(Mariam's POV)

"They're here! Mama, they're here!"

I smiled at the little boy who bounced about like a sugar-high bunny. "Yes, habibi, I heard the doorbell too."

Imran beat me to the door, about to turn the knob but I took over. As soon as I opened the door I was hit with the force of a short little girl with big brown eyes and pigtails.

"'Ama Mariam!" she cried happily. "I missed you so much!"

"I missed you too, Dunia," I chuckled, before looking up to greet her parents. "Salamu Alaykum."

"Wa Alaykum musalam," Yasmine went in for a hug, but my stomach got in the way. "Ooh, it's getting bigger."

"So's yours," I gestured to hers, only four months along, but I could see a small bulge through her abaya.

"Come here, Mims, give your bro some love," Nasr bent down to embrace me, and I sneaked a kiss on his stubbly cheek. "Ew, gross," he wiped it off dramatically, and I rolled my eyes.

"He only likes it when I do that," Yasmine joked, and I held up my hands.

"Say no more, please," I said.

Imran and Dunia were already in the lounge, and we caught them jumping on the sofas like kangaroos. "Dunia, get down, now!" Yasmine commanded, and Dunia sheepishly obeyed her mother, followed by Imran, who could tell by the look on my face that I did not approve.

"Those two are so cheeky when they're together," I muttered.

"Dunia is just as cheeky by herself. You don't even want to know what she gets up to," Nasr raised his eyebrows. "I'm still recovering from the talcum powder incident."

Dunia was two and a half years old when she decided to go into her parent's room and shake talcum powder everywhere, and when they caught her, she said proudly, "Look, I made snow!" Yasmine sent me a picture of what Dunia had done and I still laughed whenever I thought of it.

"I guess that's not as bad as that time Imran found my makeup bag and drew on the walls with my eyeliner and lipstick," I chuckled at the memory, even though I was pretty furious at the time.

"He's an artist in the making," Yasmine said. "So...where's the father?"

"Oh, he'll be home soon. He's at work," I replied as I sat down. Dunia and Imran sat together and shared the iPad, playing a game. It was so cute how they got along, as they were similar age, with Imran just six months older than Dunia. Imran had Damian's blue eyes and my thick dark locks, and every time I looked at him I'd see a bit of Damian's mischievousness in his smile, but I could also see a bit of me too. He was the product of both of us, and it was the most beautiful thing.

"Shouldn't he be at home, taking care of you?" Nasr questioned.

"I don't need to be taken care of," I insisted. "His job is more important."

"You're probably one of the few wives who think that," Nasr chuckled.

"Yeah, well, he needs to work for the both of us now, so it's fine," I shrugged. "At least he takes Imran to preschool for me before he goes to work."

"You don't mind being at home alone all day?" Yasmine questioned.

"Immi visits at least four times a week to help," I answered. "Sometimes Zeinab swings by too, but she's busy now with her new job as a psychologist."

"She's also busy with her new hubby, Taariq," Nasr said teasingly. If I thought Nasr teasing me was bad, he was even worse when Taariq proposed. Zeinab met him in uni, and after a year of knowing each other Taariq asked for her hand in marriage. Their beginning was more halal than Damian and I's, as they didn't exchange phone numbers or talk about anything other than school work, but that didn't stop Nasr from giving Zeinab a hard time about it. Now, our parents were content that all their kids were settled down and married.

"I really hope you don't mean something else by that, Nasr," I said.

"Of course I don't, what are you talking about?" Nasr grinned mischievously.

"As mature as a twelve year old, this one," Yasmine sighed, shaking her head at him.

"You still love me, though," Nasr smirked, and Yasmine muttered, "Unfortunately."

I heard the jangle of keys turning the lock, and a smile tugged at my lips as the familiar sound of the front door opening made my heart swell.

"Assalamu Alaykum!" Damian exclaimed cheerily as he always did when he returned, and Imran's eyes widened.

"Baba!"

