I rushed to her side, kneeling beside her. "Are you insane?" I scolded, hoisting her back to her feet. "You could have seriously gotten hurt!"

Tasneem smiled. "I got the sugar though."

"Tasneem," I sighed, "you could have broken a bone doing that stunt."

"Well, I didn't," she shrugged, turning her back to me. She continued to make the tea for us, not giving a care that she left me with a racing heart and worried about her safety. When she realized that I didn't move from my spot, she looked back at me with a reassuring smile. "I swear that I'm okay."

Without a word, I walked up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and nuzzling my face into her neck. Her hijab was off, leaving her with the long curly black hair that cascaded down her back. Having her in my arms was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. The warmth from her body ignited a flame inside me.

Just one last time, I thought, before she vanished completely.

Her touch soothed my worries away, erased the negativity in my mind, and demolished the monsters inside me. I didn't deserve her, especially after all that I had done, but I couldn't let her go. Tasneem was my wife, my friend, and my companion through life. She was mine.

"You're in an awfully cuddly mood," she laughed, turning in my arms.

"Maybe its cause you're here, sweetheart," I murmured.

She smiled.

Every time she did that, I was in awe. Every time she looked at me with those mesmerizing brown eyes, I was at loss for words. Every time she spoke in her soft tone, I was helpless.

Her fingers reached up, brushing against my jaw. I exhaled a deep breath, her touch electrifying the nerves in my system. I felt awake and alive. Years of loneliness turned me into a bitter man. There was no joy in life, no aspirations. I had achieved all that I could ever hope for, yet I was still not happy.

But Allah had the solution all along. He gave me a wife. He brought Tasneem to my life, knowing that she could be the shoulder I could cry on. There was so much I wanted to tell her, so much I wanted her to know, but my past dragged its claws against my skull, warning me to stay quiet. Shadows that loomed over me grabbed the reins of my self control, halting any type of confession from my mouth.

And I felt more alone than I ever did.

"Why are you crying?" she whispered. She brought the tip of her thumb under my eyes, gently wiping the tears. Her palm cupped my cheek, leaning up to place a delicate kiss on my cold lips, barely brushing against them but enough to make my heart go into overdrive.

I stared down into her deep brown eyes, watching the emotions drown in them. They seemed to sparkle with empathy, luring me like a siren's call. Her call was not of destruction and death, but of love. Her eyes promised me a type of love that I had never known.

Pulling away, I grabbed my cup of tea and sat across from her, making sure to leave some distance. Her smile faltered, her hands shook, but I pretended to not notice the effect my actions had. She pulled her sweater tighter against her like she felt the chills of my hesitation. I expected her to snap at me, yell or scream in frustration.

She didn't. Instead, she quietly sat in the seat in front of her, placing her cup on a coaster. I brought the cup to my lip, sipping the hot contents. The liquid burned my tongue, but I didn't spit it out. I fought through the burning pain and swallowed it down just as the darkness had once done to me.

"So," Tasneem drawled out, "this is... nice."

I didn't look up. "Yeah."

Sighing, she placed her cup down. "Ibrahim," she said, sternly.

Silence.

"Ibrahim, you can't just drown yourself like this."

"I know," I mumbled.

I didn't want to tell her. Something was stopping me. Maybe it was the fear of rejection, maybe it was the fear of judgment, or maybe it was the fear of losing Tasneem. Haunting screams echoed in my head, and I begged Allah to stop the onslaught of memories, but Allah knew what was best for me.

He knew as much as I did that Tasneem needed to know. She had a right to understand her husband's withdrawal. She wanted to save me, but I was too broken to be fixed. My soul shattered into pieces when I saw my parent's death. My mind was never the same since that day. My light-hearted personality withered into thin air, becoming the dust of a forgotten memory.

A warm hand placed itself on top of mine. Startled, I lifted my head to see Tasneem's. Her lips parted, gazing at me with such adoration that it became suffocating to be in the same room. I don't deserve this. I don't, but why does it feel so right?

"It's okay," she whispered. She gave my hand a squeeze. "Everything is going to be okay. Shh, it's alright."

A knot found its way to my throat. "Tasneem," I croaked. "I don't know if I can tell you."

She nodded in understanding, although I knew that she was disappointed by my answer. "It's okay, Ibrahim. I won't force you."

"But I don't want to keep it to myself anymore."

She stayed silent, waiting for me to continue.

Lost in a trance, my lips moved on their own accord. "Nine years ago, I was living in Turkey with my parents and a toddler Bashir. Everything was perfect. I felt like I was on top of the world with my parents by my side. Hell, I was just like Bashir," I chuckled, trying not to let my tears fall. "My parents were amazing, the best parents anyone could ask for. Their love touched those around. I don't think my father ever took his eyes off her."

Tasneem's eyes lit up. "That's so romantic," she sighed, happily.

I nodded. "He always was with her. My mother had a kind heart. She wouldn't even kill a fly while my father and I chased one around. Those days were short, happiness doesn't last forever," I said, solemnly.

My beautiful wife's face had turned a shade paler, fear in her eyes. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to forget, to bury that night away. The pain was unbearable even now, and then suddenly, the world had stopped. Love and hatred robbed me of my family, of my teenage years. It robbed Bashir of a childhood.

