Chapter 49

Lamia’s Point Of View

After one month…

The moment we stepped into Stefano Policarpio’s atelier in Makati, I felt the air change.

It wasn’t just the blast of subtle, signature white tea and lavender scent that greeted us… no, it was the way the place seemed to breathe bridal magic. Cream drapes spilled from ceiling to floor like soft waterfalls. Spotlights were adjusted to make every gown glow. Mirrors didn’t just reflect; they flattered. And every corner had a mannequin in various stages of transformation, lace draped, pins sticking out, trains flowing like liquid silk.

My hand tightened around Rani’s as we stepped further in. I felt her squeeze back gently.

“Is it weird that I’m nervous?” she whispered, leaning closer.

I looked at her. Her hair was in soft waves today, pinned lazily on one side. She wore the same nude lipstick she always insisted was “too boring” for occasions like this and yet, I couldn’t imagine her face without it.

“You’re nervous?” I said, lifting a brow. “I’m the one with pit stains already.”

She laughed under her breath, and the sound steadied me somehow.

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” she murmured.

Before I could answer, a burst of energy entered from the far side of the room.

“Darlings!”

Stefano Policarpio himself appeared, wearing a crisp black linen set, oversized pearls hanging from his neck like an heirloom rosary. He spread his arms like he was greeting royalty or long-lost daughters.

“Lamia. Rani. You radiate love. I felt it through my glass wall. Come, come! Let me look at you!”

We stepped forward, and he circled us immediately, eyes sharp and curious but warm. Like an artist about to paint something deeply personal.

“I have been waiting for this appointment since your manager called me,” he said dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “Same-sex weddings are still underrepresented in our bridal galleries, so I said clear my entire day. This is not just fitting. This is revolution.”

He turned to me first. “So. Are we going for ‘celestial enchantress’ or ‘sultry goddess of war’?”

“Is there a middle ground?” I asked cautiously. “Like, celestial but… she could kill you if she had to?”

He let out a sharp gasp. “Say less.”

Then he looked at Rani. “And you, my darling?”

She smiled, almost shyly. “I want to feel soft. Like… the first morning of spring. But not frilly.”

“Oof,” Stefano clapped. “You girls are speaking my language. Follow me!”

We were led to a spacious fitting lounge where racks upon racks of gowns stood like a secret army of queens. There were assistants in all black, ready with measuring tape and stilettos in every size. A curved couch sat at the center like a throne for judgment day.

“You may try as many as you like,” Stefano said, “but I will bring you what I feel in my soul, okay? Just trust me.”

Then he disappeared behind a silk curtain like a man on a mission.

Rani and I sat down, both of us momentarily silent, taking it all in.

“You okay?” I asked her softly.

She looked at me, eyes warm. “More than okay. I just… never thought I’d get to do this. In a place like this. With you.”

I leaned in and kissed her temple. “We deserve it.”

A few minutes later, Stefano returned, holding two gowns like they were sacred relics.

“Round one!” he announced. “Lamia, this one has structured pleats and gold beading at the shoulders. Like Cleopatra’s ghost, reborn in Paris. Rani, yours has hand-stitched peony embroidery over sheer silk organza. Gentle. Romantic. Breathable.”

The fitting room was spacious, and Rani and I were allowed to change in the same one, which was a blessing, because the moment we were inside, she turned to me with wide eyes.

“Help me unzip?”

“Always.”

I stepped behind her and unzipped her dress slowly, watching her back reveal itself inch by inch. She shivered slightly. “Cold?”

“No,” she whispered. “You.”

I laughed. “Behave.”

“Never.”

I helped her into her gown first. It was light, but layered, white on white, with sheer panels that gave her a glow. When she turned around, I felt my breath catch.

“You look like…”

“What?”

I blinked. “Like something I’d dream about.”

She grinned. “You say that now. Wait ’til you see yourself.”

She helped me into mine. The structure was architectural, almost sculpted. The gold beading sat like armor on my shoulders, and the neckline plunged in a way that felt bold without trying.

We turned to the mirror.

Silence.

Rani tilted her head, studying me. “Okay, I see what he meant. Cleopatra ghost. I’d marry you in that right now.”

I smirked. “You are marrying me.”

“Exactly.”

Stefano burst back in at that exact moment and clutched his pearls. “OH. MY. GOD. You two are dangerous. I need to sit down.”