We all stood up as Imran ran out the lounge to greet his father, and I leaned on the doorframe, watching as Damian scooped his son into his arms, kissing his cheek.

"Ran-man! How's it going?"

"Khalto Yasmine and Khalo Nasr are here!" Imran reported with glee.

"I see," Damian locked eyes with me then and we exchanged Salams and smiles before he turned to Nasr and Yasmine, greeting them too.

"How are you? Are you doing okay?" Damian asked Yasmine, who smiled appreciatively.

"Alhamdulillah, everything's great. Except for the morning sickness," Yasmine shrugged. "Other than that, I feel normal."

"You call that normal?" Nasr sounded appalled. "What about the mood swings and constant cravings and all that?"

"Knowing Yaz, she doesn't have to be pregnant to have constant cravings and mood swings," I joked.

"True," Nasr laughed, and Yasmine smacked him on the arm.

"Hey, why'd you smack me? Smack her, she's the one who said it!" Nasr pointed at me, but Yasmine cocked an eyebrow.

"She's my best friend, she's allowed to say that. But you," Yasmine poked Nasr's chest. "Aren't."

"How's that fair?" Nasr whined.

"It's not, bro, but just go with it," Damian stage-whispered after setting Imran down on the ground while Dunia clung to his leg like a leech.

"Dunia, get off of his leg," Yasmine chided, but Dunia just clung on tighter while Damian laughed.

"It's okay, I can still walk. Look," he proceeded to take a step forward while Dunia giggled, enjoying the ride.

"Dunia, that's enough," Yasmine scolded, and this time she listened to her mum.

I suddenly felt a tug at my skirt and looked down to see Imran. "Can we have din-din?"

"You hear that, guys? The little prince wants din-din," Damian declared.

"Okay, then, let's have din-din," I proclaimed, and the kids cheered, running off to the living area, followed by Yasmine and Nasr. I was about to head to the kitchen to set up dinner when I felt a hand on my hip and a gravelly voice say, "You're not going anywhere without giving me a kiss, miss."

I turned to him with the sliver of a smile on my lips. "Is that so, mister?"

"Mhm," Damian leaned forward, locking his arms at my back, his face so close I could make out every detail, every pore, every fleck of green in his eyes. It was a wondrous sight, a sight I had seen for nearly seven years, but I saw something different every time. It was amazing how you could never get sick of someone, no matter how long you'd known them, because the more you knew them, the more hooked you got, and soon, you felt as if you couldn't live without them.

"Go take a shower while I get dinner ready," I whispered.

"Do I really stink that bad?" Damian smirked, and I had a strange urge to kiss that smirk off his face, but I held back, instead arching an eyebrow at him.

"No, but you look like you need to relax," I observed, and Damian's face softened.

"I love you," the words slid off his tongue, and it wasn't the first time he said it either, but it always felt like it was.

I offered a smile. "Love you too. Now go!"

Damian rolled his eyes, but not before sneaking in another kiss. "Go, ya majnun (crazy)," I laughed, and he grinned at me before heading down the hall.

Yasmine was already in the kitchen when I entered, peeking into the oven.

"Ooh, you made roasted chicken and vegies, my fave," Yasmine eyed the dish hungrily after I took it out of the oven.

"It's also Damian's favourite," I told her offhandedly as I got out the plates.

"I'm sure he loves all your cooking, right?" Yasmine said as she helped me serve the rice fresh from the pot.

"He loves Lebanese cuisine the best," I replied.

"Didn't you tell me he was starting to learn some Arabic?" Yasmine recalled.

"Yeah, he's actually getting better at it. After all, he has the best teacher," I gestured to myself, and Yasmine laughed.

"I'm sure the lessons can get very interesting," Yasmine winked, and I narrowed my eyes at her.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," I said as I served the food I had cooked today onto the plates. Being pregnant didn't stop me from feeding my family home-cooked food, and all this free time had helped me improve my cooking skills.

