Throughout the hearing, the room was silent, so quiet that a pin could drop and echo throughout our eardrums, thick atmosphere too suffocating to bear while knowing that all of America was sitting in their homes, jaw dropped, and eyes hungrily absorbing the latest installment to the Tarkan scandal.

It was like a reality TV show to some people, a joke of a serious situation. They didn't understand that our lives were affected by their gossips, that their lies weaved our daily interactions.

I sat behind the prosecuting bench, where Ibrahim sat patiently with the occasional sigh at the length of the entire ordeal. Jared was not letting up.

He tried every single trick in the book with his lawyer, avoiding or deflecting most questions directed at him. Luckily for Ibrahim, Khalil saw right through their schemes, and he managed to bring the focus back at the topic at hand, not allowing Jared to squirm his way out like all the other times.

The process was long and tedious, an ongoing cycle of push and pull, a continuous state of guilt and denial. One would think that after so many failed attempts, he would just confess to his crime, but Jared was much more slippery than that. He would fight tooth and nail if he had too, an admirable quality if it wasn't for the fact that he used his perseverance to ruin others instead of perfecting his business.

But I guess in his mind ruining Tarkan Industries was beneficial to his company.

We waited for the jury for about an hour, the longest hour of my life.

"We'll be okay In Shaa Allah (if God wills it)," whispered Ibrahim's grandmother, her eyes reflecting the hope that we all dreamed of. "Khalil is very good at his job and with the secretary's confession, I'm sure the jury will vote in favor of Ibrahim."

I frowned, crossing my arms. "I don't know. It seems like whenever I feel like people should have common sense, they don't."

She lightly hit my thigh. "Tasneem, hush," she scolded. "Don't let your worries control you. Put your faith in Allah and everything will be okay."

"And make duaa (small prayer)," piped in Bashir from beside his grandmother, grinning widely.

Their grandfather smiled, gathering the youngest Tarkan in his arms and ruffling his hair. "Ah, that's the good boy I know I helped raise," he joked, chuckling as Bashir pushed him away. "Oh, I forgot. You have an allergy to anyone touching your hair."

"It's not an allergy!" exclaimed Bashir, quickly tousling his hair to its original state. "It's a policy. Big difference."

"Not really," shrugged his grandfather. "You're just as sensitive as Ibrahim when he was your age."

Feeling the tension escape me, a soft, bubbly laugh escaped me, almost child-like in nature, a sound of innocence and joy. It wasn't a rolling on the floor and dying of laughter type of sound, but it was more subtle and soft, quiet enough for only our ears.

The camera crew was too busy with the anchors and analysis to even remember that the other Tarkans existed.

Ibrahim, however, heard the familiar voices of his family, quickly turning to catch our gazes. His dark, tired eyes met mine instantly, softening as he saw his family right behind him and supporting him throughout this journey.

A ghost of a smile graced his lips, but the phantom disappeared as quickly as it came, his stone-faced mask stapling back to his visage as a camera pointed at him.

Khalil directed his attention towards the sprawled papers across their table, whispering to Ibrahim low enough to guarantee that the mics would not catch their words. Jared's lawyer did the same for his client.

Before the legal teams could discuss any further, the wooden doors opened, a long stride of jurors walking through them and standing above their seats, each filing in one after the other. All side conversations hushed, silenced by their curiosity and the demand for respect that the court required. I heard the distinct noise of camera shutters as the judge hit his gavel.

Oh Allah, please let justice be served in this room today.

The judge nodded towards the juror in the middle with the paper that held their decision, time ticking slower as their voices seemed to drown among my muddle of thoughts. Each doubt raced through me, heartbeat quickening and chest painfully twisting at my fears. I couldn't control my emotions, nor could I stop the dismay from pulsing through my veins.

Deep breaths, I thought. Allah will help you. Just stay calm. Inhale. Exhale.

After a couple of breaths, my mind simmered down into a slightly terrified state, not as bad as before, but fear still lingering in the gaps. Not allowing inhibition to distract me, I listened attentively to what the main juror would say.

"Your honor, we have reached a verdict," the man said like he was reading off a script, face showing no expression. The audience, including me, held our breaths. "We find the defendant to be guilty of all charges."

