27. 𝑬𝒙𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒎𝒆? 𝑰'𝒎 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖

The news of my pregnancy was met with a whirlwind of emotions, with tears of joy streaming down our cheeks and laughter filling the room. When I shared the news with my mother over a FaceTime call , her reaction was a mix of disbelief and overwhelming happiness. I could hear her voice tremble as she struggled to contain her emotions, and when the reality of the moment finally sank in, she had burst into tears, her sobs echoing through the phone line. Meanwhile, my father's response was no less enthusiastic, his excitement contagious and his laughter filling the room.

After sharing the news with our families, Hassan and I found ourselves caught up in a flurry of congratulations and well wishes. The sweet reactions from our loved ones were so endearing.

Fast forward to today, and I find myself standing at the entrance of Hassan's workplace. The aroma of tacos fills my nostrils, a reminder of the surprise lunch date I've planned for us.

I had been craving some so I made enough for the both of us and had planned for us to eat together but I ended up bringing him his own share because I couldn't wait to eat mine. Blame the baby.

Approaching the receptionist's desk, I greet her in a warm tone. But instead of returning my warm greeting , she regards me with a cold, indifferent stare, her eyes flicking dismissively over my figure before returning to her computer screen. The sting of her indifference leaves me momentarily speechless, my confusion mounting with each passing second.

I refuse to let her negativity dampen my spirits today.

"Excuse me? I'm speaking to you"

She let out an aggravated sigh as I stood there waiting and looked up at me with a blank stare.

"This is a distinguished high tech company ma'am, I don't think there's anything here we can offer you." She finally said in a bored tone. "Especially with the way you're dressed" She added after an afterthought giving my attire a look of disgust.

I let out a soft gasp at the audacity of this lady. I felt my eyes prickle with hurt at her tone.

Normally I would give stuck up people like her a piece of my mind but my pregnancy hormones are making me feel so fragile and I'm about to burst into tears any moment.

I took in a deep breath and decided to be the bigger person and ignore her vile behaviour.

"I'm here to see Hassan Musa" I spoke firmly as I willed myself not lash out.

She let out a laugh as she gave me a sneer, leaning back on her chair and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Our CEO? What would Hassan Musa ever want with you? I'll ask you to leave one more time before I call security on you"

Her response is like a slap in the face, her laughter mocking and her words dripping with disdain. But before I can respond, my phone rings, offering a welcome distraction from the tense exchange. Glancing down, I see Hassan's name flashing on the screen, and I quickly answer the call.

"Nur ayn," his voice fills my ear, instantly soothing my frayed nerves.

"Yes," I respond softly, grateful for the familiar sound of his voice.

"Why do you sound like that? Are you okay?" he asks, concern evident in his tone.

"Not exactly... I'm currently at the receptionist table at your workplace, but I'm having issues getting to you," I reply vaguely, not wanting to burden him with the details.

"I'm coming," he responds quickly before hanging up.

As I wait for Hassan to arrive, I take in the bustling energy of the lounge room, my mind whirling with a mix of emotions.

"Given up yet?" I hear the receptionist's haughty comment, but I choose to ignore her, focusing instead on the eagerness to see my husband.

Moments later, the elevator doors chime open, and Hassan emerges, his presence like a ray of sunshine cutting through the darkness. With a smile that lights up his face, he strides toward me.

He barely acknowledges the receptionist as he pulls me into his arms, his touch grounding me. And as he presses a soft kiss to my forehead, the tension of the moment melts away, replaced by a sense of peace and belonging.

"To what do I owe this surprise?" he asks, his voice filled with curiosity.

I pick up the lunch container I had brought, offering it to him with a smile. "Lunch?" I ask, shaking it slightly.

"A lifesaver, thank you baby. Let's go to my office," he responds excitedly, grabbing the lunch and leading me toward the receptionist's desk.

"Hannah," he calls out, his tone firm and commanding.

"Yes, sir," she replies, her voice noticeably shrill as she avoids meeting my gaze.

"This is my wife, Halimah. She is to be allowed to come straight to my office anytime she is here. Understood?" Hassan declares, his words leaving no room for argument.

