35. 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒓𝒕

Hassan's pov

Her face was scrunched up in pain as she tried to level her breathing according to the doctor's instructions. Each breath seemed to take an eternity, her chest rising and falling with effort.

"Okay, Halimah, you're completely dilated, and it's time for you to push," Dr. Gomez instructed gently but firmly, her voice cutting through the tension in the room.

Halimah looked up at me, her eyes full of pain, exhaustion, and fear. I could see her struggle written all over her face.

"Hassan," she moaned in pain, reaching out towards me. The nurses, sensing the moment, moved aside to make room for me. I stepped closer and took her hand in mine, kissing it repeatedly in an attempt to offer some comfort.

"Baby, we're almost there. You're so strong," I said shakily, trying to mask the fear and pain I felt seeing her in such agony. My heart ached, but I knew I had to stay strong for her.

Dr. Gomez's voice continued in the background, encouraging Halimah to push. However, my attention was entirely focused on her face. Tears and sweat mingled together, streaming down her cheeks, yet she still looked as ethereal as ever.

I found myself doing Halimah's breathing exercises along with her, matching each inhale and exhale. She noticed and let out a chuckle, which quickly turned into a groan as another contraction hit her hard.

"I don't think I can do this," she said, her voice strained as she clenched her hand around mine.

"You can and you will. We're almost at the finish line. I love you so much, baby, please keep pushing," I urged, trying to keep my voice steady.

She looked at me with tear-glazed eyes and with a deep breath, she gave a nod.

Minutes felt like hours as we endured the silence of the room, broken only by Halimah's cries and the doctor's words of encouragement. Then, finally, the tension was shattered by a new sound—a cry.

It started soft, almost delicate, and then grew into louder, more insistent cries. I marveled at how such a tiny human could produce so much sound.

"It's a boy," Dr. Gomez announced, holding him up for us to see. His little body was bare and wriggling in her hands. On top of his head was a mop of black curly hair, and his skin was slightly pink.

Relief washed over me, and I felt my legs weaken. I leaned against the wall for support, still holding Halimah's hand. She was crying fully now, tears of joy and exhaustion mixing as she saw our baby.

The nurses quickly wrapped our son in blankets and handed him to me before moving to Halimah to clean her up.

He felt so light and fragile in my arms that I was almost afraid to move, worried I might jostle him too much. Then he opened his eyes, and I was captivated by the mixture of hazel and chestnut—a perfect blend of his mother and I.

Bringing my son close to my face, I recited the Adhan into his right ear, making sure that the first words he heard in this world were those of Tawhid.

The nurses finished with Halimah, making sure she was comfortable. Then, I gently handed her our baby. The moment she saw his face, she started crying and laughing at the same time, clearly overwhelmed with emotion.

"He's so beautiful—oh, he got your long eyelashes," she said, her voice full of awe as she looked at him. He stared back at her though I know he really couldn't see right now—I know from all the books I have been reading with her.

I stood as close to them as I could, wrapping my arms around Halimah as she cradled him.

I reached out with one finger and gently rubbed it against his tiny, balled-up fist. To my surprise , he responded by wrapping his entire hand around my finger, his grip surprisingly strong for someone so small.

Focusing more on his face, I was blown away once again by how much he resembled both Halimah and me at the same time. He made a little facial expression, and I noticed the slight indent on his cheeks. Halimah noticed it too and said excitedly, "He's so cute, and his head's not big."

I let out a chuckle in response as I gave her forehead a kiss, "Well his mother is absolutely gorgeous so it's only right"

Halimah looked at me with a shy smile, her face turning slightly pink in response to my words. She whispered, "I look a mess right now."

"If looking a mess means looking so breathtaking that I can't look away, then yes, you do look a mess," I said softly, giving her a gentle peck on her nose.

She looked at me speechlessly for a moment before glancing down at our son, saying, "Your father is such a flirt."

Father.

Hearing the word 'father' resonated deeply within me. It struck me how real this moment was—I really was a father. Of course, I had always known this day would come, but now that he was here, right in front of me, the reality felt profound and immediate.

I could see him, touch him, and feel the weight of my new role. This tiny person depended on me in ways I had never fully understood before. I now had someone who would look up to me, someone I would guide and protect as he grew. The responsibility settled over me like a warm blanket.

I'm a father now.

~

Halimah's Pov

"Who's a good boy? You're a good boy," Ayesha cooed at him as she rocked him back and forth, a gentle smile lighting up her face.

"Ayesha, do not move him so quickly! Zayd is not a toy," my mom reprimanded, her tone stern but caring. She reached over and carefully took him from Ayesha's arms, making her groan in annoyance.

"But Auntie! Okay, give him back. I'll be more careful now" Ayesha pleaded, holding out her hands in a mix of frustration and affection.

"No, it's grandma's time now, isn't it, baby?" My mom ended up cooing at him, her sternness melting into tender affection.

