The slight trembling from beside me awoke me from a land of mystical fairy tales and happily ever afters. Blinking my eyes, I adjusted them to the endless trails of darkness that sheltered our bedroom in a restless night. Our bedroom seemed to swallow us, engulfing Ibrahim and I from the outside world where dim lights and scandals awaited our return.

His body trembled once again.

Wearily, I sat up, holding the dark as chocolate comforter to my chest. I wasn't naked, but my black, lace embroidered nightgown hugged my ample bosom in a deep v-line before cinching at the waist and flowing down to my ankles in layers of silky, black ruffles. It was very exposing attire.

Kanza and Amira had infiltrated my night wears and undergarments the week before my nikkah (marriage contract), insisting that the easiest way to a cold-hearted husband was through feminine seduction and sweet words. As a blushing bride, I had never taken their words seriously, knowing they were only joking and wanted nothing but the best for me in my new married life.

"S-Stop," croaked Ibrahim in his sleep, tossing and turning. "No... I-I'm too weak. Please, uncle, n-no!"

I leaned over, my hand reaching towards him in hopes of pulling my husband from the murky depths of his mind, forcing him out of the shadows of haunted thoughts. My fingers stroked his chiseled jaw, slight brushes against soft bristles.

He tensed.

"Shh," I whispered, bringing my lips to his ear. "I'm right here. It's all just a bad dream, Ibrahim."

Trembling, his breaths quickened, a thin layer of sweat coating his pale, cold body.

My lips brushed against his forehead, leaving a gentle kiss on the station of his chaos. "He can't hurt you anymore," I murmured. "I promise."

I rested my head on his broad chest, hand gripping his own as I listened to the slowing of his breaths and the rise and fall of his chest decrease. Every now and then, I would lift my head to whisper sweet nothings to him before falling right back on his chest, never releasing his hand.

His fingers tightened and he blinked himself awake. "Tasneem?" he asked, voice groggy with heavy sleep. "What... where am I?"

I sat back up, tilting my head at him. "Your room. Was this nightmare that awful that you forgot it wasn't real?"

Ibrahim nodded, sighing. "Aren't they always?"

"Hey," I started softly, "your uncle can't hurt you anymore. Look at all that you've overcome in the past nine years; look at how much you've thrived in the real world."

His dark, melting gaze kept me still, pinning me with their intensity even in the darkness where our only light came from the shimmers of a million dots that painted the night sky. Dim slivers of moonlight peeked through the inky curtains, but Ibrahim stayed perfectly still like a statue of male perfection gifted to me from a fantasy of desires.

With a brown comforter halfway off his sculpted torso and no shirt to cover his chest, he didn't seem like a man of pain and suffering. Without a glance at his arms, he seemed like a perfectly healthy male. It was the pale, jagged slashes across his arms that revealed a past too dark to speak of, a tale of a young boy whose innocence died in his parents' blood.

Unconsciously, my fingers traced the faded lines. He inhaled a sharp breath, eyes darkening as he continued to stare at my slow movements. I couldn't wrap my head around the nightmares he had.

Is it possible to be haunted for so long? Is it possible to be stuck in a never-ending cycle of pain?

"Tasneem," he said in a hoarse voice as he sat up on the bed, cupping my cheeks. "You're crying."

When my vision blurred even more, I realized that he was right. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I was unable to stop them from falling. I hiccuped a shaky breath, feeling some of the pain that he did. My throat clogged up, a heavy weight balanced on my chest.

I didn't want to watch him suffer anymore not with his uncle or Jared or society. I didn't want to witness his screams of torment anymore. I didn't want him to hurt.

Staring deep into my eyes, concern swirled within his brown eyes, lips parted in shock. Without warning, Ibrahim pulled me into a tight embrace, and I welcomed him with open arms. I clutched onto him as if my very life depended on his touch, his voice, his presence.

"Y-You don't deserve any of this," I said shakily. "I wish they would just l-leave you alone."

His arms tightened around my waist, hot breath close to my ear. "One day, Tasneem. One day, they will."

I pulled back a little so I could see his face. We were so close to each other, noses barely brushing and staring deep into each other's eyes, finding a comforting coolness in them. I noticed how expression softened every time he saw me, and he stared at me as if I was the most precious being in the entire world, as if I were the only sweetness he needed in realm of candies.

Ibrahim's brown eyes became glossy. "You know the only thing that keeps me going after every nightmare is you," he whispered. "Just knowing... just expecting you every time I wake up to be at my side every morning is the fuel I need to carry on. You're all I need."

"W-What?" I sniffled.

He lightly chuckled. "Thank you, Tasneem. You comforted me every single night. You stayed up just to make sure I was alright. I'm sorry I haven't been able to protect you from the business rumors." He choked up. "I'm s-so sorry."

It was odd how in the middle of the night, we stayed up crying in each other's arms as the stress of life finally caught up to us. We had distracted ourselves these last couple of weeks, only focusing on Ramadan to the point where we ignored every word that Jared would spit or every lie that women would yell.

We locked ourselves in our own cages without realizing it.

"I love you."

Ibrahim smiled. "I love you too. I'll love you for eternity in this life and the next."

He wiped my tears, kissing each cheek as if to erase the lingering sorrow with only the brush of his soft lips. I closed my eyes from the blissful moment, relishing every minute I spent in his arms, his care, his protection. When I was with him, it felt like nothing could harm us.

"You're still so beautiful even when you cry," he softly said. "You're still perfect."

I bit my lip, averting my gaze as a sudden shyness overtook me.

