I gulped, staring at the mahogany office door, width larger than my frame, weight heavier than my burdens. Their dark, ominous color merged with the fear that clawed through me, the tips of a blade against me as I exhaled slowly.

I shouldn't be afraid. Ibrahim would understand.

Kanza nudged my shoulder, breaking my thoughts. Her dark, intuitive eyes glanced at me slyly. "Don't tell me you're afraid to speak to him after you just faced a crossfire with the media," she said.

My cheeks heated. "N-No."

She rolled her eyes.

Amira elbowed her. "Kanza, be nice. Tasneem had a long day," she tried to reason sympathetically.

Kanza glanced at me again, eyes softening at the nerves that were written across my face as I fumbled with the sleeves of my abaya, rolling the material in between my fingers and palm. Her pale hand sought mine, grasping it in both of hers, a warm touch to the cold strain that slithered around me.

"Tasneem," she started softly, "I know you're scared, but couples have disagreements all the time. It's not a strange thing. I mean, sure, not many American couples have a millionaire husband or American medias chasing after or the discrimination factor hindering international alliance or a Russian snob-"

My hands started to shake when her list kept growing, a never ending conflict to an already haggard story, eyes widening like a wild animal lost among predators.

Amira cleared her throat. "Kanza," she said pointedly.

She bashfully smiled. "Sorry, that was a bit overboard, but you get my point! All couples have disagreements. All couples argue. That doesn't mean they don't love each other or that they don't care about one another."

"She's right," agreed Amira, nodding her head. "Ibrahim is a rational, cool-headed man. His patience knows no bounds, and that is an extremely rare trait in many people."

"I somehow feel like that was an attack on you, Damon," chuckled Thomas from behind us.

I almost forgot about them.

Damon scoffed. "Oh, please. My wife loves me."

"You're not very patient though," Thomas continued to poke.

"I'm going to beat your ass out of this building, Thomas."

"Point proven."

Meanwhile Tanwir shook his head at their sophomoric antics, being the adult and separating the two men. They continued to banter with one another as Amira and Kanza erupted into rumbling laughter, easing the tension that suffocated the air. A smile strained its way to my lips, mind elsewhere.

Our friends encouraged me to visit Ibrahim at his office, to comfort the qualms he felt, to reassure him that everything would be okay by the will of Allah. Fearful, I refused because I didn't want another fight. I didn't want to stress him out any more than I already did. Perhaps that was my fatal flaw.

Even as a child, I thought of myself as a burden to others, as an obstacle for people to cross. From a young age, I knew I was different from my classmates in race and beliefs. The other minorities always had friends that experienced their pain, that understood their sufferings, yet when eyes turned to someone of different skin tone, different facial features, different language, many children forgot that we were one of the same.

They forgot that we were all fighting for the same cause. We were all Americans, yet our differences divided us. One could blame history or colonialism, but nothing changed the fact that we, as a nation, liked to argue problems but never find solutions.

In order to change, one had to change themselves first. To be a pioneer of progression, one had to initiate a different direction.

Although, I often let my insecurities dictate my actions, I learned through my marriage that my husband would always be one of the few people in my life who would never judge me for anything. In the face of darkness, he was my light. In the face of defeat, he rode through an army.

He did all this out of love.

"I'm fine," I reassured. "I just need to talk to him alone."

"Fine by me," huffed Thomas, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting in his seat like a child denied the right to eat dessert. "That bastard forgot to proclaim his love to me this morning."

"Thomas!" groaned Amira and Kanza.

"What?" he shrugged innocently. "He's my boss. Haven't you ladies ever read those erotic CEO love stories?"

"No!" they shouted, including Damon and Tanwir.

"My God, you are a man of very little brain," muttered Damon, palm to his forehead.

Thomas's blue eyes instantly brightened, teeth shining in a wide grin. "That's a Winnie the Pooh reference. Aw, you guys know me so well."

Before anyone could continue the bickering, I held a palm up to stop their retorts. "I'm going to talk to Ibrahim. Can I trust that you all won't ruin this lobby?" I asked, half joking.