My hand felt cold, and I opened my eyes to see Tasneem gone. Wildly searching for her, I felt her figure behind me, her arms wrapping around my shoulder. I leaned back against her, needing to feel the comfort that only Tasneem provided. She was my anchor in a sea of chaos. The currents rocked us, but we held onto each other even when the current became violent.

"It's okay. I promise you, everything is going to be okay," she whispered into my ear.

I shuddered as I continued the story. "My parents had a lot of enemies. My father wasn't a native Turkish. He grew up in America, but moved back to Turkey to be with his wife. In Turkey, my father was a general in the military. Turkey has a history of military coups, so my father was told about one beforehand."

"Oh, he didn't actually go through with it, did he? Military coups are really dangerous."

I shook my head. "Dad refused to join the coup where he could end up in jail if caught or lose his family. His men didn't like that, especially one particular man. A man who shared his blood and his legacy," I took a deep breath, "his brother."

Tasneem tightened her arms around me and I felt my uncle's betrayal stab me deep again. The pain never left. The man who used to smile and play soccer with me ended up destroying me. He destroyed his nephew. He scarred me. He shattered a little boy too young, a boy who could have lived normally if he didn't torture him. He ruined me.

"My uncle," I choked, "he... arranged for my parents to get killed as payback. Instead of a military coup of the government, they attacked my father for his betrayal to Turkey."

Tears blurred my vision, and I couldn't think straight anymore. The visions of those brutal men stomping into our home, pushing my mother down and ripping off her hijab as she screamed for my father. Dad was instantly killed, his last words still echoed into the fog of my mind. Bashir wouldn't stop crying and I was at my father's side, his crimson blood drenching my clothes.

"W-What did they do?" she asked, softly. Her lips were an inch away from my ear, fingers rubbing soothing circles on my back. My breathing became uneven and I felt my heart constricting within my chest. "Deep breaths, Ibrahim. Deep breaths."

"They came into our home, stabbing my father multiple times. I was right beside him when he fell at my feet. I... I couldn't," I stammered, not wanting to remember. Come on, Ibrahim. Just say it. Tell her how you feel, come on. I took in a deep breath. "I couldn't save him," I whispered.

"They killed him?"

I nodded. "My uncle killed him, right in front of me. His men shot my mother and he grabbed Bashir and I," I continued, haunted by the images. "He is the real terror. His evil ministrations have never left me even after nine years. Those nightmares, it's because of him. My uncle scarred me! My uncle took them away! He betrayed us!" I yelled, tears streaming down my cheeks. "He betrayed me."

Without realizing it, Tasneem was in front of me, in between my thighs and cupping my face in her soft hands. I gazed up at her from my seated position, watching her brown eyes glazed with sorrow, empathy, and pain. They watered, but she closed them as if she were in severe pain, so I did the only thing that I never let myself do.

I hugged her.

My face rested on the softness of her chest. My arms pulled her tight against me, plastering her to my body. I let out all my frustrations, all my despair, and all my internal conflicts. I couldn't stop the flow of tears; I couldn't stop the river from my eyes. I was desperately in need of comfort.

"Please," I begged. "Don't go, Tasneem. I-I know I'm damaged. I'm broken and I have nothing to offer you. I'm a mess, a reminder of the horrid evils in the world, but please. Don't leave me."

She pulled back to look at me. I was embarrassed for crying like a child in front of her, but I was only human. A man was as human as every other person in the world. Men were told that crying was a sign of weakness that showing emotions was dangerous, but I didn't care. Allah gave me a heart that filled with different emotions, ones that I only showed to my wife. My tears were a testament to my pain, not a sign of weakness.

"Ibrahim," she started, softly, "I will never leave you. Only death will take us apart from each other and Allah knows how much I pray to see you in Jannah (paradise). You're perfect." Her lips touched my forehead. "I love you, Ibrahim. Flaws and all. These scars do not represent misfortune. They represent strength and I thank Allah for blessing me with a man like you."

Love. She loves me.

Her words, they opened a door in my eyes. Noor (light) seemed to radiate off her, erasing the darkness that consumed me moments ago. Her smile, her voice, her touch, they chased away the demons. They chased away memories of my uncle. The pain I used to feel in my scars subsided.

She loves me.

"Love?" I questioned, wondering if she was serious.

She smiled. "Yes, I love you. Nothing will ever change that. Your uncle was horrible and he hurt you emotionally, physically, and mentally, but not anymore. You're a good person, a good Muslim. Allah gave you these hardships because He knew how strong and faithful you would come out at the end. I love you and I'll love you till my last dying breath."

Without even thinking, I let myself believe that maybe Tasneem was the cure that I needed. "You know," I sniffled, "I thought you were the one who needed saving with my money, but in the end, I was the one in need of saving."

"What do you mean?"

I cradled her cheek in my palm, inching our faces closer until the tips of our noses touched. Her hand rested on my shoulder, the other on top of my hand, keeping it on her cheek. Something about this position was so intimate. Staring deep into the brown abyss of her eyes, I could sense everything that she was feeling, I could see it.

"I love you too," I murmured, "and if Allah wills it, I will never leave your side, Tasneem."

With that, our ardor was sealed with a kiss. People had hurt me in the past, they had abused me in ways I still wasn't healed from yet, but this moment was nothing like my past. This kiss was a promise to our future.