We tried four more gowns after that, Rani cried quietly during the third one she wore, which was a silk slip with a twenty-foot train. I got goosebumps wearing a modern twist on a Filipiniana, with sheer bell sleeves and tiny sampaguita beads stitched along the hem.

But something in both of us shifted when we stood side by side in front of the mirror, me in a soft cream off-shoulder gown that clung like memory, her in a dusty rose number with an illusion back and floral appliqué climbing her spine.

We didn’t say anything.

We just looked.

Stefano walked in quietly that time, no dramatic gasp, no witty remark.

He just stood behind us, smiling softly. “There,” he whispered. “There you are.”

Stefano stood behind us in the mirror, hands clasped like he was witnessing a sacred moment. The usual theatrics, the hand flutters, the gasps, the pearl-clutching were gone now. Instead, his voice was quieter, reverent.

“There you are,” he’d said, almost in awe.

I turned slightly to look at him, still holding Rani’s hand, still unable to believe what we both looked like together. The reflection didn’t feel like a trial run anymore. It felt like a prophecy.

But Stefano, ever the visionary, wasn’t finished.

“Now,” he said softly, stepping closer, “if by some miracle of the universe… though I doubt it… you two decide that none of the gowns here feel exactly right for you…” He leaned in, a mischievous sparkle lighting up his eyes again. “Then you have my absolute blessing, no… my honor, to create something entirely your own. A custom piece. Each.”

I blinked. “Wait, really?”

He nodded solemnly, his fingers already drumming against his lips like he was sketching something in his head. “I can never say no to you, Lamia. Or to Rani.” Then, louder now, with renewed drama, “Never! Jamais! Not when love like this walks into my atelier!”

Rani laughed, but there was emotion behind it. “You’d really do that for us?”

Stefano turned to her as if she’d just asked whether the sky was blue. “My darling, I would cancel entire collections to make something for you. You and Lamia aren’t just clients. You’re symbols. You’re aesthetic destiny. You’re giving me love story, softness, fire, duality, sapphic divinity… should I go on?”

“No,” I said, smirking. “But thank you.”

“You deserve to feel exactly how you imagined,” he went on, pacing slowly in front of us now like a general planning a campaign. “Maybe Lamia wants a detachable overskirt that turns into a cape. Maybe Rani wants subtle color shifts in the lining that only reveal themselves in candlelight. I can do that. I will do that.”

I looked over at Rani, whose eyes were now wide with possibility. “Wait… you can do lining that changes color?”

“Honey,” Stefano said, not even missing a beat, “I can make a gown sing if you want me to.”

Rani leaned into me and whispered, “We should write our vows in fabric swatches.”

I nudged her. “Let’s not give him ideas. I think he’d actually do it.”

“Only if it rhymes,” Stefano muttered to himself, already tapping notes into his phone. “Swatches and sonnets. I like that.”

I looked around at the showroom again, this time more aware of how much we were allowed to dream in this space. For all its elegance, for all its glassy perfection and magazine-level lighting, it didn’t feel intimidating. It felt like… permission.

Permission to be big. To be bold. To ask for more.

“Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?” I asked gently, still not quite used to the idea that someone like him would cater to someone like me.

Stefano turned sharply. “Lamia.”

“Yes?”

He placed a hand over his heart.

“There is no version of this world where I let either of you walk down that aisle in something you don’t feel like goddesses in.”

He walked over, gently tugged at the train of Rani’s gown to straighten it, then stepped back again. “We are not doing ‘just fine’ gowns. We are not doing ‘it’ll do’ gowns. We are doing devotion in textile form.”

Rani smiled, and it was that soft, dimpled kind, the one she only uses when she’s overwhelmed but happy. “Then… maybe we do have some ideas.”

“Oh?” he asked, delighted. “Tell me everything. Do you want to sketch with me? Do you have Pinterest boards? Secret notebooks? Vivid dreams that wake you up at 3 a.m.?”

“Um,” I said sheepishly. “All of the above.”

Stefano shrieked. “YES! Now we’re talking!”

He pulled a large sketchpad from a nearby table and flipped it open like it was a holy book. “Sit. Both of you. Tell me your wildest bridal fantasies.”

I exchanged a glance with Rani. Her eyes were gleaming.

We sat together on the plush cream couch, shoulder to shoulder, and leaned over as Stefano prepared his pencil.

