Under the Olive Tree

30. Thalathun

It felt somehow paradoxical to sneak away from the gathering created for their sake and catch the first bus they found, climbing in with Muhsin's white thobe and Amani's perfect gown. Perhaps if Muhsin wasn't holding her hand the entire time, she may have noticed all the curious looks they received.

"Mabrouk," the riders congratulated them.

Muhsin smiled kindly and thanked every person who offered them the same comment. They sat together at the very front of the four-seat minibus, Amani against the window and Muhsin by the door that he closed after they climbed in. Every time a rider behind them spoke to the two, Muhsin turned to respond in Amani's direction so his shoulder grazed hers.

He leaned forward to pay their fares to the driver.

Amani took a deep breath, watching the plantation fields racing past the window outside as the fresh air blew gently against her face. "Look," she pointed to the tree in the distance. "It's your olive tree."

Muhsin ducked slightly to see out the window. "That one?"

"No, the one to the right. The bigger one."

He narrowed his gaze at her. "How did you know?"

"I saw you praying under it that one day."

"Under the olive tree?"

Amani nodded. "Once," she lifted her index finger. "When Fayza was in the hospital and I brought you food to the garden, you were praying beneath that tree. I remember because the shade fell perfectly onto you while all the ground around you was brightly lit by the sun. You were praying for her, weren't you?"

Muhsin's attention slipped out the window in a moment of thought. "I was praying for quite a bit actually."

"What were you praying for?"

He smirked, pressing his fingers to his chest then pointing past the roof of the bus above them. "That's between me and the One I prayed to."

She frowned. "Well, were they at least answered?"

Muhsin shrugged. "Two of them."

"Which two?"

His eyes shifted to hers, an intensity hiding within that only grew in power when the corners of his lips lifted to raise his features. "The important two," he whispered so only she could hear him. "The ones that I pressed my forehead to the ground for."

Amani held his gaze, the smile gradually growing on her face with every additional second of reassurance Muhsin's eyes granted her. "Did I...," she began. "By any chance, have anything to do with either one of those?" Amani asked.

"You're my wife."

"I am now."

"If I pray for two things, I will add you as the third. If three, you will be the fourth. Even if I must pray for ninety-nine, I will make you my hundredth. Dayman"—always—he said.

Amani snorted. "You-."

"Yalla," he looked past her and realized where they'd come to. "We get off here." Muhsin turned to the driver. When the bus slowed to a stop on the side of the road, he climbed out before extending his hand to her to help Amani down. "We walk from here."

"There's still more?" Amani asked.

"Do you think I would bring you to the shop of a mechanic?" He pointed at the store directly in front of them.

They weaved through the streets, their white garments contrasting so pleasingly to the sandy roads and cemented homes. Amani didn't mind walking with Muhsin. She enjoyed his presence at her side. But once the sun had begun setting and her feet began aching from the path, Muhsin's presence became hardly enough to soothe the burning soles of her feet.