39. Raees
39
Raees
Z inneerah holds the coconut bar up to my lips. “Taste.”
I take a bite, chew slowly, and say, “Like a Bounty bar.”
She tilts her head, looking pleased. “An honor.”
I blow on the garlic glaze, cooling it down just enough before holding the spoon out to her lips. “Taste?”
She leans in, takes it in one quick slurp, and nods thoughtfully as she swallows. “More salt.”
I chuckle. “Good thing we’re having a date at home. No awkwardly flagging down a waiter for salt.”
“Salt is on the table.”
I stop stirring, pretending to look up at the ceiling in thought. “Oh, right. That’s how restaurants work. It’s been a while.”
“Me, too,” she says softly, leaning into my arm, her hands curling around it. “But you brought the restaurant to me.”
I can’t stop smiling down at her. “And you brought the bakery to me.”
Her brown-painted lips twist into a scowl. “You go to bakeries all the time.”
“Yeah, but I like this one better.” I pinch the little dimple in her chin just to tease her. Her nose scrunches up, her shoulders following in this cute little way she does whenever she’s trying not to laugh.
And then she’s off again, fluttering away to sprinkle more coconut flakes on the bars, muttering something about how they need to look presentable even though it’s just the two of us.
God, I’m so lucky.
It’s been two weeks since the sushi-and-ice-cream post-dawat cooldown. Two weeks of this beautiful, unholy domestic bliss that feels too good to be real. I’d given Zinneerah the master bedroom, so the next day we spent hours merging my clothes in her closet. My razors next to her bottles of Ramishah’s expensive-smelling serums. My National Geographic magazines right next to her vinyl.
We drive to campus together, come home together, cook and eat together, and somehow make it through movie/documentary nights without arguing with each other over what to watch. I water my plants while she FaceTime’s Alex and Ophelia, and then we do our night routines and collapse into bed.
I don’t want this cycle to end. Ever.
We head out to the patio, where she’s already hung the fairy lights she couldn’t stop talking about last week. They’re strung up along the fence and canopy, making the whole space look like something out of a whimsical fantasy movie set.
She sets down the drinks, and I pull out her chair. She tucks her skirt beneath her as she sits, and when I finally settle across from her, I can’t help but just stare at my wife.
Zinneerah looks incredible. Hair down. Smoky eyes. Dark lips. God, what did I do to get this woman to marry me?
On second thought, I really shouldn’t be asking myself that question.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hmm?”
“You’re beautiful.” Because staring at her isn’t enough. She needs to know every second.
Zinneerah freezes, fork halfway to her mouth. “You’re beautiful.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Oh? By who?”
“My mother.”
She snorts and reaches across the table to pinch my cheek. She does that a lot when I say something she doesn’t have a better comeback for. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re incomparable.” I kiss the back of her hand.
She points at her plate with her fork. “So is this. Everything you make is incomparable.”
“Thank you, darling.” I squeeze her hand, giving her knuckles a soft peck. “You know, I bought your wedding ring the moment I decided you were going to be my wife.”
“Is that so?” She narrows her eyes at me. “And when was that?”
“A year into knowing you existed,” I admit, brushing my thumb over the little diamond on her ring. “I was drowning back then. Depression is like a tide. You think you’ve washed up on shore, safe for a while, and then it drags you right back under. But you . . .” I bring her fingers to my lips. “You were my anchor. You pulled me out. Slowly, yes, but you did it. And I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”
Her cheeks go pink, and I can tell she’s trying not to look at me. She glances at the pool instead, her lips quirking into this bashful smile that makes my heart happily jump around.
I grin. “Now that I don’t mind swimming in.”
She lets out a sweet, airy laugh. “The weather’s perfect tonight.”
“Perfect for swimming after dessert,” I say. “Oh, before I forget, will you still accompany me to Professor Wei’s retirement party, my lady?”
“Of course, my lord,” she says in an impressive English accent, swiping a piece of salmon off her plate. “Dress code?”
“Human clothes.”
