Ramadan had arrived, a month of blessings and joy, a month where forgiveness hung over our heads constantly as Muslims atoned for their sins. Although the days were long, the rewards at the end of the day were worth every minute we spent starving, piling upon us like a gold rush.

Ibrahim, Bashir, and I spent the entire month serving the poor and needy, using every bit of strength we had to collect funds for them. When a blessed month like Ramadan came, it was important to take the most advantage of it, to assist those in need, to optimize our good deeds, and to show good character to those around us.

I sighed. The orphanage bake sale would commence in a couple of weeks, but I spent more time building projects than baking these days.

Except today.

Gathering my ingredients, I quickly cracked eggs, placing them in my huge mixing bowl with my other liquid mixes. After a couple of minutes of stirring, I poured the dry mix of ingredients in to make my vanilla cupcakes, adding some salt to the mixture before stirring it again.

My pink apron became smudged with flour, coating it in a dusty white to cover the vibrant colors below. Nonetheless, I continued my work, placing the bowl on my hip as I bent down to preheat the oven.

A warm pair of hands found their way to my hips, pushing me against him.

I yelped upright. "Ibrahim!"

He deeply chuckled. "Is something wrong, wife?" he whispered, lowering his lips to the side of my hijab, the cloth loosely wrapped around my head, making me even more vulnerable to his hot breath. "I'm only loving you."

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. Is it hot in here? Maybe the oven is getting to me.

Ibrahim's wandering fingers slowly trailed upwards, tantalizing my body in a rage of fire as his lips brushed against an exposed part of my neck. "Am I distracting you?" he murmured, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Go away," I hissed, slapping his arm with my free hand. "I'm getting ready for the bake sale."

He straightened. "That's today?"

"No, it's tomorrow," I said, noticing his confused expression. "Remember?"

Ibrahim blankly stared at me.

Sighing, I placed the mixing bowl on the counter, turning to him with a disappointed frown. I had told Ibrahim weeks ago to clear his schedule, yet the man seemed as incompetent as my father was whenever my mother told him important dates.

"Ibrahim!" I exclaimed. "How can you forget such a crucial event? Eid is tomorrow!"

"Well..."

I shut him up with my glare.

"Tasneem-"

"You promised me you wouldn't forget!"

"I didn't forget," he denied. "It just slipped my mind."

"Then put it back in your mind because you're going to help me bake all these cupcakes," I huffed. "No excuses to get out of it this time."

Ibrahim uneasily glanced at rows of cake batter of different colors like they were aliens from a different planet. He seemed on edge, and instantly my mind reacted to his emotional distress. Slowly, he took a bowl and began cracking eggs, dropping a shell occasionally and cursing under his breath when the rigid shell refused to yield from the bowl.

Without realizing, he tipped the bowl of wet materials over, causing the golden contents to seep onto the marble counter, tainting it in an oily sheen. I rushed to clean his mess with the tablecloths nearby, wiping down the surface until it became matte again.

Ibrahim's face contorted with a mixture of guilt and unease.

"You don't really like baking, do you?" I asked softly as I stalled my movements to help him instead.

He stayed silent.

"You could have just asked for help."

Ibrahim's shoulders slumped, jaw clenching as he backed away, gripping the counter behind him. His sweatpants spotted with drips of egg yolks and flour swirling between the damped areas, jet-black hair disheveled, and lips thinned.

He let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry. This was all my fault."

"It's alright," I smiled. "We all make mistakes sometimes."

He ran his fingers through his hair, not realizing that dusty powder still covered his fingertips, causing the ends of his hair to whiten from contact. I giggled behind my hand, making Ibrahim's brows furrow in confusion.

"What?" he asked.

"Your hair," I laughed unable to contain my giggles.

Walking over to one of the wall mirrors, he glanced at his reflection, dark eyes widening at how foolish he looked. Quickly grabbing a towel, he ruffled colorless powder out of his hair, mumbling under his breath when it barely left his hair strands.

"I hate baking," he muttered.

I smiled again, walking over to help him clean out the mess in his hair. "But you're so good at cooking regular meals," I commented, brushing off the remaining flour and sugar out. He bent down lower to give me easier access. "Baking isn't that different from cooking."

"My mother used to love baking," he said softly as he straightened. "She used to bake cookies all the time. Whenever I was down she'd make a batch just to cheer me up."

My heart melted at the longing in his voice, the pained smile on his lips, and the wistful gaze in his eyes. Ibrahim rarely spoke of his family, but when he did, it seemed like every part of his body relived the memories, relived those days of innocent bliss where there was nothing to steal his joy away.

Small tears welled in his eyes, and he quickly brushed them away. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm not usually that emotional."

I stood on the tips of my toes, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Ibrahim froze.

"If Allah wills it, you'll see her in the gardens of Paradise," I whispered as I held onto his muscular arm.