"I think this is the best food you've ever cooked, and I'm not even joking," Damian said after swallowing a mouthful. He had taken a shower and was in his regular home clothes, his hair brushed back and a line of stubble along his jaw. If I thought he looked good at nineteen, he looked even better at twenty-six.

"Shukran habibi," I shot a finger at him, and he did the same with a wink.

"You guys still act like teenagers, I swear," Nasr chuckled as he shovelled food into his mouth.

"That's what happens when you marry one," I replied.

"Mama and Baba are married," Imran stated, licking his spoon.

"And do you know what married means?" Damian asked gently.

"It means you live together and sleep together," Imran responded confidently. "And kiss each other," he added cheekily.

"He's not wrong there," Damian shot me a smirk, and I rolled my eyes, hiding a smile.

"Looks like you've taught your son all he needs to know about life," Nasr said. "Well done, guys."

"Thank you," I beamed, ignoring the subtle layer of sarcasm that coated his words.

"Dunia, stop playing with your food! Ya Allah, this girl," Yasmine tutted, shaking her head with a sigh as Dunia lined up the potatoes on her plate and named them.

"This one's called Popo, this one is Tata, and this one is Toto," Dunia pointed to each as she introduced them, and it was the cutest thing ever.

"And you've taught your daughter how to be creative with food," Damian remarked dryly. "Good job."

"She got it from her father," Yasmine said while shooting a pointed look in Nasr's direction. "He's the weird one."

"No, I'm pretty sure Dunia's more like you, honey," Nasr insisted.

"She has your eyes, though, Nasr," I noticed. "And Yaz's cheeky smile."

As if to showcase this, Dunia grinned at us, revealing the food in her mouth.

"And she got my table manners," Nasr chuckled.

"True that, bro," I agreed with a laugh.

After the dinner was over I cleared up the dishes, and Damian helped, which wasn't a surprise since he usually helped whenever he could, something I never took for granted. How did I score such a helpful, supportive husband?

"Mariam, stop spacing out and come help me! I can't do all these dishes by myself," Damian complained, and I snapped out of it, frowning at him.

"You're kidding, right? I cooked the food, so you should do the dishes. I can barely even reach over the sink anymore!" I argued.

"Yes, you can, you're just not trying hard enough," Damian shot back.

"You try carrying an extra ten kilograms in your stomach and tell me how easy it is!" I snapped. "If you haven't noticed, it hasn't been easy for me. I'm sick of all the work, and I'm just so tired...all the time..." I leaned against the fridge and pressed my fingers to my forehead, suddenly feeling so emotionally overwhelmed. The tears came out of nowhere, and my jaw was cupped by a hand that tilted my head up, forcing me to look into the eyes of the man I used to hate.

"You're right. Ana aasif (I'm sorry), habibti, I don't want to see you cry. Ta'ala (come here)," Damian enveloped me in arms that have held me so many times, and I buried my face into the cotton of his shirt, hating myself for being an emotional wreck but remembering that it wasn't my fault. It was the hormones. It was always the hormones.

"I'm sorry too," I sniffled, wiping the moisture from my eyes. I then realised he had used some of the Arabic I had taught him and I smiled. "You're learning."

"I'm always learning," Damian said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "From you."

"And you're my favourite student," I pinched his cheek, but before I lowered my hand he grabbed it and kissed the top side of my fingers with a glint in his eye.

"You're my favourite person, not-so-virgin Mary," he said with a heart-stopping smile, and I rolled my eyes.

"Again with the nickname," I groaned. "Do you really want me to call you yours?"

"What's mine?"

I smiled evilly. "Dam-dam."

The smile on Damian's face vanished. "Okay, you got a point there."

I cackled triumphantly, forgetting instantly that only moments before, I was in tears. I guess Damian had that effect on me, and despite our petty fights, we were able to make things work between us and keep it civil with a joke or two. There was never a day where Damian failed to make me laugh. And In Sha Allah, there never would be.