As if on instinct, I released a breath of relief.

Jared was found guilty in court, meaning Ibrahim had been right all along, and now the rest of America knew it. They witnessed the trial, hung off of the lawyers' every word, and they made their own judgement based on the new information.

My husband was safe.

Looking around the room, I noticed the perplexed expression across the viewers, most likely emulating the vast majority of people watching, even the anchors seemed puzzled by the turn of events. The judge, however, was nonchalant.

"Jared Gavlik, you are hereby guilty of all charges by the court of Maryland. Sentencing will proceed in the following weeks," the judge announced, raising his gavel.

But before it could hit, Jared abruptly stood out of his seat. "Excuse me?" he harshly questioned. "What do you mean guilty?"

"Mr. Gavlik, please," his lawyer pleaded.

The judge hesitated for a moment, staring at the young man with a faraway look in his eyes as if he was pitying a time in his own life. "Is there something you'd like to say to the court, Mr. Gavlik?" asked the judge.

"No," he practically spit out.

"Young man, this has been a tiring case for both parties, but there is no escaping the truth," said the judge. "Business is always tricky, especially when you are young and in charge of an industry that provides for thousands if not millions of employees. That is a tremendous responsibility to bear at such a young age, and it's a pity that you've been manipulated by the materialistic possessions around you."

Jared's jaw clenched, his adam's apple bobbing down his throat as he forced himself to listen to the words he never wanted to hear, the truth he wished he could conceal.

"Greed is dangerous, young man," he warned. "It corrupts people who are vulnerable to its promises. Not only have you destroyed any chances of you ever leading G-Wear, but you also managed to direct unnecessary attention to a family that had no business with you. For that, the court punishes you." The judge hit his gavel again. "Dismissed."

I ran towards Ibrahim the second the words gave me permission to, unable to help myself.

His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me against him as he couldn't help but chuckle at the my actions. Regardless of how amusing I was, my husband held me close, touch like a feather, gentle and soft despite the rapid drumming of my pulse.

"I was so scared," I whispered into his shoulder.

"Don't be," he murmured, pulling back to kiss my forehead. "It's all over. We won."

"Alhamdulillah (thanks to God)," I reminded him pointedly.

He chuckled. "Yes, of course. If it wasn't for Allah, we would have been screwed."

Through our midst of relief and ease, Ibrahim and I caught sight of the dejected Jared, a man who once had it all now stripped of all his titles except liar and failure. Instead of Ibrahim being the disgraced CEO, it was now Jared. The media had all eyes on him, scrutinizing his every action, his every step.

As if the daunting thought processed into his mind, Jared paled as white as a sheet, eyes becoming red, cheeks flushing with disbelief and anger at all that had happened. His lawyer tried to speak to him about their next steps, but Jared was a mile away, head probably spinning in fear of the unknown.

I felt Ibrahim's hold loosen, and I looked up, surprised that he'd be willing to let go after all this. My husband didn't notice my confusion, his eyes still glued to the man that wronged him, clarity resonating from his gaze like the stars of a navy sky sparkling at a glimmer of hope, of redemption.

Lightly cupping his jaw, I brought his attention back to me. "Ibrahim, what's wrong?" I asked, worried. "This is what we wanted."

He shook his head. "No," he croaked. "I don't want this to end with hatred. We have to forgive him, and he needs to know that."

"After everything he's done?"

"Yes," he answered. "What type of Muslim would I be if I couldn't forgive?"

I searched his eyes, wondering if there was some twisted joke hidden in them, some sort of taunt, but there wasn't. Only kindness reflected back at me, only the sweet taste of forgiveness rippled through his vision, a gentle sway towards what the heart of a Muslim walked towards.

Nodding my approval, he brightened with a smile, dragging me towards Jared's table.

The room watched, camera shutters flickering in the blinding lights, scorching my skin with their vicious attention. Our footsteps attracted more attention, but at this point, I didn't care.

With Ibrahim tightly gripping my hand, I knew whatever this road led us to, everything would be okay, regardless of how many hurdles we had to jump, my husband was there.