"Tasneem-"

I cut him off. "You don't deserve any of this, Ibrahim. You don't deserve those scars, those chains, those nightmares, or those lies that Jared tells," I breathed in one breath. "I wish things were different. I wish I could take away your pain."

Taking me by surprise, he captured my lips in an enchanting kiss, holding my cheeks as he tilted his head.

Closing my eyes, I allowed the familiar sensations of love ripple through me, shaking every fiber in my being until I was left without a tide to surf through my emotions. All I could focus on was my husband, my best friend, my Ibrahim. My attention fixated on his hot lips that caressed my own in a gentle embrace.

Ibrahim's free hand trailed down the side of my body, following every curve with slow precision and leaving a path of sizzling touches in its wake. He paused at my hip, pushing me undeniably closer to his hard body, molding to every soft curve of my own.

I hummed in approval, but before we could go any further, he pulled away, lips pink and swollen. Our foreheads touched and he stared deep into the abyss of my thoughts, into my eyes.

"There is never a day that goes by without my gratitude to Allah for blessing me with you," he said, voice thick with fear and admiration. My heart raced within my chest as I lost myself in his mesmerizing brown eyes and all its glory that it held. "I'm not afraid for my well-being. I'm scared for you, Tasneem."

"Why?" I croaked after finding my voice.

"Because I can't bear the thought of losing you. This scandal with Gavlik puts you in the center of all attention in America. I've lost so many people in my life, Tasneem, lost so many loved ones to greed. I can't lose you too."

That was when I saw it. I witnessed the trembling horror behind his murky gaze, a fear so strong that it threatened to rip Ibrahim and I apart. His past still haunted him and as much as I wish he'd ignore those memories, I knew it was not easy to accept the betrayals in his life.

But I knew one thing for certain. Ibrahim would never lose me. Our love surpassed all those obstacles, all those evils, and all those who believed they were superior. We shared a real love not superficial understanding.

"You will never lose me," I whispered lovingly as I softly cradled his cheeks in my palms. "I love you, Ibrahim. We will get through this together."

"Promise?" he asked like he was a scared child.

"I promise."

He pecked my lips once more, leaving an everlasting touch to burn me throughout the day. When he pulled away, he picked up his mixing bowl, silently helping me prepare all my batter.

I checked the time. "Where in the world could Damon and Amira be? Kanza said she'd be a little late."

"Knowing Damon, he probably is keeping his wife busy in bed," he remarked dryly.

I gasped at his bluntness.

Ibrahim chuckled. "Trust me, Damon is going to take his sweet time to get here. We're better off calling Thomas for help."

A flicker of hope entered my eyes. "Can we?" I begged him with puppy eyes. "Please."

Ibrahim looked conflicted. "He's handling the media for me. If I force him to bake, we might not have a peaceful Eid tomorrow," he sighed.

"But we need help to make all these desserts."

He stilled his stirring, tapping the sides of the bowl with his fingers, face contorted with pondering stress. "There's my grandparents, your parents, and Tanwir."

"I put Tanwir on advertising duty," I brushed off, pulling my cell phone from my pocket. "I'll call our families."

A thunder of footsteps ran down the stairs, shaking the house as Bashir came in our line of sight, eyes full of laughter and a bubbly aura surrounding him.

His smile dropped as he sniffed the air. "Is something burning?" he questioned, staring at the smoke coming from the oven.

My eyes widened.

"The cupcakes!" Ibrahim and I exclaimed simultaneously.

I grabbed my kitchen mittens and turned off the oven, opening it to release a cloud of dark, puffy smoke. Instantly, the three of us began coughing in fits, our bodies rejecting the air around us. Through my coughs, I managed to pull out the burned batch of cupcakes, hardened to the core due to my negligence.

"You burn pancakes and cupcakes," emphasized Bashir, shaking his head. "What has the world come to?"

"At least it's not all the cupcakes. I only burned a dozen," I attempted a joke to lighten up his mood. "Do you want to help?"

Bashir gave me an apologetic smile, opening his mouth to reject my offer, but Ibrahim beat him to it, putting the words in his mouth.

"Of course he will. He doesn't have a choice here," said Ibrahim, feigning a sweet tone.

"But Fortnite-" he tried.

Ibrahim placed a mixing bowl in his hand. "Ah, doesn't helping your brother and sister-in-law seem much better than a video game?" he taunted with a small smile. "The correct answer is yes."

"Fine," sighed Bashir. "I shall become the glorious Turkish baker."

"Save the theatrics for tomorrow when I need you to entertain the orphans," remarked Ibrahim as he prepared to pour the batter into cupcake pans.

Bashir and I laughed, elation filling the room in waves as the three of us baked together, talking, laughing, and joking around to pass time. It was rare to see Ibrahim carefree and relaxed. He smiled so much that the skin around his eyes crinkled, his teeth sparkling whenever he threw his head back in deep chuckles.

Bashir exchanged a glance with me, both thinking the same thought. Today was truly a Ramadan blessing.

so much more

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