Before Our Dawn| ongoing

nineteen

He nodded earnestly. "I promise, sir. She means the world to me."

She let out a nervous chuckle. "And, Baba, I've been taking good care of myself too, you know," she added.

His stern expression softened, and he reached out to cup her cheek affectionately. "I know you have, my dear." He turned his gaze to Marcel once more. "Just remember, I won't hesitate to give you a hard time if you ever hurt her."

That very evening, she shared the news with her mother as well. Samia was more receptive, and she lit up with glee at the news. It seemed like life was finally treating her well. She had no reason to hide Marcel from her parents, and she didn't have to implicate Aisha in her lies.

On March 18th, 1937, Marcel proposed after they'd had a picnic at a nearby park, which reminded her of the Jardin she'd visited with Haadi in Algeria. She recalled him being very secretive for a few weeks before the proposal, how he lingered after dinner to speak with her parents and refused to tell her what they had spoken about.

All of life's twists and turns had led them to this idyllic moment, here and now, in the comfort of a guest bedroom on the second floor of Marcel's parents' charming summer house in Nice. Being the traditionalists that they were, Marcel's parents insisted on providing Isra with her own room during their stay. But, of course, he was having none of it. He refused to be separated from her, vowing to share the same space. After some negotiations and a touch of persuasive charm, they finally convinced his parents to let them lodge together.

"Marcel, you're heavy," she complained, wriggling beneath him as she tried to free herself from his weight.

"Mmmm," he responded. He draped an arm over her, refusing to relinquish his comfortable perch.

She let out a dramatic sigh, but the smile tugging at the corners of her lips betrayed her true feelings. "Seriously, I can't breathe."

"You're a comfortable pillow."

Isra let out a giggle, her fingers gently running through his hair. "Well, you're crushing me," she said, feigning exasperation. "I'll be a dead pillow soon."

He chuckled, lifting his head to look at her with those soulful eyes that made her heart skip a beat. "Sorry, my love."

Although he didn't shift his weight to the other side of the bed, he did raise himself slightly on his forearms, studying her tired yet beautiful face. "Better?" he asked.

"Much better."

As the gentle breeze from the open window caressed their entwined forms, they basked in the serenity of the present, embracing the simple joy of each other's company.

"Don't you think we should get ready for the day? Breakfast will be served soon." They were always the last ones to arrive due to Marcel's reluctance to leave the bedroom. He always conjured up one excuse or another, stating that breakfast wasn't important, or that his parents already knew how strongly he loved her and could assume why he preferred to remain locked in here. 

However, Isra yearned to make a favourable impression on his parents, knowing they weren't her biggest admirers and that it was solely due to their son's affection that they tolerated her presence.

"I'm not hungry," Marcel whispered, planting a tender kiss on her raised knee, his lips tracing a path further up her thigh. "Not for food."

She bit down on her lip, inadvertently drawing Marcel's attention to her subtle reaction. He smiled, ever perceptive of her emotions. "I'm sorry," he told her, his voice a gentle caress, "for the previous night. I was too rough, wasn't I?"

"No, not at all," she assured him, her tone soft. "You were perfect, just as you always are."

He was the first man besides Haadi that she'd ever slept with, and as much as she had enjoyed her little escapades with Haadi, Marcel had shown her and taught her so much more. Over the course of a few months, he'd opened her eyes to pleasures she had never thought about, had never fathomed before now.