In the Name of Allah, the Most Merciful, the Most Compassionate. This novel is a fictional story.

“Oh, so it's Khaleel? You’re just going to stand by the door and not come in?”

Khaleel smiled, his smile making him look even more handsome. He stepped into the room quickly. The little boy who was sitting with the woman immediately got up and ran toward him. In his childish voice, he called out, “Uncle Khaleel!”

The boy jumped excitedly, and the handsome young man, dressed in a sky-blue Shadda outfit stitched in a stylish three-quarter design, caught him mid-air. He playfully tossed the boy up, saying, "My boy!" before bringing him down and sitting on the couch in the living room. Bowing his head slightly, he greeted the woman, “Good evening, Mama.”

The woman, who looked about 45 years old, stood up while carrying a plate she had just used to feed the youngest child. Smiling, she said, “Khaleel, are we still acting shy? Alright then, let me call her for you.”

Khaleel glanced at the youngest child, who had already made himself comfortable in his lap. She said, “Auta, you know Khaleel didn't come here just for you. Get up, let's go inside.”

The little boy shook his head stubbornly. "Oh-oh!" he protested. The woman smirked and walked upstairs, leaving him behind.

Khaleel watched the boy, making sure no one else was in the room before asking softly, “My boy, where is Aunty Aisha?”

The boy got off his lap and started walking. He answered, “She’s inside, braiding her hair.”

Just then, three other beautiful children ran in—two girls and one boy. They rushed toward Khaleel and greeted him in unison, “Ya Khaleel, welcome!”

He smiled at them and pinched the cheek of the eldest girl. "Hello, my fatty Fatima," he teased. Then, he pinched the cheek of the second girl. "Hello, my skinny Maryamu." Lastly, he pinched the youngest boy's cheek and asked, “Hello, my Hafiz Ibrahim. How was madrasa today?”

Since they only attended Islamic school three days a week, where they stayed until late evening for prayers, they all answered together, “Fine, Uncle Khaleel!”

They loved Khaleel very much, and he also loved them deeply. He handed them the chocolates he had brought, and they happily thanked him before running upstairs to show their mother.

Meanwhile, in her room, their mother, known as Mama, lifted the curtain and saw Aisha. She turned around quickly. Aisha was a fair-skinned young woman, about 22 years old, very tall but slim. She was sitting on the floor, braiding her long hair.

Mama folded her arms and teased, “Oh wow, you’re in a playful mood today, huh? Why did you leave the poor guy alone in the living room?”

Aisha pouted without saying anything. Mama scoffed. “Fine, then. Let me go tell him to leave.”

Immediately, Aisha jumped up. “Uhmm… actually… umm…”

Mama turned to her. “Actually, what?”

Aisha stayed silent, fiddling with her fingers. Mama chuckled and said, “Will you get out of this room, my friend?”

Aisha grabbed her long hijab from the bed, threw it over herself, and left. Mama shook her head and sighed, “In just four weeks, we will have your wedding, and then we can all finally rest from your childish dramas.”

She then entered Ibrahim’s room to help Auta with his Quran recitation for the next day.

As Aisha walked down the stairs, Khaleel had been watching her the whole time. She reached the bottom but didn’t even glance in his direction. Instead, she walked straight to the kitchen.

She opened the fridge and took out a chilled drink she had prepared for him earlier—a refreshing mix of cucumber and watermelon juice. She placed the jug on a tray, added a small glass cup, and carefully carried the tray out.

She walked gracefully, as if she didn’t want to make a sound, though that was just how she normally walked. She reached him, and he quickly stood up and took the tray from her hands. That was just his nature—since she had known him, he never allowed her to place anything down herself. He always rushed to take it from her.

Seeing that he had taken the tray, she set a small table in front of him. He gently placed the tray on it while staring at her beautiful face. Her eyes remained lowered, avoiding his gaze.

In a soft and gentle voice, a tone he reserved only for her, he said, “My Eesha.”

She didn't respond, simply letting go of the tray and standing still.

Khaleel slowly crouched to place the tray properly, all the while keeping his eyes on her face. As soon as he straightened up, she turned swiftly to leave.

But he caught the edge of her hijab, stopping her in her tracks. She remained still, without turning around.

He let out a deep breath, took two steps forward, and stood in front of her. Releasing her hijab, he crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at her. Still, she refused to look at him.

In a soft, pleading voice, as if trying to soothe a child who was upset, he said, “My Eesha, please look at me.”