“Well,” I started, voice tentative but growing stronger, “I was thinking… something that moves like air. Nothing stiff. But with structure in the bodice. Maybe a slit. Maybe not. But definitely a train that follows me like a whispered promise.”

Stefano nodded like a priest hearing confession. “Beautiful. Next.”

Rani leaned forward. “I want something soft, but not fragile. Like silk that holds its ground. Maybe some color, blush or champagne, something that feels warm. And details that catch the light, but nothing too obvious.”

“Subtle opulence,” he said, scribbling furiously. “Like a secret only your lover gets to see.”

“Exactly,” Rani said, her smile growing.

He looked up at us after a beat. “You’re going to be devastatingly beautiful. Both of you. I don’t care what traditions say. You’ll walk down that aisle like the world’s most romantic plot twist.”

I bit back a grin. “Is that an official Stefano Policarpio tagline?”

He winked. “It is now.”

——

The elevator doors glided open to the private floor of our penthouse, and the soft scent of warm fruit and baby lotion hit me like a gentle breeze. The familiar quiet hum of our home welcomed us, muted classical music playing from the smart speakers, the occasional clang from the kitchen, and the sound of muffled giggling that made my heart skip.

Rani stepped out first, still glowing from the high of our visit with Stefano. Her heels clicked against the polished marble as I followed, both of us still clutching the pristine garment bags that held our potential gowns. My hand was still tingling from when hers had squeezed it in excitement back at the atelier. I don’t know which was warmer, the satin swatches in my bag or the look she gave me when we described our dresses out loud for the first time.

But right now, the magic of tulle and lace had to take a backseat.

Because the second we turned the corner into the living room, I saw him.

Faisal… our son, our three-year-old chaos machine, was perched on the cream couch in his usual banana-print pajamas, legs swinging off the edge, mouth wide open as Nina fed him a slice of strawberry with a plastic fork like he was a prince on vacation.

“Mmm,” he mumbled, chewing dramatically. “More, Ninie.”

Nina gave him a teasing little curtsy. “Your Majesty, gusto niyo pa po ba ng strawberries o yung mangga na ang kakainin niyo?”

Faisal paused, considered the question like it was diplomacy, then pointed to the plate. “Red. Red. More red.”

I could hear Rani try and fail to suppress a laugh beside me. “He’s so lovely.”

“Because her mother is Mama Rani” I whispered back, but I was already smiling.

And then I spotted her.

Rebecca. Two months old now. Our little girl.

She was nestled in Manang Sally’s arms, wrapped in that bunny-patterned swaddle she always kicked out of, her tiny face turned upward with that cloudy, soft-eyed gaze babies do when they’re curious but still learning what the world means.

She was awake… alert even. A rare occurrence for this hour.

Her little hand was resting on Manang’s blouse like she was anchoring herself.

“Oh,” I breathed, quietly, as my entire body shifted from bridal mode to mama mode. I placed the gown bags gently over the arm of the couch and walked over, heart moving faster than my steps.

Manang Sally beamed. “Ma’am Lamia,” she said softly, “mukhang namiss kayo ng prinsesa.”

“I missed her too,” I said, my voice catching.

I leaned in slowly, brushing my fingers across Rebecca’s cheek. She turned her face toward me with that searching instinct only newborns had, and I swore I could feel my soul tighten around her.

“Kagigising lang po niya,” Manang Sally said, rocking gently. “Lumilikot narin po siya, kanina todo sunod yung ulo niya kung saan mapunta yung lobo na nilalaro ni Faisal.”

“She’s a genius,” Rani declared as she stepped closer, peeking over my shoulder. “She gets that from me.”

“Dumighay na rin po siya kanina,” Nina called from the couch, still feeding Faisal who was now demanding strawberries and watermelon. “Napaka very good po niya.”

“I’ll take credit for all of it,” Rani said cheerfully, pressing a soft kiss to Rebecca’s forehead. “Hi, my love. Did you dream of tulle and sparkles while Mama and I were away?”

Rebecca made a cooing sound, more breath than word, but somehow still full of feeling.

Rani turned to me. “I think she said yes.”

I didn’t answer right away. I just kept looking at her. This tiny girl who changed our lives without saying a single word. My chest ached in that way only love could cause, full and a little breathless, like I couldn’t fit everything I was feeling into one body.

