"I don't get math," grumbled Bashir as he hit his head against the counter. "What's the point of finding out x when I don't care about the y?"

I rolled my eyes, "This is valuable information in life."

"We have calculators."

"Calculators don't find the x," I argued. 

He raised his brow at me. "But Google can."

I groaned, "You twenty first century kids are unbelievable."

We were sitting in my parent's café. I was helping Bashir with his math homework. We were going over the first problem and within five minutes, Bashir started complaining. I didn't think tutoring a twelve year old would be so difficult. I felt like doing his homework for him just to stop the complaints and logic he kept throwing at me. 

"Let's try this again," I sighed as I picked up his pencil and retaught him. 

"I still don't get it."

"What don't you get?" I asked.

He gave me a lazy grin that was almost equivalent to the one his older brother usually gave me. "I don't get why I have to know math that's complicated when I won't even use it in the future."

"Bashir, just do your homework."

"No."

I tilted my head at him. "Guess no homemade chocolate chip cookies for you," I shrugged. "That's okay. I'll just give it to Ibrahim and Thomas."

His light brown eyes widened and he took the pencil from my hand. "You win," he mumbled as he frantically tried to finish his math homework. 

I watched as he punched in numbers on his calculator. He quickly scribbled something down and punched more numbers in. His face contorted with concentration, lines appearing on his forehead. His fingers gripped the pencil harder, stumping on one problem. I watched him, silently. He looked so much like Ibrahim.

They both had the same strong jaw, the same long eyelashes, and the same thick black hair. Their skin was pale as snow, maybe even pale enough to be a vampire from Twilight. Bashir's nose was small and straight. Ibrahim's was crooked, but it didn't take away from his beauty. Ibrahim had this rugged quiet look to him. I looked at the time, 7:15 pm. Sighing, I glanced out the window of the café.

I missed him. 

Ibrahim had been gone since the early morning. We had been sleeping in our respective rooms, but it didn't feel so great having an enormous room to myself. One thing was missing. It was the body warmth from Ibrahim, his gentle breath on my neck, and his tight hold on my waist as if I'd vanish if he didn't keep me close. I felt safe in his arms, it was like I belonged there my entire life. 

I spent so many nights wondering if his nightmares came back. I was scared that he'd wake up in fear and go through it alone. I didn't want that. Ibrahim wasn't alone anymore. He had me, his wife. I was supposed to be the one who listened to his fears and comforted him. 

In Prophet Muhammad's (peace be upon him) time, he told his wife his troubles. She was one who told him he wasn't crazy for seeing an angel. She believed him when the people of Makkah went against the Prophet, telling him he was a joke or a fool. She stuck by him through it all.

I wanted to be like that with Ibrahim. I didn't care what happened in his past, I would never judge him for it. I just wanted to help him, and be there for him. Ibrahim deserved to feel loved, something he'd been deprived of for far too long. 

"I finished," said Bashir.

I turned to him, checking over the problems he'd done. "And you said you didn't understand math," I scowled. "Liar."

"When a kid is offered cookies, miracles happen," he winked. 

I shook my head, getting up to close up the café. Mom and Dad had been treating the last few customers. Mom flipped the 'closed' sign on the door, leaning against it in relief. 

"We've been so busy lately," she said. "Your husband works incredibly well, Tasneem."

"Tell me about it," smiled Dad. "I did not think he was that talented with business."

Bashir nodded. "Ibrahim spent a long time trying to get the contacts he has now. Grandpa says Ibrahim expanded Tarkan Industries a lot."

"What does Ibrahim even manage over?" asked Dad.

Bashir blew the black hair from his face, looking down to finish another math problem. "Manufacturing the products of smaller businesses," he casually said. 

"How many businesses?" I asked, shocked. 

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Probably a lot considering the size of Tarkan Industries. It's not that big of a deal."

"Yeah it is! He freaking runs a business that's in charge of other businesses!" I exclaimed. This boy was acting as if we were having a conversation about the weather.

Bashir looked up. "I mean it started off with the selling of strong steel."

"I am impressed," commented Dad as he turned to Bashir. "You'll probably be as great as your older brother one day," he said, ruffling his black hair. 

Bashir shook Dad's hand away, quickly smoothing out the stray hairs. "Hey! That hair takes a good chunk of my morning to maintain," he glowered. 

Dad chuckled, "You're like the son I never had."

 "I know, I'm that great."

I rolled my eyes, "Maybe even a little too cocky."

"Never hurt anyone to have a bit of confidence," grinned Bashir. 

Mom and Dad laughed at his overconfident demeanor. It was hard to believe that Bashir was related to Ibrahim. They were polar opposites in terms of their personalities. Bashir was carefree, while Ibrahim was careful and calculating. Ibrahim liked to keep to himself. Bashir had a need to socialize. If we were to lock him in a room for a day, Bashir probably wouldn't survive that long without human interaction. 

The door chimed, signaling someone had entered. I glanced towards the door, my breath catching in my throat. Ibrahim, I thought.

He had a bored expression on his face as he listened to the person on the other line of his phone. His other hand held his suit jacket over his shoulder, his muscles flexed at the movement of his arm. His black as midnight hair was tousled on top of his head. His dark eyes searched around the room till they landed on me. Time seemed to have stop at that moment. 