"But Mom, you had him first. I haven't even held Zayd yet," Abu chimed in, his voice tinged with a playful frustration.

I let out a chuckle at the way everyone just couldn't help cooing over him. Zayd.

We decided to name him Zayd. We had a whole list of baby names ready, picked out from countless conversations and late-night talks. Each name meant something special to us.

But as soon as I laid eyes on our baby boy, I knew Zayd was the perfect fit and Hassan thought so too. It really just fit him perfectly.

I had just gotten back from the hospital roughly two hours ago after spending two days there, and the family had already gathered to welcome us home. It was a bit overwhelming, with everyone eager to see me and hold the baby. Yet, Hassan had been by my side, making the transition easier for me with his calm and supportive presence.

As I watched my mom gently sway with the baby in her arms, Ayesha pouting beside her, and Abu waiting his turn impatiently, I felt at peace. The love and care surrounding us were exactly what we needed in this moment.

The door opened at that moment, and my father wheeled in, followed by Uncle Adam, Aunt Sarah, and Zahra, all wearing wide smiles.

"Assalamu alaikum!" They greeted cheerfully in unison. We greeted back in chorus, their smiles mirrored.

I spoke with the Musas for a while, enjoying the easy conversation and catching up. After some time, they moved closer to my mom, who gently handed Sarah the baby to hold.

Sarah's expression softened into a tender smile as she cradled the baby in her arms. Uncle Adam and Zahra stood close to her, their gazes fixed on the baby with equally soft smiles.

My father maneuvered his wheelchair to the side of the bed and took my hand in his, patting it gently in that familiar, comforting way only he could.

"Baba," I said softly, a smile spreading across my face. He hadn't come with my mom, who had been staying at the hospital with me, so he had arrived straight from home.

"My Qalb, how are you feeling?"

"Alhamdulilah, Dad. How are you?" I replied, a soft smile spreading across my face. Talking to my father always warms my heart; he's my person.

"How could I not be happy when you've brought this new blessing into our lives? You make me so happy. May Allah continue to bless us, Ameen."

"Ameen, Baba," I said, my heart swelling with affection for my sweet father.

"Ma, I just got him," we heard my brother Abu whining behind us. We turned to see my mother scooping up our baby and bringing him to me.

"I think he needs to be fed and taken to bed. Where's the milk bottle? I'll bring it, then we'll go to the living room to give you some space."

My mother found the milk bottle and shooed everyone out of the room to offer me some privacy.

Shortly after everyone had left, Hassan walked in.

"Nap time?" he asked softly as he climbed onto the bed, wrapping an arm around me and peering down at our son.

"Yeah, but he needs to be fed first. Do you want to do it?"

"Yes," he answered immediately, making me laugh at his eagerness. Hassan always got excited whenever he got to hold Zayd. Zayd also seems to know when his father holds him because he is always staring up at him. It was honestly so cute.

I carefully transferred him to Hassan's hands and handed him the bottle filled with breast milk.

I watched silently as Hassan fed him, a soft smile on my face, scooting closer and running my hand through Hassan's hair. I hope our son's hair would be as beautiful as his.

That's how we sat, watching Zayd feed and slowly fall asleep while suckling his bottle. Once he was asleep, I gently picked him up and placed him in his baby cot, which was right beside the bed.

Hassan grabbed my hand once I did that and pulled me towards him as he sat in the middle of the bed and leaned on the headboard.

He pulled me down to lay on top of him, wrapping his arms around me and rubbing my back while kissing my forehead repeatedly.

"If you keep this up, I will fall asleep," I warned lightheartedly, snuggling closer.

"That's the end goal," he replied, amused.

"But we have guests, and my mom's not going to let me hear the end of it if I fall asleep while they're here," I said quietly, trying to pull away.

"Your mother will understand. Now close your eyes, baby," he ordered gently, pulling me closer.

"But—"

"Close them, my love."

I let out a tired sigh, finally closing my eyes and focusing on Hassan's hums and the rise and fall of his chest as he rubbed my back.

I heard the door open and soft whispers, but I was too sleepy to pay attention. The sounds felt distant, like echoes in a dream. All I could focus on was the steady beat of Hassan's heartbeat beneath me. Each beat was a comforting reminder that he was there, lulling me closer to sleep.

His chest rose and fell with each breath, creating a gentle rocking motion that made it even harder to stay awake. His hand rubbed my back in slow, soothing circles, making me feel safe and grounded.

The whispers faded into the background, blending with the soft hum of the air conditioner and the faint ticking of a clock. All the little noises mixed with the warmth and comfort I felt in my beloved's arms.

Giving birth takes a toll on your body, both mentally and physically. I was so tired, but here, in Hassan's embrace, it didn't feel so overwhelming. Here, I felt safe, supported, and loved.

As I drifted off, I let go of everything else. The only thing that mattered was the steady beat of his heart, guiding me into a peaceful sleep.

~

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