Mariam's POV

"Mama, Baba, wake up, it's Eid!"

Suddenly everything started shaking, and it felt like I was sailing on a turbulent sea until I opened my eyes. Who needed an alarm clock when you had children?

"What's happening?" Damian mumbled, still half asleep beside me while Imran, Malak and Zakariyah bounced on the bed, fizzing with excitement. Despite my grogginess, it was still a pleasure to wake up to three adorable faces sporting three cheeky smiles.

"Eid Mubarak, Baba!" Imran shouted into Damian's ear, and I chuckled as he moaned, still disgruntled and heavy from sleep, grumbling, "Five more minutes."

"No, Baba, you have to wake up now!" Malak yelled, sitting on his legs.

"Alright, I'm up, I'm up," Damian rubbed his eyes, still looking confused. "Why are our kids so chirpy in the morning?"

"I have no idea," I replied as I scooped Zak into my arms while Malak and Imran leaped off the bed. Could you believe it was only six thirty in the morning, and yet already they were up?

"Have you brushed your teeth yet?" I asked my kids, and they shook their heads sheepishly. "Then go do it! And here, Imran, take Zak while I get ready, okay, habibi?"

"Yes, Mama." Imran was turning nine next month, and as the oldest of the bunch, he had the responsibility of looking after his little siblings. He reminded me a lot of Nasr, and I was very proud of Imran because this year he fasted for the whole month of Ramadan, something I had achieved when I was ten years old.

"Eid Mubarak, habibti," Damian folded me into a hug, and I smiled against his chest, murmuring, "Khair Mubarak." It was our eleventh Eid together as a couple, and I only prayed we'd live to see many more Eids and Ramadans.

Eid this year fell towards the end of summer. Damian and I both took leave of our jobs each year for Eid so we could spend time with our family and be able to go to the mosque for Eid prayer in the morning.

The hardest part was getting to the mosque in the first place.

"Mummy, can you help me put this on?" Malak had her head stuck in the hole of her dress I had bought her last weekend, and I sighed, tugging it over her small head of brown locks, adjusting it for her.

"Imran, what are you doing?"

Imran was wearing his Eid clothes, playing on the PlayStation Damian had gotten him last year. "Let me finish this first," he said as his little fingers worked the remote control.

"We have to leave in five minutes, there's no time to play around," I told him firmly, reaching over to snatch the remote from him but he just leaned away from me, attempting to finish the level.

"Mum, just let me finish!" he whined, so I did, going off to look for Damian, who had finished dressing Zak. I smiled at him appreciatively, until I saw what Zak was wearing.

"Damian, why is he wearing the Spiderman shirt? That's not the shirt we bought him for Eid."

"But he loves the Spiderman shirt," Damian insisted, ruffling Zak's hair.

"The Spiderman shirt isn't for Eid, though," I pointed out before grabbing the shirt that I had intended for him to wear today. "This is the shirt."

"I know that, but he wouldn't let me put on anything else for him except the Spiderman shirt," Damian argued.

"Let me try, then," I began to tug off Zak's favourite shirt, stopping when he burst into tears.

"See? I told you." I shot a look at Damian who looked smug about Zak's stubborn crying, and every time I lifted the shirt, Zak would cry, and when I left him alone, he would resume to normal. Ya Allah.

"Okay, fine, he can wear the stupid Spiderman shirt. Let's just go, we're going to be late," I gave up in the end, and Damian kissed my cheek, which surprisingly calmed me down a little, since I felt a little stressed out. Having three kids did that to you.

"You're doing well," he whispered, squeezing my shoulder.

"Thank you," I mouthed back, before putting on my commanding mother voice. "Yallah, ya awlad! We gotta move!"

Wow, I sounded like my mother.

Coming to the mosque was like coming home. How many times had I come here, worshipping Allah? How many memories had I made with friends and family, but most of all, with Damian? It was the same mosque we had had our Nikkah in, and the same mosque where we prayed for Kareema. It was the mosque of life...and death.

"Eid Mubarak, Mariam!" I was hugged by none other than Fatima, who I could recognize by her familiar scent of pomegranate soap and lemon laundry powder.

"Khair Mubarak, Fatima!" when we broke apart, I looked down to see her three year old daughter Suraya, clinging to her mother's abaya.

"Salam, Suraya," I smiled at her, and she offered me a shy smile back, hiding behind her mother. "Still a shy one, huh?"

"Yeah, she's just like me when I was her age," Fatima said, taking her daughter's hand. I remember when I first met Fatima she was shy and quiet, but that all changed when we were together! Now she was a Quran teacher at the local Islamic primary school, and she loved working with kids, just like I loved to work with them as a paediatrician. "Anyway, let's go in!"

Damian took Imran to the men's section while I guided Zak and Malak to the room where all the little kids hung out, including Fatima's daughter Suraya. Once I dropped them off, I bumped into someone very familiar.