I reached out, carefully lifting her from Manang’s arms, adjusting her into that natural space just above my heart.

She nestled in immediately.

Rani reached over and helped adjust the swaddle as if it were instinct. Which, by now, it was.

Behind us, Faisal giggled again, his face covered in red juice now, fingers sticky as he grabbed the last piece from Nina.

“Don’t let him eat the whole plate,” I called over my shoulder. “You know what happened last time.”

“Alam ko po” Nina groaned. “Nagkalat siya sa bedsheet”

“Still cleaning the bedsheets,” I muttered.

Rani leaned her chin on my shoulder and looked down at Rebecca, who was now blinking slowly, caught somewhere between interest and sleep. “We’re really doing it, aren’t we?”

“What?”

“This life. This family. Wedding gowns, baby girl in your arms, strawberry-sticky son on the couch.” She reached up and brushed her thumb over a spot of lint on my blouse. “A whole home.”

I didn’t answer. Not with words.

Instead, I turned just enough to kiss her temple.

——

The sound of silver cutlery against porcelain, the gentle clinking of water in glasses, and the quiet hum of voices filled the dining area like an orchestra of calm. Our penthouse was cast in the mellow gold of the evening, lights dimmed just enough to feel soft but alive, shadows curling along the marble floors like silk drapes in motion. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, BGC glowed beneath a violet dusk, city lights beginning to twinkle like earthbound stars.

Rebecca had just finished nursing and was fast asleep in the nursery, her tiny belly rising and falling with that peaceful rhythm only infants know. Rani had gone in to feed her just after we settled down for dinner, and when she came back, her arms were empty but her face looked content, the kind of quiet joy that made my chest ache.

Now, she sat beside me at the long dining table, closer than usual, as if she couldn’t quite let go of the intimacy of holding our daughter.

Meanwhile, Faisal was at the other end of the table, nestled in his booster seat beside Nina, who was doing her usual magic of distracting and feeding him at the same time. He was babbling between bites, telling an unintelligible story about dragons and airplanes as Nina spooned mashed potatoes onto his plate and wiped ketchup off his chin with a speed only a practiced nanny could pull off.

“Faisal buka na ang bibig,,” she coaxed him, smiling. “Eto na yung spaceship potato pupunta na sa tiyan mo.”

Faisal giggled, cheeks puffed, then opened his mouth obediently like it was a game. “Boom!”

Nina made a dramatic explosion sound and he clapped with glee, then launched into another story, this time about jellyfish and a talking bird.

I should have been laughing with them.

But I was trying to look focused.

I sat upright, tablet propped on the stand in front of me, my stylus in one hand, barely-there glasses perched on the bridge of my nose. I was deep in a video call with our partners from Al-Gaddafi Oil and Gad Ventures, going over the expansion reports from Qatar and Sudan, while pretending that I wasn’t aware of Rani slicing my lamb for me beside the screen.

“Yes, I saw the shipping schedule,” I said calmly into my AirPods, voice composed, “but I’m concerned about the backlog in the Port of Khartoum. I don’t want our supply line compromised just because the regional office didn’t foresee the trade reroute.”

My eyes flicked down to the screen, scanning the bar graphs and freight schedules. I tried to maintain my composure even as Rani casually tapped my shoulder and lifted a fork to my lips.

I glanced at her with one brow raised.

She didn’t say a word. Just gave me a knowing look and gestured again: Eat, babe.

And so I did.

I bit into the perfectly seasoned lamb, warm, tender, hints of rosemary and lemon, and almost groaned, but I kept it professional.

“Understood,” I continued, swallowing quickly. “Then make sure the secondary team in Benghazi is looped in by tomorrow morning.”

Rani dabbed the corner of my mouth with a linen napkin. I gave her a side-eye. She smirked. She knew exactly what she was doing, feeding me like I was helpless while I was in full CEO mode.

And I let her.

Because I loved it.

I loved her.

She scooped some rice onto my spoon next and whispered, “This one has the gravy you like.”

I covered my mic for a second and whispered, “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I am,” she said, not denying it. “You look so serious. I had to balance it out with something sweet.”

She fed me again.

I leaned in automatically.

Onscreen, one of the older board members started droning on about crude oil taxes, and I tuned him out just enough to let myself savor the bite Rani had offered, creamy, herby, comforting.

