under the covers [hs au]

chapter forty-four.

"That looks nice on you," Samira ridiculed, pointing at Mahnoor's dress. "Eid Mubarak."

"You're so annoying." Mahnoor rolled her eyes, pulling Samira down for a hug. "Eid Mubarak, how are you?"

"I'm okay." Samira squeezed Mahnoor softly. "I think."

She took a seat in the space next to Mahnoor, straightening out her satin dress.

"You decided not to wear anything traditional?" Mahnoor asked, caressing the smooth material of Samira's attire. "I mean, it looks nice."

"All my salwars are kind of big now. They were hard for my mom to stitch last minute." Samira scratched her head awkwardly. "The jimikki earrings made up for it."

"You look really good. Watch out for the aunties."

"Don't worry, I made them shut up." Samira leaned back on the couch, taking a deep breath. "The only person that won't shut up is my dad."

"I thought you let your dad know that you need time?" Mahnoor twisted the cap off a plastic water bottle, taking a sip. "You'll be fine."

"Yeah, but Ramadan is over." Samira rolled her eyes. "He'll tell all these kids that they have time except for me. I'll never understand that."

Mahnoor shrugged: "Or maybe you will."

"Yeah, okay."

Samira's stomach growled emphatically; she leaned forward, concealing her abdomen with her arms.

"Jeez, go eat, Mimi." Mahnoor snickered. "Did you not eat breakfast? Have you been eating?"

"I don't know why these aunties think telling me I lost weight is a compliment. Like, oh, thanks, I was fat." Samira rubbed her temples. "Come with me."

"I already ate."

"Ugh, fine."

Samira grabbed Surat from her own clique, dragging her to the kitchen. Surat agreed to get food with Samira and stood with her; they waited patiently behind the line of people. Keeping her gaze to the floor, Samira fiddled with the jewelry on her wrists.

When Samira took a few steps forward, Surat handed her a few paper plates. Pulling the extra plates apart, she felt something pick on the skirt of her dress. She tugged her skirt back stiffly, averting her gaze over her shoulder.

Behind Samira was a familiar pair of ponytails. A little girl, playing with her gown—her name quickly came to mind. Aiza.

And standing before Aiza was the tall, brown guy from the masjid that peaceful night.

Oh, God.

"Aiza, leave Samira alone," the man chuckled, leaning down to pull Aiza away. He held a charming, impish grin.

A thin film of sweat settled beneath Samira's makeup at the sound of her name leaving the man's mouth. She turned back around, toying with the locks of her hair.

"Eid Mubarak, Samira."

Guilty, Samira turned slightly, an extra plate still in her hand. His tonka redolence repleted her senses. The moment Samira looked up, meeting those brown, luminous irises, her heart rushed to her throat.

"Eid Mubarak," Samira replied, pursing her lips into a meager simper.

The man took the plate from Samira, exhibiting a pearly white smile. As soon as it was out of her hands, she averted her gaze, hearing her pulse hammer in her ears.