"Aah, Mims! Eid Mubarak!" Yasmine was very excited to see me, and so was her daughter Dunia, who was eight now and up to my chest.

"I had a feeling I'd be seeing you today," I said as I embraced my niece. Yasmine's other daughter Najla, who was four years old, surprised me from behind, something she loved to do to her aunties and uncles.

"Did I scare you?" she asked cheekily.

"You did, you cheeky little one," I kissed her cheek, and she giggled.

Yasmine's daughters stuck by her in prayer, since she had taught them both how to pray, and we stood in a line, along with Fatima, as the Imam led the Salah.

"Is that Zeinab?" I spotted my sister, who was one of the women supervising the kids in the playroom. Malak was playing with Zeinab's son Mahmoud, who was three years old, while the rest of the kids were playing with toys the mosque had provided.

"Indeed it is!" Fatima exclaimed, and we all went over to fetch our children after the prayer was over.

"Masha'allah, you're glowing, Zay," I commented.

"Everyone's been saying that, and honestly, I may look great but I'm tired and in pain most of the time," Zeinab sighed.

"Baby," Zak chirped, pointing to Zeinab's stomach.

"Yes, Zakariyah, it's a baby," I said gently, picking him up while scanning the crowd for my husband. And then I saw him, talking to a familiar face.

"Come on, Malak, let's go meet Baba," I said, but Malak didn't want to go.

"I want to stay with Auntie Zeinab," Malak pouted.

"Okay, you can stay with her," I relented. Malak adored Zeinab, and the feeling was mutual.

With Zak in my arms, I approached Damian and the man he spoke to, a grin already spreading across my lips.

"Assalamu Alaykum," I greeted, and Hassan turned to me with a wide smile.

"Wa Alaykum musalam, Mariam. Masha'allah, is that Zak?"

At the mention of his name, Zak turned to Hassan, and waved. "Hello."

"Hello, Zak," Hassan smiled at the little boy, before turning back to me. "You've got a beautiful family, masha'allah."

"Thank you," I beamed, glancing at Damian, who shared the same smile.

"Every day I wake up and say alhamdulillah for everything," Damian told Hassan. "I don't know where I'd be without Mariam."

"Allah always has the best way of bringing the right people together," Hassan said. At his words I exchanged a look with Damian, who raised his eyebrows. Well, I wouldn't have said it was the best way, since it was all because of a bet, but Allah willed it, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.

"How's your wife?" I inquired, and Hassan chuckled.

"She's right behind you," we both turned around and sure enough, she was, and I bid her an Eid Mubarak. Damian and I hadn't been able to attend their wedding, but we saw each other at the mosque sometimes, and we always said hello. They even had twins – two boys, both with the same blond hair as their father, named Yaqub and Ibrahim, excellent names.

"Well, we've gotta go now, it was nice seeing you again," Damian and I regretfully had to leave as we were going to spend Eid at my parents' house, along with the rest of the family. It was our Eid tradition, and I looked forward to seeing everyone again each year.

Once I had put my shoes back on, Malak tugged my hand and pointed to a girl who was standing in the corner crying. Immediately, my heart ached and together we went over to check on her.

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked, crouching on my knees so I was at eye level with her. The girl had beautiful thick long lashes and black curls tamed by colourful butterfly clips, and she looked about Malak's age.

"I want Mummy and Daddy," she sobbed.

"You can't find them?"

She shook her head, her small fist rubbing her eye. I was used to kids crying all the time, whether it was my own kids or the patients I attended to. There was nothing more heartbreaking than seeing a kid cry.

"Okay, I'll help you find them," I decided, taking her hand and standing up. Malak asked her what her name was, and she mumbled, "Nadia."

"That's a nice name," I commented as we walked through the crowd. I spotted Damian, who had his sons with him, helping them with their shoelaces, and all of a sudden I heard Nadia exclaim, "Daddy!"

"There you are! I was looking everywhere for you, Nadia!"

I felt my jaw drop slightly as I faced the sweet little girl's father for the first time. "Zaid?"

Zaid looked just as shocked as me as he hoisted Nadia into his arms. "Mariam. Assalamu Alaykum."

"Wa Alaykum musalam." I felt Malak yank my hand again, looking at Zaid warily while seeming eager to leave. "Eid Mubarak."

"Oh, yeah, Eid Mubarak," Zaid shot me a smile, though it seemed a little forced. "Is that your daughter?" he gestured to Malak, and I nodded.

"Is that yours?" I pointed to Nadia, and his grin grew.

"Yep, this is Nadia," Zaid shook Nadia's hand into a wave, saying softly, "Say hi, Nadia."

"You're welcome, by the way," I said, and Zaid's eyes widened a bit.

