Chapter Twenty #2
A few weeks ago, I might’ve blinked at the eloquence of his answer, startled that someone who used words so sparingly could wield them like that.
But after hearing him lecture—watching him unravel complicated ideas with this precise sincerity—it all made perfect sense.
Of course the man who rarely spoke would be devastatingly good at it when he did.
Still, something about the simplicity of it—waves always returning—struck me in a place I wasn’t prepared for.
There was a softness to the way he said it, a glimmer of unguarded truth that felt almost private.
For a moment, I had the ridiculous, gnawing wish that I could tuck myself behind his eyes and see the world the way he did—unshakable, cyclical, full of things that left and came back again.
His gaze didn’t waver from mine, and I felt his words, his meaning, the tranquil poetry threaded through both, crash over me like the very thing he loved.
“What’s yours?”
I thought about it. “Laughter,” I said. “The real kind. The kind that’s loud and silly. The kind people don’t mean to make.”
“Then I guess I’ve given you two of your favorite things tonight.”
“Yeah,” I said, a smile tugging at my mouth. “I guess you did.”
His expression shifted, amusement curving through the tired edges of it. “It’s funny, actually.”
I poked the tip of his nose. “Why is it funny?”
He looked at me like he was weighing whether or not to hand over the truth. “Because when I think of real, loud, silly laughter...I think of you.”
And there it was again—the reckless thrum in my chest, the flutter I couldn’t reason my way out of.
I was suddenly, acutely aware that his face was only inches from mine, that if I moved even slightly, I’d feel his breath against my skin.
I turned on my other side, pretending to settle in. “Goodnight, Khalifa.”
“Goodnight, Lillian.”
I WOKE TO THE SOUND of my athan app going off for Fajr, the faint melody weaving through the room. For a few blissful seconds, I didn’t move. I was so warm, so comfortable, so—
Wait.
I opened my eyes, realizing that the warmth was not, in fact, divine intervention.
It was Khalifa.
His arm was wrapped firmly around me, my head resting on his chest, his face buried in my hair.
The covers had somehow migrated to the floor, and his leg was slung over mine like we were characters in some forbidden romance novel I didn’t have the attention span to sit through.
My leg, traitorously, was resting between his thighs.
My pajama pants were riding dangerously high.
I froze, my heart forgetting how to beat. Then, because the universe had a sick sense of humor, he shifted slightly, tucking me closer, letting out a relaxed sigh against my neck, and every muscle in my body screamed more.
I jerked away, rolling right off the bed with a thud that rattled the nightstand. My head connected with its edge, pain blooming just above my temple.
“Ow,” I moaned.
“Lillian?” Khalifa’s voice came sharp and alarmed as he scrambled upright. “Are you okay? What hurts?”
I winced, clutching the side of my head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
He ignored that, naturally, and crouched beside me. “Let me see.”
Before I could protest, he was already brushing my hair back with tender fingers, making my chest throb.
“Sit on the bed. I’ll be right back.”
I sat, dazed and vaguely humiliated, watching as he crossed the room and rummaged through his suitcase until he produced a small first aid kit.
When he returned, I muttered, “You’re being dramatic.”
“Can you just shut up and be quiet?”
“They both mean the same thing,” I shot back.
“Well, clearly you need to be told twice.”
I glared at him. He didn’t notice—or pretended not to. He knelt again, one hand bracing my chin as the other dabbed something cold and wet near my hairline. I hissed softly, and he blew on the spot, the heat of his breath sending a shiver straight down my spine.
“Almost done,” he murmured. He reached into the kit again, rifling through a few plasters before holding two up. “Hello Kitty or Strawberry Shortcake?”
“Hello Kitty,” I breathed.
He peeled it open and pressed it against my skin. His fingers lingered for just a moment too long, his gaze following. We were close—so close that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the shadow of exhaustion beneath them, the way his throat worked as he swallowed.
And then, just as suddenly, he stood.
“Go do your wudu,” he said. “We’ll pray together.”
It shouldn’t have made my stomach twist the way it did—those simple words—but it did.
I nodded, trying to sound normal, like my pulse wasn’t thrumming wildly in my ears. “Right. Wudu.”
As I slipped past him toward the door, his voice followed. “And next time,” he said, “try not to fall for me literally.”
I stopped, turned back, and found the smallest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Cute,” I said. “Did you rehearse that one?”
“Only since you hit the nightstand.”
I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth betrayed me, curving just a little as I disappeared down the hall.