His gaze softened at the sight of me. I could hear his deep voice even from across the room. His lips were moving and I wasn't listening to the words but the sound itself. It was a quiet murmur. His eyes were intense like he was trying to display an emotion. He nodded and then hung up the phone, pocketing it. 

Instantly, Bashir ran up to him. "Ibrahim!" he grinned as he hugged his brother. "I did my homework right today!"

Ibrahim broke our eye contact and smiled down at his little brother. "Proud of you, lil' bro."

"I know you are. Everyone is proud of me."

Ibrahim raised a brow. "I think you've been hanging around Thomas too much."

"That's a problem?" questioned Bashir. 

"Yes," Ibrahim and I said simultaneously. 

We looked at each other, surprised. 

"For the love of Allah, you make me feel like I'm in a romantic comedy," grumbled Bashir. 

"What?" I deadpanned, hearing Mom stifle her laughter.

Bashir threw his hands in the air, "You literally stare at each other all the time. I'm surprised that you guys don't just-" 

Ibrahim covered Bashir's mouth with his palm. "You've definitely been around Thomas way too much," he sighed. 

Dad cleared his throat. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear any of that conversation," he said.

I felt my cheeks heat up. Bashir always found a way to embarrass Ibrahim and I. I was so ashamed to be having this conversation in front of my parents. Ibrahim noticed and glared down at his little brother, who gave Ibrahim an innocent smile after he removed his hand. 

"Is it too late now to say sorry?" asked Bashir. The playful glint was still in his light brown eyes. 

I scoffed, "Way too late."

 Ibrahim pulled his little brother's backpack, dragging Bashir out the door.

"Hey! This classifies as bullying!" he whined. 

"I'm your brother. This classifies as discipline," retorted Ibrahim.

Bashir continued to yell at Ibrahim and stand his ground, but Ibrahim just picked him up and took him to the car. I smiled at the sight of the two brothers. Ibrahim was definitely cold sometimes, but never to Bashir. His younger sibling held a special place in his heart. If only Ibrahim could see how much Bashir loved him. 

* * * *

I laid awake on my bed, staring at the ceiling above me. Owls hooted outside. The room felt cold. The moonlight was shining through the window, putting a silhouette on all the objects in the room. The silhouettes formed monsters in my mind and I was reminded the reason why I hated the dark. I was afraid of the dark. I pulled the covers over my head, shaking as I heard a noise. 

What if there was a killer waiting in my closet?

I shivered at the thought. I peeked over the red velvet covers. My eyes landed on the open closet door. The darkness inside seemed to reach out to grab me. I felt fear dig its claws deep into my mind. I tried to shake the images of horror movies out of my mind, but I couldn't I could imagine red eyes staring back at me. 

It's not real, I told myself. Pull yourself together, Tasneem.

Then I heard footsteps outside my room, coming closer and closer. I was trembling at this point. Everyone was asleep. The footsteps got louder, thumping against the ground. I squeezed my eyes shut. If I pretend it doesn't exist, it won't hurt me.

The door to my room opened. Everything went silent, deadly silent. My heart hammered against my chest. I let out a small whimper. I opened my mouth to scream, but the covers were pulled off me. I gasped at the impact of the cold air, refusing to open my eyes. 

"Tasneem, relax," a gentle voice urged. "I'm here. You're okay," he whispered into my ear. 

I shuddered. His hot breath blew into my ear. The bed dipped besides me, and his strong arms went around my shaking frame. I slowly opened my eyes, adjusting to the darkness. Ibrahim's worried brown eyes gazed down at me. His hair was messed up, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. 

"Ibrahim?"

He leaned down, his lips hovering over my ear. "It's all right," he murmured. His fingers stroked my bare arm, causing goosebumps to appear in every place that he touched. 

My arms went around his neck, pulling him closer to me. My heart was working overdrive from the fear I felt a few seconds before. I tried to relax my breathing, but nothing seemed to slow down my erratic heartbeat. 

"Slow and easy breaths," advised Ibrahim. 

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

"There you go," he whispered, trailing his nose down my cheek. "You're going to be okay. Shh," he mumbled against my skin.

I clung to him for my dear life. I couldn't get through this night alone. My irrational fears were getting to me. Ibrahim was about to pull away, but I grabbed his arm.

"Stay with me," I begged. 

He sighed as he looked back at the door, "Tasneem-"

"Please."

He stared at me long and hard before he pulled the covers over us. He rested his head on the fluffy pillow beside me. My chest swelled with happiness. He pulled me against his body. We were chest to chest, nose to nose.

He softly breathed as he gazed fondly at me. The moonlight kissed the shadows of his face. I licked my lips, his eyes dilating as they caught the movement. We were so close to each other. If I moved just an inch, our lips would touch.

Ibrahim stayed still. Did he catch his breath when he looked at me? Was he feeling what I felt? I wanted to know, but something was stopping me from making the first move. His arm was heavy around my waist. His hold tightened. I closed my eyes as he leant up, his lips leaving a soft kiss against my forehead. 

"Goodnight, Tasneem."

We might have been as complicated as Bashir's equations, but at that moment we solved each other.