"Oh, yeah, thanks for finding her for me! I swear, this crowd is so big today, isn't it, Nadia?" his daughter just buried her face in his shoulder, seeming shy all of a sudden.

"Next time, keep an eye on your kids," I advised, and Zaid nodded solemnly.

"Will do."

"You found her? Oh, Alhamdulillah," a woman in a purple abaya came over to Zaid's side with a hand over her heart, and it didn't take me long to figure out who she was as Malak dragged me away. She had quite a strong grip, which was perfect for taking her parents wherever she wanted. It was amazing how much everyone had changed over the years, but I didn't think anyone changed as much as Damian did.

"Did you see Zaid?" I asked Damian after we got in the car.

"I did," Damian replied, starting the engine.

"He has a daughter now, around Malak's age," I continued as he backed us out of the parking lot.

"Her name's Nadia!" Malak informed us from the backseat.

"Good for him," Damian murmured.

The drive to my parent's house was never silent, because an eight year old, a four year old and a two year old were a recipe for noise. Zak started crying when Malak stole his toy from him, and I had a mini tug of war with Malak to retrieve the toy. Like I said, she had quite a grip.

When we finally arrived at my old house, memories came rushing back to me and the nostalgic feels were almost too much to handle. This was where I grew up, the place that shaped who I was today, the home I had lived in for –

"Mariam, help me get the kids out the car!" Damian called from the back as he assisted Malak in unbuckling her seatbelt, something she still didn't know how to do.

With a heavy sigh I got out of the front seat and obeyed, and as soon as I opened Imran's door he burst out like a bull, running to the front door with impeccable speed.

"Open the door, we're here, we're here!" Imran pressed the doorbell so many times I felt sorry for it.

"Istanna (wait), habibi," I heard my mother say through the screen door while unlocking it. Imran loved his grandparents and as soon as Immi swung open the door he attacked her with a hug.

"You've gotten too heavy for me to carry you, Imran," my mother laughed just as my father appeared behind her.

"Don't worry, Imran, your big strong Jeddo can still carry you!" Baba exclaimed, but as soon as he attempted to lift Imran up he let out a groan. "Maybe not," he grunted, putting Imran back down.

"Don't strain yourself, Baba," I said as I embraced him. "You don't need to prove how strong you are when you're the strongest man I know."

"This is why you're my favourite child," Baba grinned, cupping my cheek.

"Hey, I heard that!" Nasr cried, arriving with his lovely wife and kids.

"I'm just joking, Nasr," Baba gave his son a hug, winking at me over his back.

"Ah, Damian, you get handsomer every time I see you!" my mother kissed her son-in-law on the cheeks, and Damian replied with, "And you get younger every time I see you!"

"Oh, stop," Immi laughed. "You are too much sometimes."

"That's what they all tell me," Damian chuckled, flashing me a wink. His winks would be the death of me.

The best part about Eid wasn't just the family, or the food, though it's hard to top those two. It was also the presents you received, and now that everyone was here, everyone including Zeinab and co, Nasr and co and Damian's father, who arrived a little later while we started lunch, we all gathered in the living room.

"This next gift is from all of us," Zeinab announced, pulling out an envelope from her purse and handing it to our parents.

"What is it?" Immi asked.

"We want you to know that we appreciate everything you've ever done for us, and though we could never repay it, we think you deserve a break," I said as Immi tore open the envelope.

"You booked us tickets to Turkey?!" she exclaimed, and Baba peered over, eyes lit up with excitement.

"We know how much you two have always wanted to go, and I think it's about time you go on a holiday for yourselves," Nasr said.

"Oh, this is wonderful! Wait, when is the flight?" Immi questioned.

"We couldn't get it earlier than July, but at least it'll be perfect weather over there," Zeinab replied.

"Jazakallahu khair, every single one of you, come here," Immi spread her arms, and me, Nasr and Zeinab went over to give our parents a family hug, something we hadn't done in a very long time. Yasmine even snapped a photo of us all hugging, and it was the most heart-warming sight ever.

"Hey, Damian I got you something," Darren declared, and we all turned to see what it was, but it wasn't material.

"What is it, Dad?" Damian asked.

"You know how I've been meaning to hand the company over to someone soon?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, son, I'm giving you a promotion. How do you feel about being the head of the company?"

Damian's features lit up with a smile as he gaped at his father in amazement. "For real?"

"Yeah, for real. I can't run the business forever, and who better to do it than my only son? So, congratulations," Darren shook Damian's hand, but ended up giving him a hug while we all cheered and clapped.

"Oh, Damian, I'm so happy for you!" I squeezed him into a hug, bursting with joy. "You know what this means, right?"

"It means I get to be boss," Damian smirked. "And we get more ka-ching."

"There are more important things than money, Damian," I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, you're absolutely right," Damian agreed, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "Do you know what the most important thing is?"

"What?"

"You."

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