"I work here," stated Thomas as if it was the most obvious fact, walking to his desk and rummaging his drawers. "The real question is whether the Nintendo Switch in my desk is still there."

"You two haven't changed since high school," said Amira, slightly shaking her head with a ghost of a smile. She turned to me. "Don't worry about us, Tasneem."

Without another word, I knocked the door that once intimidated me. I heard the deep mumbling of my husband like he was on a phone call, the television dully echoing in the background. Assuming he didn't hear me, I knocked again.

This time, he noticed. "Come in," he said.

You got this, Tasneem.

Pushing the door, I walked into the insanely organized office of Ibrahim Tarkan, the scent of leather and musk hitting my senses all at once, the lingering taste of coffee running through the room, a scent so strong that it invaded my walls without hesitation, a familiar reminder of Ibrahim.

His eyes lifted to meet mine, widening. His phone was pressed to his ear, hair that was usually tousled to perfection stuck up at different angles as if he was running his fingers through it in a midst of panic and fear. Eyes as dark and mysterious as the night, a glowing coal to fire, pinned me. Shock evident in his pupils.

"I'm going to have to... call you back, Khalil," he spoke into the phone, voice wavering. I heard the distinct, muffled voice of his lawyer friend on the other line. "Keep me updated. Assalamualaikum."

The second he placed his phone back on his desk, he wasted no time in rushing to greet me, rising from his seat and taking long strides towards my frozen body. There was a desperate panic painted across his visage, a confident mask dissolving into something far more raw, an emotion that he pushed away until he saw me.

His mask came off, and his vulnerability seeped through.

Before I knew it, his muscular arms engulfed me, pressing me to his hardened chest as a small gasp escaped my lips, his head nuzzled against the ruffles of my hijab at the junction between my shoulder and neck. He inhaled deeply, arms tightening.

Slowly, my arms reach around his torso, returning his embrace. Inhaling his comforting scent of pinewood and coffee, I felt myself drown deeper into my emotions, deeper into the ocean that surrounded me, deeper into my fears from the last few nights. My heart trembled, lips quivering.

"I'm here," he whispered, placing a chaste kiss to my jaw. "If Allah allows it, I swear I will always be here."

His words striked the sensitive tremors of my chest, knocking the air from my lungs. His touch, his soothing voice, his undying love for me all worked against the currents I swam through, worked through the obstacles that threatened to tear us apart. My legs felt numb as I leaned into the envelope of his arms, barricading myself in love-induced murmurs, sweet nothings that sang into my ears like a soft melody, a gentle sway from pressure.

The second he saw me enter the room, he dropped everything to be at my side. He abandoned his struggles to outstretch his hand to mine. I felt selfish for wanting his attention, for taking him away from work, yet my mind could barely function after my interview. My chest felt heavy, my throat closed in, my stomach dropped.

I needed this.

I needed him.

"I'm so sorry," he croaked, arms tightening. "I should have been there. I should have fought harder. I should have-"

I pulled away, placing a finger to his lips, instantly silencing him. "It's okay. Everything is okay, Ibrahim."

Awe flashed across his eyes, the luring darkness dragging me into the depths of his mind, haunting eyes mirroring a peaceful bliss, a moment where we only had each other, where Allah guided us and we felt strong, prepared for the onslaught of politics. For a moment, that perfection existed.

He squeezed his eyes shut, reality sinking into his skin. "But it isn't okay," he said, opening them, hurt evident across his visage. "I was scared, Tasneem. I still am. This isn't what other couples go through. This isn't the millionaire life you witness in pop culture."

I lifted a hand to cradle his cheek, eyes meeting his in a daze. "I know it isn't. We're adults, and we know that life isn't a fairytale. I'm scared too, Ibrahim. I'm always scared for you," I whispered, tears threatening to spill. My chest constricted again, taunting the tender heart beneath. "Every time I think about it, I can't help but... feel your pain to whatever capacity I can."