She brushed her knuckles lightly against my arm as she cut another piece. “You’ve barely eaten today.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You’re always busy,” she murmured, nudging the next bite toward me like a love letter in utensil form. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

I wanted to say something clever. Something flirty. But her voice was so soft, so sincere, I couldn’t bring myself to tease.

I just nodded.

And opened my mouth again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Manang Sally place a little cup of warm tea beside me. “Eto po, Ma’am Lamia,” she said gently, as Faisal started humming a song with his mouth full of carrots.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Faisal suddenly called out, “Mamaaaaa!”

Both Rani and I turned at the same time.

“What is it, habibi?” Rani asked.

He lifted his spoon proudly. “Nina said I’m a potato spaceship!”

“You are a potato spaceship,” Rani confirmed with a grin. “The fastest in the galaxy.”

“Mamaaaa!” Faisal squealed again, bouncing in his seat like he’d just discovered a new planet. “I’m gonna crash into the broccoli moon!”

I winced subtly.

He was loud… so loud that I was sure the people on my Zoom call had heard him. One of the delegates from our Riyadh office even paused midsentence. I saw his eyes shift on screen, probably wondering if he’d imagined the sound of a toddler declaring war on vegetables.

“Faisal,” Rani said gently but firmly, not even breaking her rhythm as she picked up another forkful of rice and lamb for me. “Hush now, love. Mama Lamia is on a Zoom meeting.”

Faisal blinked up at her, lips still parted in excitement. “But Mama…”

“Shhh,” Rani whispered with a soft smile, reaching over to wipe a bit of rice from his cheek. “Tell the broccoli story later, okay? Quiet voice now.”

He nodded solemnly, as if she had just handed him a sacred mission. Then he dramatically lowered his voice to a whisper and turned to Nina, “Nina, I’m crashing into the moon veeeeery quietly.”

Rani turned back to me with a grin so full of smug affection, I almost forgot I was in front of a regional board.

I swallowed another bite she offered and unmuted myself.

“Apologies,” I said with calm clarity. “Small household noise. You were saying, Mr. Farid?”

“Of course, of course,” he said with a chuckle. “We understand, Ma’am Lamia. A full house is a blessed one.”

I nodded politely.

Rani didn’t even pretend to stop. She picked up the tea and held it to my lips next, like we were in our own private world despite the dozen blinking boxes on the screen before me. Her other hand slid behind my neck, brushing away a loose strand of hair as she murmured, “This will help you think faster.”

“I’m already thinking too fast,” I murmured back, eyes flicking from her to the call.

“That’s why I’m slowing you down,” she whispered.

And she said it so quietly, so effortlessly, like a lullaby meant just for me that I almost closed my eyes from how warm it made my chest feel.

Someone on the call began presenting a chart something about refinery output and I tried to follow, but Rani was too close. Her scent was soft and floral with a trace of milk, probably from feeding Rebecca earlier. Her fingers grazed my shoulder as she adjusted my napkin for no reason at all, pretending to be helpful when she was clearly just doting.

I glanced at her, expression deadpan.

“You know they can see you, right?” I muttered under my breath.

“Let them,” she said, completely unbothered. “You’re my wife.”

“You’re hand-feeding me on a corporate meeting.”

“And yet, your company’s stock is still up, isn’t it?”

I pursed my lips.

She was impossible. And brilliant. And maddeningly right.

She leaned closer and whispered in my ear, “If you close that laptop, I’ll feed you dessert too.”

I nearly choked on my water.

Rani giggled like this was a game, like she wasn’t feeding a CEO lamb and rice in front of a board of shareholders.

“You’re not helping me focus,” I hissed.

“That’s not my job tonight,” she said innocently. “Nina is feeding Faisal. Rebecca is asleep. I’m feeding you. And all you have to do is sit there and run the world.”

My stylus slipped slightly from my fingers.

I was supposed to be discussing crude oil distribution strategies.

Instead, I was being spoon-fed dinner by a woman who had once refused to even sit beside me without crossing her arms in disdain.

And now she was smiling like feeding me was the highlight of her day.

I loved her so much I couldn’t even form proper economic counterpoints.

“Ma’am Lamia,” the CFO’s voice came through again, “if we can finalize the projected cost differentials, we can prepare the next phase.”

“Yes,” I said, recovering quickly. “Please proceed.”

Rani picked up another forkful, waiting patiently as I spoke.

I met her eyes for half a second, and she gave me a tiny wink.

