The room was dimly lit with one lamp on Zaib's side of the bed glowing at his face since his wife didn't like even a ray of sunshine creeping through the curtains during her slumber. Zaib wasn't a fan either, but ever since there was a new addition to the family, he decided to bite the bullet and sleep with some discomfort. It had merely been a few minutes when he heard soft whimpers from the baby cot. Zaib's lost consciousness jumped alive as he scurried towards his child.

His eyes were droopy with exhaustion, but he still managed to crack a loopy smile at his little girl. The first time he had laid his eyes upon his daughter, she had carved herself into his heart. He never knew an existence so small, so frail could overpower his life. Initially, Zaib was confused at this surge of emotions: in his life, he had only loved Zoya so much that it ached his heart, but the moment he met his daughter, his heart automatically created a vast space for her. It was an instinctual, mysterious gift from Allah; the miraculous beauty of parenthood.

He was busy smiling down at her when she wailed again, softly. This cry alerted him as he quickly glanced back, relieved to find Zoya sleeping soundly, and then he hurried to carry his daughter in his arms.

Zaib held her in one arm, her head resting on his clothed bicep and a recent memory flashed in his mind. He chuckled, amused. Over a month ago, he was so afraid to hold his daughter; he'd constantly pester Zoya to carry her while Zaib played peekaboo.

Flashback

"Zaib, I have to finish writing an email!" Zoya shouted impatiently, her sore arm clenched as she held onto their daughter for the past hour. Zaib, who was clapping and entertaining their daughter paid no heed to Zoya's loud tantrums. "Zaib!" She screamed again, and this time Zaib finally looked towards her.

"Zoya, she'll get scared," he hushed his wife, playfully glaring at her. Zoya smiled bitterly, rolling her eyes at him. "If you're not holding her, I'll put her in her cot," she told him.

"No, she hates the cot! She'll start crying," he argued, eyeing his girl again and making another silly face to keep her smiling.

Zoya, growing frustrated with every passing second, almost punched her husband. However, she decided against it when she realised she was still carrying her daughter. "Zaib, either you hold her or I put her in bed," Zoya gave him a choice with a threatening stare.

Zaib looked up, eyeing her nervously. "I'll drop her," he frowned, feeling unease just thinking about it. "I can't carry her," he continued with a dark expression.

Zoya stared at her husband, her eyes softening as she noticed the vulnerability in his words. She smiled softly, her heart expanding with love—it was constantly growing bigger for him. She scooted closer, keeping her gaze locked with him. "You'll carry her- and no, you won't drop her," Zoya stated confidently, causing Zaib's eyes to widen in disbelief.

"No, I can't do that!" He anxiously stepped back, shaking his head, declining her offer. "Zaib, you can. Stop panicking and listen to me," Zoya commanded.

"But she's so small-she'll fall through my hands!" He dramatically gasped as he kept moving away from her. Zoya's expression soured again, her eyes narrow and mouth tightly shut. Zaib recognised this look—she was getting annoyed. He didn't like that frown at all on her gorgeous face, so he instinctively withdrew his stance and stepped close to her, giving in.

Zoya nodded, satisfied. "Sit down, Zaib," she told him, and he complied, seating himself on the bed.

Zoya stepped close, standing between his legs. "She's small," Zoya mumbled as she dropped down on the floor, sitting on her knees. "She's also warm," Zoya completed.

"Bring your arms out like when you hold Zayna sometimes," Zoya instructed. Zaib stared at her wide-eyed, wondering how that helped carry his weeks-old baby. He didn't question her though, and followed, bringing both his arms forward and curling his fingers upwards. He hadn't carried Zayna as a newborn, but he started to do it later- just to throw her onto the bed when she was being mischievous.

Without warning, Zoya brought their baby forward and placed her onto his palms. Zaib almost saw the stars as panic arose in his stomach, but he looked at Zoya, and her dazzling smile brought him back. "Just shift this hand a little above," Zoya brought his palm upwards, beneath their daughter's neck.

"Make sure you put a hand under this joint because she can't hold it up herself yet," Zoya explained, and he nodded immediately, making himself a mental note. "And the other grip is under her bottom, it's always the best in case you don't want to take any risks," Zoya suggested, and Zaib nodded again.

Then Zoya pulled her hand away, leaving it all up to Zaib. He felt anxious again and looked back at Zoya- silently pleading her to return to keep her guarded, but Zoya didn't move a muscle as she smiled at her husband. Zaib rolled his eyes at his stubborn wife and then focused his attention back on his daughter.

