The bells chimed against the door as Ibrahim and I walked in. The room was partially empty. There were a couple of girls whispering in the corner and a man on his laptop on the other side of the room. Mom was scrubbing at the marble countertop while Dad was on the phone, keeping his voice low to not disturb customers. As Ibrahim walked by my side, the room came to a silent awe, conversations halting.

Ibrahim stood tall and proud. His navy blue suit jacket clung to his body. It was only hours ago when my hands were caressing the hard muscles beneath. I blushed at the thought.

Girl, get a grip, I scolded myself. I noticed the group of girls was hungrily absorbing Ibrahim's look. Their eyes trailed over his body as if they were mentally undressing him. I felt bothered by that.

An arm went around my waist, pulling me to Ibrahim's side. I yelped in surprise. He kept a firm grip on my hip, tightening as he felt me tense under his touch. I felt like I was burning. His touch, it felt so right. I regained my posture and tried to ignore the electric feels surging through my veins. My heart thumped loudly against my chest as he brought his lips to my ear, which was covered by a teal blue hijab.

"Relax," he whispered. His voice was hushed against my scarf, only loud enough for me to hear.

I mutely nodded my head, looking away from him.

He didn't say anything as he pulled away, his arm still at my waist. Mom stopped her scrubbing when she heard the hushed murmurs of the customers. As our brown eyes made contact, her lips slowly twitched into a smile. Dropping the task that she was doing, she walked around the counter and pulled me into her warm embrace. Ibrahim's arm fell to his side and I wrapped mine around my mother's small frame. I missed this, I thought, I missed my family. Mom's floral scent comforted me. It felt like I was home again, back in the arms of those who raised and nurtured me.

"Tasneem!" exclaimed Dad as I pulled away from Mom. "You're home."

I nodded, "Ibrahim wanted to see how the new advertisements and equipment were working so I came along too."

Dad turned to Ibrahim, his smile widened as he shook his hand, "Thank you for bringing her to visit us."

"It was no big deal," said Ibrahim as he looked around the room. "Is everything working here?" he asked my father.

"Mostly, here I'll show the ones I have a few problems with," replied Dad as he gestured to the machines behind the counter.

"Are any broken?" I asked.

Ibrahim had stayed true to his promise and had made some improvements to my parents café. While doing this, he had managed to attract all sorts of customers who were dying to try our specialties now. Ibrahim had paid for some TV advertisements in an effort to get the word out about the café. My parents were more than grateful for the effort that Ibrahim put to make this place popular again.

"Only the milkshake machine. It stopped working this morning," sighed Mom, picking up the cloth from the table to begin cleaning some empty tables.

"I'll see if I can fix it," Ibrahim said, gruffly. He shrugged up his suit jacket, dragging it down his arms. He rolled up his sleeves, allowing his scars to be on full display, and he followed my father to towards the machine. His jacket was neatly placed on the back of a chair.

Mom raised a brow at me. "What happened to his arms?" she whispered.

"I don't know."

"He didn't tell you?" she asked.

I leaned against the counter. "It must have been so hard for him to heal such scars."

"Poor boy," she mused. "Whoever did that to him had some serious problems."

"That's the thing, Mom. It hurt him so badly, not physically but emotionally too. He wakes up in the middle of the night unable to sleep, and I-I don't know how to handle it," I mumbled the last part.

My mother and I had a connection. I could trust her with everything that happened in my life. I would always tell her if anything bothered me and she'd offer me good advice. It was a connection I didn't even have with most of my friends. With family, I knew they'd never abandon me no matter what mistakes I did because family always sticks together.

Mom looked at me sadly. She took the seat beside me, gesturing me to join her. She held my hand in hers, gripping it tightly as she said, "Tasneem, marriage is a big deal-"

"I know I know, you don't need to lecture me."

"Shh," she interrupted. "Let me finish."

I sighed, "Continue."

"As I was saying, marriage is huge. It's a bond between two people. It means that you support each other through everything. If Ibrahim is having a hard time, don't let him go through it alone. Be there for him, Tasneem."

"I am there for him, but sometimes he just pushes me away. I really want to help him but I can't when he doesn't tell me what happened in his past that cause him so much trouble," I confessed.

"You have to remember that it might be hard for him to actually tell you," she stated.

"I know."

"So don't push him for answers. Wait for him, Tasneem," she softly told me.

I looked over to Ibrahim. He was deeply concentrated on fixing the milkshake machine, ignoring everyone else around him. His fingers fumbled with the wires as he tested each one. I could see sweat breaking out on his forehead, probably from frustration.

The scars on his arms were visible against the harsh light. His black hair was still perfectly slicked back. His jaw clenched as he pulled another wire out to replace it.

It was as if he sensed my gaze on him that he looked up. His dark brown eyes were staring right at me. My eyes widened from getting caught staring at him, but I couldn't force myself to look away.

His eyes were swirling with emotions that I desperately wanted to understand. I wanted to help him and support him. I wanted him to let me into his heart, but that wasn't Ibrahim's character. He was the reserved type.

He tilted his head at me like he was trying to figure me out. I bit my lip. I felt so nervous under his gaze. I could feel my pulse pounding. I could hear my blood rushing to my ear. He made me feel nervous. He made me feel sensations I never felt before that had me begging for more.

He just kept looking at me with his intense gaze. I felt naked under his gaze even though I was fully clothed. His lips slowly curved into a smile.

He was smiling at me.

I stared, shocked. He turned away from me before I could even react. He was talking to my father about the machine and the two of them looked at the wiring closely.

Wait for him, I repeated. He'd been alone for so much of his life. Bashir had told me how Ibrahim kept to himself for most of his life. He only really talked to his family and those closest to him. He wasn't a social butterfly, then again, neither was I.

He deserved to feel loved. He didn't realize how much he was worth to his family or to me. Ibrahim was starting to find a place in my heart as I began to unravel more about him. He wasn't a jerk or rude.

He was lonely and scared. He was broken on the inside. Ibrahim's past still haunted him to the point where he couldn't even talk about it. I felt for him.

I will wait for you, Ibrahim.