——

The sheets smelled like rosewater and the faintest trace of Rani’s vanilla body cream. The air-conditioning hummed softly through the room, tuned just right, not too cold for Rebecca, not too warm for me. And the lights were dim, golden, cozy, casting long shadows on the walls and across our bed, where our whole world was gathered.

It was nine in the evening, and we were all curled up in our bedroom, our little fortress in the sky, high above the rest of BGC, where nothing urgent existed but this: words, milk, and warmth.

I was sitting upright against the headboard, robe slightly loosened at the neck, legs crossed lazily under the blankets. Faisal was tucked against me, his head resting just under my arm as he held a small children’s book in Arabic, his chubby finger trailing beneath the letters, brow furrowed in concentration. His hair was still a bit damp from his bath, and he smelled like baby shampoo and talc.

“Okay, habibi,” I said softly, tapping at a simple sentence, “try again. What does this say?”

He squinted, lips moving as he sounded out the letters. “… Anaa… biddi… ashrab… haleeb?”

I smiled. “Very good. ‘I want to drink milk.’ Perfect. Now say it again without the book.”

He paused, then repeated it slowly, “Ana biddi ashrab haleeb.”

I nodded approvingly, smoothing his curls. “That’s right.”

Across from us on the bed, Rani was lounging back on the pillows, her robe slipping slightly off one shoulder as she nursed Rebecca. Her eyes were half-closed, one hand gently cupping our daughter’s head while the other rested on her own thigh. Rebecca’s tiny fingers curled at the collar of Rani’s robe, her little mouth rhythmically nursing, cheeks round and flushed with warmth.

Rani looked like a painting.

Hair damp and combed back from her shower, skin glowing, chest rising and falling with quiet rhythm as she rocked slightly, not out of urgency, but instinct.

She caught me staring and raised a brow. “What?”

“You,” I said simply.

She rolled her eyes with a smile. “You always say that when you’re too tired to flirt properly.”

“I’m not tired,” I murmured. “Just content.”

She laughed under her breath. “You’re turning soft.”

“I’ve always been soft,” I replied, leaning down to kiss Faisal’s head. “No one ever bothered to notice.”

Faisal perked up suddenly. “Mama, what does ‘samak’ mean?”

“Fish,” I replied instantly.

“Can I say… ‘ana biddi samak?'”

“Technically, yes,” I chuckled. “But you’re skipping the verb. ‘Ana biddi aakol samak.’ I want to eat fish.”

He giggled. “I want to eat fish!”

Rani joined in, her voice like a song. “No fish now, ya amar. We already brushed your teeth.”

“But I’m still hungry!”

I tilted his chin up gently. “Then say, ‘Ana biddi banana.'”

“Bananaaaa!” he squealed in his scratchy toddler Arabic. “Ana biddi banana!”

From her side of the bed, Rani cradled Rebecca closer, patting her back as the baby’s sucking slowed. She looked at me over the crown of Rebecca’s head, eyes gleaming, robe slightly wrinkled and collar damp with milk.

“I love this,” she whispered.

“Me too,” I said quietly.

It was true.

No summit. No gala. No signed deal or shareholder victory could match this hour.

The soft babble of Faisal trying to piece Arabic words together. The gentle, wet sounds of our daughter nursing. The scent of soap and bedtime lotion. Rani’s bare shoulder brushing the edge of the duvet. My hand resting over the small of her foot, under the covers.

We were a family.

Not the kind we were raised to believe we’d have. Not the kind the world expected from two women who once hated each other. But the kind we built with our hands. With patience. With scraped knees and bruised egos and IVF appointments and every kind of miracle stitched between.

“Okay, last one for tonight,” I whispered to Faisal. “Can you say ‘ana bhibek’?”

He blinked. “Bhibek?”

“It means ‘I love you.’ Say it to Mama Rani.”

He scrambled up to his knees and leaned over me dramatically. “ANA BHIBEK, MAMA RANI!”

Rani beamed and reached out with her free arm, pulling him gently to her side. “Ana bhhibek kaman, baby.”

I smiled, letting my head fall back against the pillow. The whole world could wait for us.

Rani gently slipped one hand beneath Rebecca’s back, the other supporting her head, and carefully lifted her from her chest. Our daughter let out the tiniest sigh, milk-drunk and dazed, her soft lips still slightly puckered, lashes fluttering as she nestled deeper into sleep. Rani sat up slowly, pressing a kiss to her forehead before whispering, “Goodnight, habibti,” and then rising from the bed in nothing but her robe and grace.