My husband, my best friend, my everything. He was right by my side, and if being a CEO's wife meant media attention, I would deal with it. I would fight through right by his side because I loved him too much. No insecurity of mine could tear us apart because Allah made our bond strong enough to withstand many difficulties.

Ibrahim halted, and so did I, hidden behind his large frame. "Mr. Gavlik," acknowledged my husband.

He rolled his eyes, icy eyes narrowing. "What do you want?" he asked harshly. "Haven't you done enough already?"

"That's not fair to say," I interrupted, walking to stand beside Ibrahim with our joined hands. "You can't say that to us. We all suffered throughout this trial. We all faced the consequences, not just you."

Jared scoffed, arching a brow as an arrogant, bitter smile touched his lips. "Oh, really?"

Before I could even defend us, Ibrahim squeezed my hand in warning. "Look, Mr. Gavlik. I didn't come here to argue with you, I.... we came to forgive you for everything."

At this, the cold facade fell off. "W-What?" Jared spluttered.

Ibrahim exhaled slowly as if giving himself a burst of confidence. "I said we came here to forgive. I know they're taking you to jail to await sentencing, but I did not ask for an cruel punishment for you."

"Why?"

"Because you're young and human," smiled Ibrahim tightly. It must have been very hard to speak so pleasantly to a man that almost ruined our lives. "We all make mistakes in life. We're all vulnerable to something, but we shouldn't act on our desires. That was the lesson I wanted you to learn. That was the reason for all this. It was a lesson of business and consequence, a lesson of forgiveness for both of us."

A part of Jared just couldn't comprehend what he was saying. "How can you... say that?" he asked. "I did so many things, and you're telling me.... you forgive me?"

Ibrahim nodded.

"If we did anything wrong as well, the mistake is ours," I said softly like I was speaking to a child, which Jared was in a way. The reason he went through all those lies was to gain the attention and ardor of those he aspired to be like, to be recognized for his own talents. "My husband and I forgive you for everything even if you didn't apologize. We hope for nothing but the best for you."

Ibrahim gestured with a tilt of his head that it was time for us to go, his thumb absently rubbing circles on the back of my hand, a defense mechanism of his to comfort the both of us in such an anxious scenario. Nodding, we turned our backs on Jared, letting our words sink into him as the police officers began to tie handcuffs around their new criminal.

"Wait!" he shouted suddenly, making all the heads turn.

Ibrahim and I exchanged confused glances.

"Thank you, Mr. Tarkan," he admitted sheepishly. "I didn't deserve your mercy, but thanks for giving me a chance."

"You should thank God for that change of heart."

Jared chuckled before he was taken away by the officers, leaving Ibrahim and I with our family. They were waiting for us by the exit, proud smiles sitting across their visage, eyes warm with love and adoration, expressions gleaming brighter than any sun I'd ever seen. The storm had passed, and the peaceful bliss of mundane life awaited.

"We did it! We beat him!" cheered Bashir, doing his little happy dance. "Take that, America. Y'all thought we were a bunch of hooligans but little did they know."

"Bashir, quit the antics. You're embarrassing us," scolded Ibrahim as his cheeks reddened by the subtle laughter of those who passed us.

"Who cares?" shrugged Bashir. "We won the lawsuit. It's celebration time."

"God forbid," muttered Ibrahim under his breath.

I lightly punched his shoulder. "Don't be rude. We have a reason to celebrate now," I agreed.

Ibrahim sighed. "After all that, I'm ready to sleep for a week. That's enough business and law jargon for one day."

"No way-" Bashir began to protest, pouting.

His grandfather's arms reached around him. "How about we celebrate at home with everyone else?" he suggested, smiling as his gaze met ours. "Ibrahim and Tasneem deserve a day to themselves. It's been difficult for them. We owe them a day off from chaos."

Bashir shrugged. "As long as I'm fed, then I have no complaints."

"That's my grandson."

* * * *

Sprawled across a sheet, my head rested on my husband's shoulder, feeling the hard ridge of muscle brushed under my neck, pink hijab matching the faint, rosy blush coating my cheeks at the proximity between us. Even though we'd been married for so long, my heart still fluttered at his touch, still burned at his mysterious dark eyes.

