Unlikely To Happen

Part 9 -Miss Independent

With a sigh, she looked for something that she could poke him with, but without actually touching him. There was nothing. "Zaakir," she said softly. "Zaakir! Zaakir, wake up. It's fajr time."

Although she might not like him, but for better or worse, she agreed to marry him, and she wanted to go to Jannah and half of that opportunity sat in the sleeping man. Dreading it, she got off her bed and went to shake him slightly. "Zaakir! Zaakir!" she said shaking him, although she was beginning to get annoyed with him. She shook him a couple of times again, calling his name, until he scared her. He grabbed her hand and cradled it and then he tugged her to his body and wrapped his arms around her. She shrieked as she fell onto his bed and his arms.

Zaakir woke up with a shock and stared at her accusingly. "What are you doing on the floor by my bed?"

She huffed at his accusingly tone. "What are you doing with my hand?" she countered arrogantly, ignoring the fact that she hadn't even thought about neatening her bed head. He looked down, and found that while she was on the floor, closest to his bed, he was actually holding her hand quite tightly. Not to mention, his fingers were entwined with hers.

Like a poison burning his hand, he let go. "That still doesn't explain what you're doing in my bed," he said coldly.

She took her hand and stood up, glaring daggers down at him. "It is fajr time. I thought I would be nice enough to wake you up. I guess I learned my lesson," she said and turned her back on him to tidy up her bed.

There was silence between them, tension grew in the air. Maleeha wasted time tidying her bed and fixing her hair up, she didn't want to go into the bathroom and then have him rush her. She needed him to leave, or stay, whichever he decided so that she could make her Salaah. "Are you okay?" she heard him ask her softly.

"Fine," she answered coldly. "Please just hurry up." Although she answered him, she could not wonder why he would ask her that question.

"Okay."

Once she was alone in the room, she dashed to the bathroom, had a shower and then made her wudhu, dressed and began making her salaah. When she was done, Zaakir returned and found her packing her bags. "Oh, good," he said dryly. "Be done by the time I am done showering. We'll leave immediately."

"Jazakallah," she told him, quietly.

Shocked, he turned around. "What for?"

"The food you bought."

"Oh. And to you too. I don't know why you did it."

Her anger flared. Why would she do it? Because she is a human with feelings. She rolled her eyes at him, but continued to pack and tidy her bags. With a smile, she slid her feet into the new pair of Converse.

Zaakir walked out of the bathroom, in jeans but shirtless and with a towel in his hand that he was using to dry his hair. Maleeha blushed and turned around. "Are you done?" he asked her gruffly.

"Yep," she answered, thankful that he voice sounded normal.

"Did you have breakfast yet?"

"No," she answered. "The pasta you brought is too heavy for breakfast."

"But I told you to be done by the time I came out of the shower," he sighed irritably.

"Well," she said dropping what she had in her hand and turned around, her hands firmly on her hips. "I am not hungry, and again, that food is way too early to eat before 10 AM."

"Maleeha," he said softly as he sat on the bed –this time he was properly attired –and pulled on his socks. "You need to have breakfast, okay?" He raised an eyebrow at her, ascertaining whether she had understood or not.