I watched her cross the room to the crib near the window, where the soft glow of the nightlight haloed everything in a honeyed haze. She laid Rebecca down with the practiced quiet of a mother who knew every creak in the floorboards and every shift in weight. Her hand lingered on Rebecca’s chest for a moment, just to feel the rise and fall of her breath.

My chest ached watching her.

Rani, once the girl who could barely stand to share a room with me, was now the heart of my home. She adjusted the tiny blanket over our daughter’s belly, careful not to disturb her, then straightened up and turned toward me with a tired but glowing smile.

But before she could make it back to the bed, Faisal pounced.

“MAMA RANI!!”

She let out a surprised squeal as he launched himself across the mattress and latched onto her leg like a koala, wrapping both arms tight. “I got you!”

“Oh my god… Faisal!” she yelped, half-laughing, stumbling a bit as she clutched her robe closed with one hand.

He didn’t let go.

Instead, he tipped his head back and started tickling her. Tiny fingers wiggling up her leg, through the slit of her robe, with the full commitment of a toddler on a mission.

“YA ALLAH… stop! Faisal!” Rani gasped, bursting into laughter as she bent forward, trying to shield herself. “You sneaky little lizard!”

“Nooo!” he shrieked gleefully. “I will tickle you forever!”

She dropped to her knees on the carpet beside the bed, wrestling him into a giggly heap. Her hair spilled across her shoulders, and her robe slipped again down one side, exposing the strap of her nursing bra as she mock-growled, “You wanna fight, huh?! You think you can defeat me?”

“I’m stronger than you!!”

“No way,” she grinned, and began tickling him back, expertly finding that spot under his ribs that always sent him shrieking. “Who’s the queen of tickles now, ha?”

Faisal collapsed into breathless, hiccuping laughter.

I sat back against the headboard, arms folded, just watching. The soft thump of their bodies rolling over the rug, Rani’s laughter harmonizing with his, the flicker of the warm bedside light catching on her cheekbones, her long legs tangled in the folds of her robe… I could’ve watched them forever.

My family.

My chaos. My calm.

Faisal kicked his feet and tried to crawl under the bed to escape her, but Rani caught him by the ankle and dragged him gently back like a sack of giggles. “You can’t escape justice, ya faisool!” she teased.

“Help me, Mama Lamia!” he cried, reaching out to me dramatically. “Help! She’s crazy!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Well… she is.”

“HEY!” Rani tossed a pillow at me from the floor, laughing as I caught it with one hand. “Traitor.”

“You married me, sweetheart.”

“And now I’m being overthrown by my own son,” she gasped as Faisal climbed onto her back, trying to ‘pin’ her to the carpet like a little wrestler. “He’s so heavy! Lamia, do something!”

“I’m just enjoying the show,” I said with a slow smirk, crossing my ankles.

“YA ALLAH!” she cried again, mock-crying now. “I married a cold-hearted oil tycoon.”

I couldn’t help it, I laughed. A full, deep, quiet one that filled my chest and softened my edges.

Rani rolled onto her side, pulling Faisal into her arms and peppering his cheeks with kisses as he squealed and tried to squirm away. “Okay, okay,” she whispered between kisses, “enough war for tonight. Time to calm down, okay baby?”

He pouted, breathing hard from all the laughing. “One more tickle?”

“No more tickle,” she said, cradling him to her chest, brushing his curls back with one hand. “Only cuddles now.”

Faisal looked up at her, eyes big and bright, cheeks flushed.

“You’re the best Mama,” he whispered, then looked at me. “And Mama Lamia too.”

I felt my throat tighten.

Rani smiled at me, soft and knowing. “We love you too, Faisool.”

And just like that, the chaos melted back into calm.

Rani stood up, carrying him easily, and crossed the room to lay him down between us again. His small body curled under the blankets, still catching his breath.

Rani slid into bed beside him, wrapping an arm around his middle and her foot found mine under the covers, locking us in, anchoring us in place.

Rani was gently combing her fingers through Faisal’s curls, her voice soft and sing-song as she whispered close to his ear, “Sleep now, Faisool. Close your eyes, habibi.”