Ibrahim noticed, his chest slightly rumbling in laughter. It was rare to see him so relaxed, but pride blossomed within my chest from knowing that I had caused that effect on him. I was the reason for his smiles, for his laughter, for his happiness.

His fingers grasped my chin, forcing me to look into the dark abyss of his eyes and losing myself in the overwhelming emotions that flooded through them. I was drowning in his presence and I didn't want to be saved from it either.

Then his lips pressed against my own.

I closed my eyes. The soft yet delicate touch and the gentle and slow nature of the kiss was enough to melt my insides and make my toes curl. There we were, two souls intertwined together through destiny, sharing a passionate ardor in the silence of a whispering night. My mind became foggy, listening to his raspy, deep voice.

He gripped my waist, pulling me closer against him. His hands roamed all over my body, sliding up my hips without ever breaking our kiss. I couldn't stop my own hands from exploring the deep ridges of his pectorals or the tense muscles of his abdomen. Within a second, my nightgown seemed to slip off.

"Ibrahim," I gasped.

"Shh," he murmured against my neck. "It's just us tonight, no worries and no stress. We owe this to ourselves."

Pinning me underneath him, he captured my lips once again in a searing kiss, giving me no time to respond. Slowly, he dropped wet kisses against my collarbone, trailing them lower and lower. There were no barriers, no complications.

It was just us.

He wasn't hurried and neither was I.

* * * *

"Bashir! Hurry up!" shouted Ibrahim from down the staircase. "We're going to be late for prayer!"

I applied a subtle, rosy lipstick onto my lips, smearing the color gently. It was finally Eid al-Fitr, meaning the bake sale would be today. Coating my eyelashes with some mascara, I watched my usually dull brown eyes come to life, fluttering with every blink. I smiled at myself through the mirror.

A teal salwar kameez covered my body with elegant, bright roses at the ends of the dress and on the sleeves, lush vines winding through a maze of gold embroidery and lace that layered on top of the blue-green pigment. The outfit was a gift from my mother, who saw the flowers as a representation of my shy nature.

Dark pink daisies decorated the neckline, falling down to my waist in intricate shades of spring colors. The ends of the sleeves dangled with extensive lace, matching the color of the daisies. Wrapping a light blue scarf around my head, I added last touches to my makeup before standing. Ibrahim would be furious if we were late to the Eid prayer.

Descending the steps, I nervously stole a glance at Ibrahim, who was actively checking his email on his phone. He was dressed in his classic suit and tie look. His suit jacket hung on shoulders, white dress shirt stretching as he adjusted himself when he heard my heels click against the floor.

Slowly, his eyes met mine midway through the stairs.

Ibrahim's brown eyes dilated at my arrival, darkening in desire. Immediately, I stumbled on the steps and lost my balance. Squeezing my eyes shut, I expected the harsh impact of the floor beneath us.

Uh oh.

My husband's reflexes were quick and he lunged to break my fall, dropping his suit jacket in the process, but he successfully caught me, wrapping an arm around my waist. I hesitantly opened my eyes again, feeling dreadfully embarrassed.

"Are you alright?" he asked, eyes searching all over my face for any signs of discomfort. "Did you hurt yourself?"

I shook my head, standing myself back on my feet. "I'm just clumsy," I cringed.

He smiled as he leaned closer, dipping his head down to peck my lips in a brief kiss. The press of his soft lips against mine rushed the memories from last night, the overwhelming aura of acceptance. The way he held me last night imprinted my body to his touch, allowing me to succumb to my desires without a second thought.

He was mine and I was his. There was nothing that could split us apart. I knew he felt guilty about the scandal making life harder for both Bashir and I, but I also knew that Ibrahim didn't give up so easily. He was an unstoppable force who hid behind a guise of mystery.

"You look breathtaking in that," he said, straightening. "Your mother has good taste in style."

"Thanks," I grinned, feeling the previous lapse of nerves disappear as we spoke. I twirled a little for him. "Do you think the color suits me?"

He nodded.

"Really?"

Ibrahim nodded once again absentmindedly, glancing at his silver wristwatch with a deep frown. "Where's Bashir?" he asked.

I shrugged, feeling slightly disappointed at how easily he shifted the conversation. What did I expect? He's a man of few words.

"Bashir!" he yelled. "You have one minute till I drag you out!"

Bashir quickly opened his bedroom door, running down the stairs with disheveled hair sticking out in all directions. His tie was in one hand and a comb in the other, socks uneven in length, and crisp dress shirt half tucked.

He stood in front of Ibrahim and I, bending to catch his breath as his cheeks reddened.

Ibrahim cleared his throat, staring disapprovingly down at his little brother. "Care to explain?"

"Not really," he winced.

Sighing, Ibrahim grabbed the tie, quickly adjusting it around Bashir's neck. "I can't believe you're gonna make us late," he grumbled under his breath, taking the comb and fixing Bashir's hair.

"If I say sorry, can we forget this ever happened?"

"Fine."

Ibrahim placed the comb on a nearby table, opening the door for the two of us. Bashir grinned, practically skipping out the door as the morning sun happily smiled down upon his pale cheeks. I noticed how his shirt was still unchecked.

"Bashir," I called, "your shirt."

He smiled bashfully, smoothing the wrinkles and tucking his shirt into the black dress pants.

Ibrahim rolled his eyes as he locked the door. "It's sad how lost you are without me."

"That's why you're my older brother," winked Bashir.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Ibrahim's lips, feathering his pride with a stroke of a brush. He became the portrait of satisfaction with only the small things in life, a concept that many businessmen and women were blind to, choosing to wallow away in their self-pity and unquenchable greed.

Unlike Ibrahim, they were never satisfied with the little things in life.