The joker card

Leant against the headboard, Zahran gently traced circles on the back of Fatiha's hand with his thumb, his fingers lost in her hair. She chuckled softly at something he'd said.

"I didn't say anything funny," he teased, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"I know," she murmured, "but I can't help it."

A moment of comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the rhythmic rise and fall of their breaths. Then, Zahran's voice, soft and earnest, filled the space.

"Do you love me, Tahira?"

A shy smile blossomed on her face. "Yes," she whispered, her eyes meeting his.

A warm glow filled Zahran's chest. "And Won't you ask me if I love you or not?" he asked, curious.

Fatiha hesitated, "No," her gaze dropping to their intertwined hands.

"Why?"

"If you... say you don't love me," she stammered, her voice trembling slightly, "my heart will break."

He cupped her face in his hand, his thumb brushing away a stray strand of hair. "My heart beats only for you, Tahira," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her skin. "I love you."

His words seemed to melt away her apprehension, and she leaned closer, burying her face in his chest. He inhaled her sweet scent, the fragrance of jasmine and innocence filling his senses.

"You're incredibly beautiful," he whispered, brushing his lips against her hair. "And so pure, so innocent. You're a treasure, Tahira. A gift from Allah."

Fatiha's voice, barely audible, reached his ears. "Don't praise me so much, Zahran. Or I'll have to praise you too."

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through her. "Then praise me," he encouraged, his voice filled with amusement. "Tell me the wonders you see in your husband."

Fatiha raised her head, her eyes shining with admiration. "Your kind," she began, her voice soft and sweet. "And strong. And so handsome, Mashallah."

"You think very highly of me. Don't you?" Zahran asked. "Don't think of me so highly. I am an ordinary man. Man, who made a lot of mistakes in the past." There was something in his tone that Fatiha couldn't understand.

Fatiha raised his eyes and looked at him.

"Past?" Something clicked in her mind. She suddenly asked, " Zahran, I don't remember my past. What if I have also made a lot of mistakes in the past? What if...," she was about to ask but Zahran didn't let her finish.

"What is in the past remains in the past. I don't care about your past. I only care about your present. To me, you are Tahira (pure) and will always remain Tahira." With gentle kisses, his lips traveled across her forehead, her eyes, and the tip of her nose, tracing the delicate contours of her face

"I also don't care about your past. I trust you. I know you are a good and honorable man, and I love you."

Zahran's heart swelled with love. He gently drew her closer, their bodies melding into one. "And you, my beautiful Tahira," he whispered, he leaned on her face. "You are the light that illuminates my life."

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After a day of exploration, they were now seated in a restaurant. Fatiha, in full burqa and niqab, glowed with contentment beside Zahran. He casually glanced around the restaurant, but Fatiha gently held his face.

"Only look at me and don't glance at anyone else," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

A smile spread across Zahran's lips. He understood her desire for his attention, given that many girls in the restaurant were not modestly dressed.

"Feeling a bit jealous?" he teased, lightly brushing his knuckles against her cheek.

"Maybe just a little," Fatiha admitted, a playful smile hidden beneath her niqab.

"Alright, then," Zahran said, his gaze locking onto hers. "I will only have eyes for you, I promise. Besides, I don't look at others anyway. I fear Allah."

Fatiha's smile deepened, and Zahran felt a surge of warmth wash over him. He loved her innocence, her unwavering faith, and the way she made him a better man.

Fatiha's eyes widened as the waiter placed a steaming dish before her. The rich aroma of spices and grilled chicken filled her nostrils, a familiar melody that sent a jolt of joy through her. Her gaze darted to Zahran, a surprised smile blooming on her face.

"How did you know this is my absolute favorite?" she exclaimed, her voice laced with disbelief and delight.

Zahran's lips twitched, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He held her gaze for a moment, then returned the smile.

Fatiha's brow furrowed playfully. "You know, Zahran," she said, her voice a soft murmur, "sometimes I feel like we've met before.

"Maybe, we have." Zahran answered playfully.

"Really? Have we? Where? And why didn't you tell me before?"

Zahran replied, "Maybe we've met in the land of souls. Our souls might have crossed paths. That's why, I liked you from the first day I saw you."

Fatiha giggled hearing his words.

However, amidst the joy, a gnawing feeling lingered around him. A feeling of being watched. It was subtle, like a spider's shadow across his peripheral vision, but it was persistent. When Fatiha was engrossed in her dinner, Zahran couldn't resist another glance around the restaurant.

His eyes scanned the faces, searching for anything out of place. A lone diner shrouded in a dark cloak, a group of men whispering amongst themselves, a waiter lingering too long at their table—all seemed innocent enough, yet the feeling persisted.

Was it just a paranoia? Or was there something real to his unease? Zahran couldn't be sure, but he knew he couldn't ignore it. He had a responsibility to protect Fatiha, and this unsettling feeling wouldn't allow him to relax.

He discreetly placed his hand on hers, seeking comfort and grounding himself in the warmth of her presence. He needed to focus on enjoying their honeymoon, but the unknown feeling lingered in the air, casting a shadow over their idyllic evening.

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Fatiha's eyes fluttered open to an empty bed beside her. A sliver of moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the clock on the nightstand: 1 AM. Unable to find him, she removed the blanket and got off the bed.

Searching for Zahran, she realized they were alone in the villa. Bibi and the other servants resided in their quarters. As she heard noises from the study, she walked towards it, finding relief as she recognized Zahran's familiar silhouette hunched over his laptop.

"Why are you awake so late?" she inquired softly as she entered the dimly lit room.

Zahran lifted his eyes from the laptop and smiled. "Just finishing up some work, sweetheart. Couldn't sleep."

"You can finish it in the morning." Yawning, she went to his chair and sat on his lap, leaning against his chest. Fatiha's eyes drifted to the laptop screen, filled with images of antique furniture and paintings.

"What are you looking at?" Curiosity stirred within her.

"I was thinking of changing the decor of the resorts. I'm looking for some unique pieces to give them a fresh look. Any particular favorites you have?"

Fatiha's gaze swept across the screen, landing on a magnificent tapestry woven with intricate golden threads. "That one," she breathed, pointing a slender finger.

Zahran's eyes followed hers. "Ah, good choice. Your taste is impeccable, as always." He leaned forward, placing a tender kiss on her hair.

Her eyes wandered to a drawer slightly ajar, revealing something hidden within. Overcoming her curiosity, she reached out and pulled it open.

Inside, nestled amongst papers, lay a single playing card. A joker. It stared back at her with an unsettlingly familiar grin, its vibrant colors seeming to glow in the dim light.

Fatiha picked it up, her fingers tracing the slick surface. "What is this?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

Zahran's head snapped up, his eyes widening at the sight of the card in her hand. For a moment, his composure seemed to falter, a flicker of panic betraying his carefully constructed facade. He recovered quickly, reaching out with a nonchalant smile. "It's nothing, sweetheart," he said, "Just an old playing card. I must have forgotten to throw it away."

Fatiha's eyes narrowed, her gaze fixed on his. She pursed her lips, a frown forming on her face. "Do you play cards?" she asked, her voice firm. "Don't you know it's haram?"

Zahran sighed in relief, thinking, "How will she know about the joker?"

"Nothing, sweetheart. I don't play cards. I don't know where this Joker card came from."

"Are you telling the truth?" she probed.

Zahran smiled at her and picked her up in his arms.

"Yes, sweetheart. Forget about it; come to bed," he said and started heading towards their bedroom.

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