We were in our backyard, laughing and talking about everything and anything we could, whispering sweet nothings while the dew of a gentle night brisked between us, sequin-silver of glorious molten-gold shimmering across the darkness, a cluster of light shooting with cosmic dusk behind the lustrous gems.

Tall, white picket fences stood around the perimeter, guarding our privacy with a degree of elegance and aesthetics that Ibrahim loved. No neighbor or curious onlooker could gaze into our night together, yet I still wore my hijab out of comfort.

The neighborhood was quiet, the warm air wrapping around us like a blanket, and I snuggled closer to Ibrahim, feeling his heat ignite my body, his free hand absentmindedly stroking my arm, dark brown eyes lost in the beauty that always surrounded us, the victory that engulfed us on such a blessed night.

Ibrahim changed into a plain white button up, leaving the top few unbuttoned as my hand rested against his chest. He was waist-deep in his thoughts, a world that I had yet to explore with him, private boundaries that I wished to cross.

But I knew it took longer than a couple months to truly overcome all inhibitions, to truly escape the horror he lived. Slowly, Ibrahim improved, talking to me about his childhood every now and then, smiling fondly like he was now as he remembered something.

I stared up at him, wondering what feather-like memory brushed against him with such fondness, wondering what brought his gentle smile, and if he'd always be at ease like this without fear of the dungeons that once trapped him in his vortex of nightmares.

Feeling my gaze, Ibrahim raised a brow, glancing down at me. "What's got your pretty mind so worked up?" he asked. "Don't tell me that it's me."

"S-Shut up," I stuttered, burying my face in the crook of his neck to hide the blossoming shyness. "You're so rude."

He chuckled deeply, the sound vibrating from his chest. "Oh, relax. It's okay to have fantasies about your husband."

"I am not having fantasies!"

"Oh?"

"You're the worst," I muttered under my breath.

Large, muscular arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer to the comforting heat of Ibrahim, his warm lips pressed gently to my forehead.

When he pulled away, laying back on the blanket, his mesmerizing dark eyes absorbed the stunned expression across my visage, thumb brushing against my bottom lip. I couldn't look away from the intensity of his gaze, the familiar darkness that lured me from the day I met him, mysterious and soft like a man who had more scars than he'd ever let anyone know.

Every time he looked at me with those eyes full of love and ardor, I continued to fall deeper in love with them, falling from the clouds with grace, yet refusing to be caught as I basked in the blissful winds of intimacy.

"How are you still so beautiful in the moonlight?" he murmured, hooded eyes reprimanding me to stay still. His deep voice tingled against my skin, the huskiness dragging across my veins in fervor and delight. "I really didn't deserve you."

"Don't say that," I whispered.

"It's true. I never deserved you, but I'm too selfish to let you go."

Almost on instinct, I clung to his neck, hating the hurt that lingered in his voice, the broken symphony that echoed in my mind as I thought about living without Ibrahim in my life. I never thought a man could be my everything in such a short amount of time, but that was the beauty of marriage. Allah gave me a partner, a best friend, and a lover all wrapped in one.

He was a man of honor and courage to stand for Islam even when the whole world screamed against it. The scandal only proved his dedication to those he led in business and the communities he helped fund like the orphanage. He protected all these people to save them from the flames of destruction.

"Don't say stuff like that," I said, voice a mere whisper. "It sounds like you'd leave me."

"I couldn't leave you, Tasneem," he promised, hands resting on the small of my back. "I can't even imagine it. All that we accomplished today was from your support and your willingness to stay by my side. Alhamdulillah (thanks to God) I had you throughout this political massacre."

My mind drifted back to the events of the day. "Do you think Jared will change?" I asked, afraid of the answer.

He hesitated. "I pray that he does," said Ibrahim. "He seemed surprised by us, didn't he?"

"Yeah."

Another thought crossed me through my memories. Jared wasn't the only one who learned about forgiveness today. Ibrahim had many people wrong him in his life, and I wondered if he still harbored any resentment towards his parents' murderer.

"Hey, Ibrahim?"

He hummed in response.