Trust Me (An Islamic Love Story)

Chapter 81 (Last chapter)

The day we shift into the new apartment has finally come. I know Azar's been anticipating it a lot because he's trying his best to hurry up the process as soon as possible. I offer to help him sort his things at his old apartment, but he determined to not let me back there. I understand why, but I feel like contributing to the shift in some way, so I decide to invite our family and Ms. Neela over to our place the following weekend.

"Does this taste okay?" I ask Azar for the third time.

He smiles in exasperation and then tastes it. Shock passes across his face, but I can't tell if it is good or bad.

"What? Is it bad? Ah, I really am trying," I insist before he can answer.

He swallows, gesturing at me to calm down. "Abeer, Abeer! It is delicious! You need to stop worrying about it."

"You aren't lying to me, right?" I question, scrutinizing his face. "I don't need compliments. I need honesty right now."

To my surprise, Azar laughs at my comment, shaking his head.

"What?" I feel annoyed at how my stomach churns at the sound.

"God! I thought I was a perfectionist, but look at you!" He tuts at the end. "Just stop now, okay," he massages my collarbones, and I feel the tension lessen in my body with his warmth and pressure. "Everything that you made tastes amazing. Honesty," he adds before I can argue.

I exhale, closing my eyes. "We are showing them our home, Azar. Our home."

"I know, Abeer," I meet his beautiful eyes as he repeats softly. "We don't need to prove anything to anyone."

"I can't prove it to myself either," I let out a shaky laugh.

Azar brings his hands up to my face now. "You think I can?" He asks, staring in a way that feels too real and heavy. For some reason, his eyes remind me of the world; how it looks after a rainy day. Clearer and more real than on other days, like everything else, is washed.

"Thank you for cleaning up the mess," I barely say, but he is close enough to listen.

"Thank you for cooking a banquet," he replies instead, and my face breaks into a smile.

We stay in each other's arms for a while, silent and breathing in each other's presence. Our home. Our home. Suddenly, I feel regret creep up about why I invited everyone so soon.

"We can't cancel, Abeer. We have time In Sha Allah," Azar words aloud what is going on in my mind.

"In Sha Allah," I repeat. "Okay. I am going to set the table," I announce.

"You do that," he teases for no reason, and then his phone rings at the exact second.

"You answer the door," I continue, assuming the guests are here.

"Yes, ma'am," he obeys cheekily, and I head back to the kitchen.

As hoped, the day goes quite well. Everyone compliments one thing or another about the design and the furniture when we tour the house. Ms. Neela seems nervous, but Maliha helps her be comfortable, and within half an hour, they are deep in conversation as if they are long-lost friends. I feel happy to see them that way, and I hope the three of us can hang out more later.

Even though Azar and I don't get to speak to each other much, we occasionally pass each other assuring glances, especially when the mothers compliment my food.

Perhaps Maliha notices this because she corners me in the kitchen as I take out the desserts. "You are glowing, Abeer."

"Too much highlighter?" I joke, unable to take the attention.