"Shh," he soothed, placing his larger hand on top of the one resting against his cheek. "Deep breaths, sweetheart."

I followed his instructions like a blind mouse, too meek to even protest when my vision blurred the sight of my husband. "I-I'm so scared of what Jared can do to us, to our family, to our futures," I struggled to say. "I d-don't know what to do."

There it was, my greatest fear, my lack of control, my darkest insecurity. Never had I voiced that trembling anxiety. Throughout my life, I kept everything under control from my emotions to my work. When something in that system broke, I quickly tied the loose string.

This was different.

It wasn't one thing that broke; it was multiple. Our lives together spiralled from a stage of healing to one of confusion and fear, to terror and loss. I knew Allah gave us trials to test our faith. I knew He didn't do this to hurt us.

Yet my head spun at our stress.

Sensing my distress, his forehead gently touched mine, noses brushing against each other, hands firmly placed at my hips as his warmth spread through me, the sunlight to a stormy day. I dared a look into his eyes, losing myself in the surreal realm they took me to, the essence of trust reflecting back at me.

"Being scared is normal, sweetheart," murmured Ibrahim, deep voice thick with sentiment, hoarse with an overwhelming flood of his own vulnerabilities. "Faith comes with risks and fears. It's part of us, part of being human."

"But I shouldn't be afraid," I weakly protested. "I should trust Allah with all my heart."

"And you do," he interrupted. "Don't you think the Companions felt fear when the Quraysh was after them? Don't you think our prophets felt scared when their people refused to listen? They all trusted their Lord, and they still felt fear. They were scared of their obstacles."

"But-"

My voice paused when I felt the pad of his thumb brush against my damp cheeks, rough fingertips easing the tension that tightened my muscles, a gaze of longing touching his hypnotizing brown eyes. I personified a fear without realizing that my strength derived from Allah and my family.

"No matter what happens," he began, words slow and gentle, "we have each other. We have Allah. Nothing will ever change that. What we have is deeper than politics."

"Promise?"

He chuckled softly. "I promise."

Unable to resist, I leaned up, meeting his lips in a stunned kiss, slow but sweet, timid but perfect. Ibrahim wrapped his arms around my waist, pushing me tight against his body till I molded perfectly with him, till our breaths mingled with one another, and till our hearts beat as one.

Feeling his lips on mine, his hands on me, his rough gasps, I felt complete. The sun splashed through his windows and the ripples of light sparked towards us as if veiling Ibrahim and I in a halo of hope, of endearments.

He bit my lip, licking at the seams till the flushed heat of our actions flooded through me, wandering hands seeking more, seeking a burning touch. The day wore me out, but he ignited a flare within, a need to hold onto my husband for all eternity, to remind him everyday that we were a team.

Unfortunately for us, fate had other plans when a muffled sound banged against the door.

Ibrahim pulled back, breathless. "Did you hear that?" he frowned, glancing in the direction of the door, senses formulating a quick deduction from the string of curses that flew from outside. A knowing glint entered his eye, realization dawning. "They found the Nintendo Switch?"

"I assume so," I said, shrugging. "You know how they get when they're playing video games."

Sighing, he gripped my small hand into his large one, smiling at me with genuine fondness. Cheeks flushed with a faint embarrassment, lips red from our kiss, and eyes sparkling like the stars of a midnight sky. Pushing the door open, we were greeted by the presence of our friends, their candid expressions stuck in time like a picture to frame.

Damon and Thomas were yelling as they raced each other in Mario Kart, Amira scolding the two boys while Kanza sarcastically commented on her futile efforts to discipline the two men, calling them children. On the other hand, Tanwir calmly read something on his phone, most likely a news article, arms outstretched across an adjacent couch. A picture perfect moment.

Ibrahim and I exchanged amused glances, lost in our own time, our own minds. Although life threw the ultimate curve ball at us, we managed to find joy in small deeds, small actions. We managed to keep smiling despite our pain because in our hearts we knew that Allah had a plan.

And His plan was always better than ours.