“Damn,” she mutters with a straight face. “Guess I’ll have to return the Joker costume.”
I choke out a laugh so loud the neighbors probably hear it.
“And it fit so well, too,” she adds, chuckling into her palm, and I swear it takes everything in me not to reach across the table and kiss her right there.
After dinner and dessert, we head up to our room to brush the taste of garlic and salmon out of our mouths.
She continues brushing, and I just follow her around like the puppy I absolutely am when it comes to her.
I stand behind her as she leans over the sink, watching her reflection in the mirror. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve never realized just how short you are.”
She pauses mid-brush, turning her head just enough to glare at me, toothbrush dangling out of her mouth. “I’m five-nine, idiot.”
I grin and step closer, bracing my hands on either side of the sink, caging her in. She’s got toothpaste foam at the corner of her mouth, which shouldn’t be attractive, but somehow, on her, it is. “And I’m six-five. So, darling, to me, you’re snack-size.”
Zinneerah rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of her head, but a smile appears on her lips. She tries to keep brushing, but when I lean down to press my lips to her shoulder, she rolls it back.
I kiss her again, smiling against her skin, because this is my favorite version of her—playful, pretend-annoyed, but secretly loving the attention.
She just stops mid-brush and signs with one hand: Let me brush my teeth.
I chuckle, straightening up. “Fine, fine.” I pat her back and drop a quick kiss on her temple as a parting shot. “I’m gonna go change into trunks.”
It takes me maybe a minute to change into my plain black swim trunks and throw on a robe.
When I come back, I expect her to be ready, but instead, I hear the shower water running.
I drop onto the bed with my Switch to kill time. Twenty minutes later, I’ve beaten six strangers in global mode on Mario Kart 8—absolute domination, by the way—and the shower finally turns off.
“You do realize you’re gonna have to take another shower after swimming—” I start, but my sentence dies the second she steps out of the bathroom.
She’s wearing a black swimsuit—bikini, one-piece, doesn’t matter because my brain refuses to categorize it. All I can register is the sight of her long legs, the way the fabric dips down her chest, and her robe hanging loose at her sides.
And that’s when I notice the situation happening with my body.
Fantastic.
Zinneerah strides forward like she’s got no idea what she’s doing to me, but I know better. She snatches the Switch out of my hands and tosses it onto the bed. “Geek,” she teases, smirking as she grabs my wrist and pulls me to my feet in one quick motion. “Teach me how to swim?”
“Distracting,” I whisper, “you are.”
A snort. “Okay, Yoda.” She’s already dragging me toward the door before I can come up with a better response.
We head downstairs and out to the pool. The air is cooler now, but I barely notice because all my attention is on her as Zinneerah shrugs off her robe. She folds it neatly onto one of the chairs by the pool, and for a second, I can’t stop staring. Her back, her legs, the way she moves—it’s hypnotizing.
She turns to face me, catching me mid-stare. “Aren’t you going to, you know . . .” She gestures vaguely at my robe.
I blink, scrambling for an excuse. If I take off this robe right now, I’m going to humiliate myself.
She tilts her head, and I swear, she knows exactly what’s going on.
“Need help?” she asks, so innocent it’s criminal.
“No, no. I’ve got it.”
I turn around to save whatever’s left of my dignity, loosening the robe and carefully folding it before placing it on top of hers. I make sure to hold it strategically in front of my lower region until I’m absolutely sure I’ve calmed down enough to face her. “There. All set. Let’s go inside.”
I take her hand, trying not to grin like an idiot as I lead her toward the pool. I step in first, the cold water hitting me just above the waistband of my swim trunks. It’s still freezing despite warming it in advance.
Zinneerah follows, hesitating at the edge before stepping down sideways. My hands are there instantly, holding her.
She shivers as the water splashes her knees. “It’s freezing . . .”
“You’ll get used to it,” I say, even though I know she’s about five seconds away from calling me a liar.
She edges further in until she’s submerged up to her neck. Her teeth are chattering, and she’s scowling like I’ve just dragged her into the Arctic. “This is awful. Why do we do this to ourselves?”