He didn’t even try to protest this time. After all the running, tickling, and laughing, his little body was finally giving in to exhaustion. He gave the tiniest hum in reply, nuzzling his cheek against her chest, eyelids fluttering halfway closed.

I shifted on the pillows, one arm propped under my head as I watched them, my wife in her robe, glowing under the muted bedside lamp, our son wrapped in her arms like her body was the only place he recognized as home.

But as I traced the shape of her spine with my eyes and the curve of her mouth as she whispered him to sleep, something stirred in me. That low, familiar tug in my chest that wasn’t just about love, it was about want. About the intimacy only she could draw out of me, even in the quietest hours.

I tilted my head. “You’re not putting them in the nursery with Nina tonight?”

Rani looked over her shoulder at me, not surprised by the question, just amused. “Maybe no,” she said softly. “Not tonight.”

There was something about the way she said it that made my heart flutter. Not tonight. Like she wanted to keep this feeling, of being all together, of warmth and closeness for just a little longer. But my gaze dropped to the deep V where her robe had loosened around her chest, and my lips parted.

I sat up slightly, letting my fingers slide slowly up her thigh beneath the silk hem. “But I also wanted you to breastfeed me.”

She turned to look at me fully this time, brows lifted. And then she burst into a laugh, quiet, breathy, but utterly delighted. “Lamia!”

I raised a brow, lips curving into the most unapologetic smirk I could muster. “What?” I asked, running my palm higher along her inner thigh now, just enough for her to feel the promise behind it. “You’re already in the mood of nurturing. Why stop now?”

Still laughing, she bit her lip and shook her head. “You’re shameless.”

“And married to you,” I said, drawing closer, pressing a kiss to the corner of her shoulder, where her robe was slipping. “I’ve earned my privileges.”

She rolled her eyes with a grin but the way her hand slipped away from Faisal’s curls and slid to the back of my neck told me she wasn’t actually objecting.

“Come here,” she said, voice low and teasing as she leaned in, her lips brushing just under my ear. “You better not wake them, though.”

“Oh, I won’t,” I whispered back, sliding an arm around her waist, pulling her against me. “You’re the one who needs to be quiet.”

She laughed again… soft and mischievous, and it sounded like silk against skin.

——

I moved slowly, quietly, careful not to startle the warm peace that had settled in our bedroom like a soft fog. Faisal’s eyes were fluttering closed beside his pillow, his little fingers still curled around the hem of Rani’s robe. Rebecca had already surrendered to sleep minutes ago, tucked securely in her crib with that faint, angelic baby sigh.

But it was Rani I couldn’t take my eyes off.

She was sitting up on the bed now, her robe tied loosely at the waist, the dim bedside lamp casting a halo of amber around her. Her hair was a soft, untamed cloud. Her gaze was calm but alert, tracking me as I padded closer on the plush carpet like a lioness watching another approach her den.

“Mama duties done for now?” she whispered, her voice velvet-soft, and I saw that little teasing smile form on her lips.

I didn’t answer. Not with words.

Instead, I climbed onto the bed, slowly, deliberately and moved to her side, wrapping my hand around her wrist as I lowered my head toward her. My lips found hers with urgency, a hunger that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with belonging.

She responded instantly. Like she’d been waiting for it. Her fingers curled into my robe, pulling me closer, her body yielding in the exact way mine needed her to.

We kissed like we’d been apart for days, not hours. Her lips were familiar, soft, tasting of strawberry jam from dinner and something warmer, something only mine.

I kissed her like I was claiming peace. Like I was reminding myself she was real. That this… her, me, our babies asleep wasn’t just a passing dream.

When we pulled apart, breathless but smiling, her forehead rested gently against mine.

“I thought you were tired,” she whispered.

“I am,” I said, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “But I missed you more.”

She laughed under her breath, that tender laugh that always made my chest ache in the best way. “You’ve been in meetings all day.”

“Exactly,” I murmured, kissing the tip of her nose. “I’ve had enough of the world. I want you now.”

Rani melted against me, wrapping her arms around my waist and holding me like she was sealing us back together. The quiet hum of the night surrounded us, Rebecca’s breathing, Faisal’s little snores, the rustle of sheets as I curled up against her side.

Everything was warm. Everything was full.

And as I lay there with my wife’s arms around me, her body pressed close and our kisses lingering in the air between us, I thought…

If this was the rest of my life, I would never want for anything again.