"Yes, sir. It won't happen again," she responds, her head still held down in shame.

As we make our way toward the elevator, Hassan turns to me with a soft smile. "I hope there were no more issues?" he asks, concern etched in his features.

In that moment, I felt the urge to unleash my pent-up frustration or to immediately inform Hassan about the receptionist's disrespectful behavior. However, I held back, realizing that she likely didn't understand the impact of her actions. It wasn't about her knowing who I was; it was about treating everyone with decency and respect, regardless of their status. Despite the hurt and anger simmering within me, I chose to view the encounter as an opportunity for growth, hoping that it would serve as a reminder for her to show kindness to others in the future.

"No, my love," I respond, squeezing his hand tightly as we step into the waiting elevator.

As Hassan pressed the button marked "12,". The elevator doors slid closed, enveloping us in a cocoon of silence. The gentle hum of the elevator filling the air.

Turning to me, Hassan closed the gap between us, his forehead gently resting against mine. In the hushed intimacy of the elevator, his warm breath caressed my skin as he murmured softly, "You missed me?"

My cheeks flushed crimson, a rush of warmth flooding my face at the proximity of his presence and the tender timbre of his voice. Each word he uttered sent a flurry of butterflies dancing in my stomach.

"Yes," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, a shy smile playing on my lips.

Hassan's teasing tone brought a blush to my cheeks as he placed his hand on my stomach, his touch gentle and reassuring. I could feel the warmth of his palm against my skin, his fingers tracing small circles as if trying to communicate his love through the subtle movement.

"Hassan," I groaned, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and affection at his playful gesture.

His chuckle echoed in the small space, a sound that felt like music to my ears. Leaning down, he pressed another soft kiss to my forehead, his lips warm against my skin.

As the elevator doors chimed open, revealing our destination, I felt a surge of anticipation coursing through me. Stepping out into Hassan's office, I couldn't help but marvel at the sight before me.

I lifted my niqab to feel the breeze of the air conditioner as I looked around.

The room was bathed in soft, golden light, casting a warm glow over the sleek furnishings and modern decor. A large desk sat at the center of the room, meticulously organized with papers and files neatly arranged. Behind it, a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline, the bustling streets below.

On one side of the room, a comfortable seating area beckoned invitingly, plush chairs and a low coffee table inviting relaxation and conversation.

As I took in the scene before me, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for the man standing beside me. This was his domain, his sanctuary amidst the chaos of the outside world.

His hard work brought him here. I pray Allah continues to put barakah in it.

I made my way to Hassan's desk, setting down the lunch container that I had grabbed back from him. I started unpacking the tacos while Hassan went to grab two bottles of water from the nearby fridge, a detail I hadn't noticed until then.

Once we settled on the cozy couch, I placed his lunch in front of him, eager for him to start eating. Hassan then grabbed a taco and handed it to me, waiting expectantly. With a chuckle, I took it from him, whispering bismillah as I fed it to him.

It was a sweet habit Hassan had developed recently – he always wanted me to feed him the first bite of every meal. I found it cute, and I didn't mind at all.

His expression softened as he savored the flavors, and I couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"You do realize you're gonna have to do this more often now, right?" Hassan said , a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer to me.

"Naturally,"I replied with a grin, my tone light and filled with warmth.

As Hassan ate his lunch, he began feeding me small bites every now and then. We lounged on the couch together, enjoying each other's company as we basked in the comfort of the moment. Despite knowing that Hassan was using me as an excuse to slack off, I couldn't help but cherish every second spent with him. I was not at all surprised when he announced he would leave work early.

As we were about to leave the building, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Glancing over at Hannah's desk, I caught her swiftly averting her gaze. Ignoring her, I focused on the warmth of Hassan's hand in mine as we made our way to his car waiting at the entrance.

We pulled into the familiar streets of our neighbourhood, and then our home. But then again I had been home all along, because home, for me, was wherever Hassan was.

-

Assalamu alaikum ygss.

I'm back🌝. Took a little break because uni is beating me up rn.

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