I laugh. “Because it’s fun.”
She glares. Man, my wife is adorable when she’s mad, but then again, she’s adorable doing just about anything.
“Let’s stay here for a bit,” she mumbles.
I nod, leaning back to let the cold water creep higher on my shoulders. “Do you want to try the deeper end?”
She blinks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I’ll drown.”
“I’d never let that happen.” I take her hands, pulling her gently toward the middle of the pool.
She grabs onto my biceps for support, her fingers squeezing. “Oh. Firm.”
I lick the self-satisfied smirk off my lips. “Thank you. Judging by how you’ve been ogling, I’m pretty sure you already know that.”
She sighs. “I do. I ogle you all the time.”
We chuckle in unison.
“But so does every woman,” she mutters. “It’s relatable, yes, but pisses me off sometimes. Like, can they be any more obvious?”
I pause us right as we’re at the threshold of the deep end. “You don’t think I’m irked when other men ogle you?”
“Nobody ogles me.”
“Zinneerah, I ogle you in my dreams. And guess what? I’m ogling you right now.”
“Your ogling doesn’t count.”
“Well, it should. Who cares about other people when we have each other to ogle?”
She frowns, and I realize maybe this isn’t just some passing comment. I never predicted her to be this possessive over me. Given the look on her face, I can tell this has been eating her up alive for some time.
I lift her chin. “You’re a vision, Zinneerah. I’ve been wearing glasses since I was sixteen, but you’re the only woman I’ve ever seen this clearly. My eyes? They’re only for you. My heart? Only for you. Every part of me is yours. So don’t you dare look away from me, all right?”
Her eyes pop open.
“Perfect.” I cup her cheek, and she leans into my hand without hesitation, her fingers wrapping around my wrist like she can’t let go.
I tug her forward another inch, but before she can respond, her footing gives way, and she slips.
She crashes into my chest with a little yelp, her arms looping around my neck instinctively. I don’t even blink before my arm curls around her waist.
“I’ve got you, darling,” I assure, and I feel her exhale against me.
Her grip on me tightens. “I can’t feel anything under my feet. It’s terrifying.”
“That’s because you’re short,” I tease. “My toes are still touching the ground.”
She pulls back just enough to glare up at me. “Show-off.”
“Perks of St. Thomas Secondary’s varsity volleyball team,” I say, adjusting my grip on her as we float lazily through the pool.
Zinneerah tilts her head back to look at me, eyebrows raised. “Volleyball?”
“Oh, yeah. The coach practically begged me to join. Apparently, tall guys were in short supply—no pun intended. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing at first, but the team helped me out. They’d stick around after school to teach me how to spike or we’d meet up in the park for pickup games. Once I got the hang of it, I became their secret weapon. Mostly service aces and blocks.”
She chuckles, and her eyes light up like the fairy lights around the backyard, and I swear I’d say anything to keep her looking at me like that. “Have you told Dua?” Her fingers idly twist a piece of my hair at my nape.
I shake my head. “I haven’t told anyone, actually. You’re the first.”
Her grin widens. “I played soccer in middle school.”
“Yeah? How was that?”
“I sucked,” she says bluntly, and I laugh.
“Couldn’t have been that bad.”
“No, Raees,” she insists, trying to hold back a laugh of her own. “I sucked for real. Like, they didn’t even want me to come to prac—” She turns her head to the side, coughing into her arm, and I immediately rub her back.
“And that’s your talking quota for the night,” I say. “Let me get you some water.”
She shakes her head. I’m fine , she signs.
“You sure?”
Another nod.
“All right, then,” I say, smiling. “How about a piggyback ride? You can hug me from behind.”
She nods again, and I walk us over to the shallow end so she can climb on. Her arms wrap around the front of my neck, and her chest presses against my back as she settles in.
“Good?” I ask.
She gives me a thumbs-up.
I take us back out into the deeper end. “You know,” I say, glancing over my shoulder, “you can use my body to sign. I’ll get what you’re saying.”