His heart skipped a beat as he watched her already sleeping in his muscular arms. Her lashes were long like Zoya's resting against her lower lid, and her lips were thin like Zaib's shaped like a tiny pout. Zaib felt a soul-stirring warmth radiating from his daughter and flowing through his blood, making him feel even more alive. The anxiety was long-forgotten as he stared at his daughter's sleeping frame. She was sleeping soundly with light snores flowing through her nose on his arm.

"Why's she sleeping? My arm is very uncomfortable compared to her pillow," Zaib asked, his intrigued gaze surveying his daughter. He looked up at Zoya, who had wetness below her eyes yet was smiling massively.

"Because she feels warmer in your arms," Zoya explained, and this had Zaib glow with the brightest smile in the world, his chest tight with happiness.

Zoya then scurried to grab a camera, and flash the camera clicked, saving this wholesome moment for future generations to admire.

Flashback Over

Zaib had mastered the skill and could confidently juggle his little one on his palms but refrained from trying it because Zoya would smack him into another dimension. He stared at her small yawning mouth and her light-coloured eyes shutting gently. At first glance, she looked like Zaib: his black hair, pigmented eyes, and his small mouth, but upon noticing more carefully, her button nose was like Zoya's, her cheeks were pink and plump; her eyelashes were long like his wife's. She was both him and Zoya, and it made his love for their baby grow magnificent.

"Hidaya, I love you," he whispered and kissed his daughter's nose before placing her in the middle of the bed, on a large pillow. Her eyes were fluttering open again, and she was gazing at her father's face.

"You always cry and wake your mama up. Do you hate the cot that much?" He muttered, talking to his daughter like she was comprehending every syllable even though her babbling mouth and smiling eyes said otherwise.

"Tell you what, I'll not put you in the cot anymore, and you don't wake your mama up again. Deal?" He softly murmured, bargaining with his little one. It seemed like a response when Hidaya burst into a light giggle, her eyes shining in the darkness. He chuckled and gently kissed her forehead before laying down next to her.

"Zaib, she might not wake me up but you sure did," Zoya's lethargic groan reverberated within the room. Zaib looked at his wife, who was now sitting up, rubbing her eyes. He watched her with admiration, her hair was up in a dishevelled bun, and she was wearing his shirt because earlier that day Hidaya had threw up on her clothes. Zoya glanced at her smiling husband, quirking an eyebrow curiously.

"Why are you smiling like that?" She wondered, edging closer to kiss her tiny daughter resting on the pillow, now kicking and babbling with jovial enthusiasm upon both her mother and father's attention. Zaib lovingly brought his hand forward, caressing Zoya's face.

"You look cute," he rasped, his voice rough with the lack of sleep in his system, and then he carefully moved forward, kissing his wife.

"I smell like baby powder and look like a tramp," Zoya reminded him, questioning his definition of 'cute'. Zaib broke into a chuckle, leaning back against the headrest, his eyes tracing his wife. "So? Baby powders smell nice, and what's wrong with tramps? Charlie Chaplin was a tramp, and look how great that turned out," he reaffirmed.

Zoya stared at him narrowly. "So you're agreeing that I look like a hobo? So you're indirectly calling me a tramp?" Her voice loudening with every passing second in humiliation.

"What? No! That's not what I mean-"

"Come on Hidaya, your baba wants to sleep alone tonight," Zoya spat bitterly, grabbing Hidaya in her arms and stalking out of the room. "Zoya! No, wait!" His yells were of no use; his wife had already left to the opposite guestroom. Zaib gloomily stared at the closed door, hoping his wife was just fooling around, but when ten minutes passed by, he realised the severity of her words.

He groaned, yanking his blanket off. There was no way he'd lay alone when he could sleep with the warmth of his wife and daughter. He prepared to journey out the room towards the battle zone, the guestroom; he was surely going to have to convince Zoya to let him stay, but he was determined to put up a fight. He grabbed his pillow and blanket, all set, in case his pitiful frown didn't help waver Zoya.

He then marched to the door and slammed it open. His eyes grew wide, seeing his wife standing before him, against the wall with a grin on her innocent face. "See, Hidaya, I told you baba would come to get us," Zoya whispered, and Hidaya's eyes shifted to her father, and she gave him a tiny smile as she fell asleep on her mother's chest.

"You!" He pounced forward, embracing his petite wife, in the process, enveloping Hidaya, and he gave them a bone-crushing hug. "Zaib- you'll crush her, you giant!" Zoya roared, but Hidaya was already deep in slumber, unaware of her parents' antics.