Another thumbs-up.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” I say, turning us in a slow circle, “have you written any new songs lately?”
My songs?
“Yeah.”
A few. No words. Only music. Not performing. My secret.
I grin. Of course, they are. “Will I get to hear you play anytime soon?”
Her nod is enthusiastic. After swimming?
“Will it be an original?”
Zinneerah’s expressive eyes glaze over my face. I wasn’t able to read what she was thinking before, but it’s all so clear now. I play you my new song.
Guess who just won the lottery, ladies and gentlemen? “Don’t mind me if I record you like I’m watching you play soccer.”
Zinneerah giggles and leans in, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek.
It catches me off guard, but I don’t mind. She’s gotten so comfortable lately, curling into me without hesitation, wrapping me in back-hugs, resting her cheek in my palm when I’m driving, letting me kiss her shoulders, her hands, the top of her head.
And as selfish as it is, I want more. So much more.
We finish the swim and head upstairs to rinse off the chlorine. Zinneerah ducks into our bedroom’s bathroom, and I take the guest room I slept in before. By the time I’m done—gray sweats, white tee, towel-dried hair—she’s already sitting on our bed.
She’s in that black satin bathrobe of hers, the one that drives me insane, tuning her black acoustic guitar with the golden sparrow etched on it. And just like that, my head’s already spinning, because look at her.
She sees the foolish grin plastered on my face and mirrors it right back, patting the spot in front of her.
I happily oblige, sitting cross-legged in the middle with her. She presses her finger to her mouth, then her ears. No talking, only listening. “Understood.”
Zinneerah lays the first strum that I recognize as the C chord. She rubs her right fingers together, takes in a lungful of air, then starts plucking at the metallic strings.
I see the concentration drawing on her face, the slight furrow of her brow, and the serene smile that follows every chord.
It’s incredible how she communicates through her music. Each note feels like she’s speaking directly to me. I can feel her emotions, her thoughts, her heart. It’s like she’s telling me a story, our story, without a single word.
Her fingers move so gracefully, dancing across the strings. She makes it look effortless. She is effortless.
I feel a lump in my throat, my heart swelling with an overwhelming sense of love and admiration.
She’s always had a way of touching my heart, but this is something entirely different. It’s like she’s opened a window to her innermost thoughts and feelings, allowing me to see and feel what she cannot say.
The melody shifts, becoming softer, more intimate. It feels like a caress across my cheek, a raspy whisper of love. A lullaby and a confession all at once, and I know, without a doubt, this is ours.
This is her love.
Her fingers slow, and the music fades gently.
She opens her eyes and looks at me, a question in her gaze. I don’t need to speak to answer her; she can see it in my smile.
I take her hand in mine, and press a kiss to her fingertips, still warm from the guitar strings. “Beautiful,” I murmur.
A soft blush dusts her cheeks. I’m glad you like it.
“Like it?” I chuckle, placing my palm on the side of her neck. “You have no idea what that did to me. You transported me to another world.”
She bites her bottom lip. “I wanted to do something special for you.” I might combust right here and now. “That song . . . it was for you, Raees.”
“For me?” My voice cracks. “You’re serious?”
She nods. Every note was for you. Because you inspire me. You make me want to create beautiful things.
“I don’t know what to say,” I mumble, blinking as tears gather on my waterline and slip down freely.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she reassures me, reaching up to cup my cheek tenderly, thumb wiping away my tears. “You deserve every bit of it and more.”
I lean into her touch, relishing the warmth of her hand against my skin. “You always know how to make me feel like the luckiest man alive.”
A soft sigh escapes her lips, and she leans in closer, our breaths mingling in the space between us. “Raees,” she whispers, “there’s something else I want to share with you.”
My heart races in anticipation, wondering what else she could possibly have in store for me. Perhaps another song? Maybe a Mario Kart 8 match that I’ve been secretly hoping for? “What is it, darling?”
She takes a deep breath, her gaze locking with mine as she searches for the right words. “I want us to consummate our marriage.”