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.
She asked if they could stop.
He told her they were nearly there.
She requested water.
He purchased for her a bottle.
She said her feet hurt.
He let her sit for a bit.
She whined about sand on her feet.
He cleaned her sandals.
She grew hungry.
He took them to a shawarma store.
Once they'd eaten and Amani drank to her heart's desire, she excitedly urged Muhsin out the front door so he may take her the rest of the way to this new place. The sun had set by the time they stepped into the street once again. Only street and store lamps illuminated their path. In the distance, Amani heard the loud music of a street wedding.
"Are you taking me to my wedding, Muhsin?" She asked, twirling in the empty street in front of him. The number of townspeople lingering around them had decreased as they neared the loud music heard through the speakers.
He raised his eyebrows in intrigue. Amani's improved mood easily lightened both of their steps. "You caught me."
"Oh, you shouldn't have," she teased.
"Then I will not. Let's turn back."
Amani's eyes widened though she was aware of his joke. "I would never. We have not come all this way to turn right around. Perhaps we should even spend the night in this town. Like a pre-honeymoon."
"OK," he said and Amani paused, believing for a moment that he was agreeing with her idea. But he was not. He couldn't possibly. "Close your eyes. I will walk you the rest of the way."
She swelled in excitement. "Are we there?"
"It's around the corner. Close them, yalla."
Amani pressed her eyes tightly closed and let Muhsin turn her around. His hands slipped around the tops of her arms to carefully guide Amani down the remainder of the path. She took careful steps but he maneuvered her around the potential unevenness of the trail so she would not hurt herself.
Soon enough, the ground leveled and the music that played distantly seemed to be the only sound around them. A gentle gust of wind blew across Amani's cheek and ruffled leaves ahead of them.
Muhsin's hands fell away. "Fat'hi."
Her eyes slowly opened.
She'd been here before.
The empty street of freshly washed turquoise travertine tiles and contoured crevices between each tile. The café-colored homes around them stood with doors and windows of a beautiful cerulean blue. She looked beside them at the same motorcycles she'd known would stand there.
Very slowly, as if she couldn't believe the familiarity of the sight, Amani moved along the dark column of stone lining the street's center.
Wooden chairs sat near the end of the walkway as if they'd been there for years but never once gone a day without harboring a rest for an older man.
She took a deep breath before lifting her gaze to the colorful lights decorating the covering of wood and leaves stretching across the street between both homes. The vines and lights seemed close enough to touch but if Amani reached out, she knew she would not reach. The music fell away until she could hardly hear it.
"This...," she began. How could she explain that she knew this? That she'd been here before and she'd been here with him.
Amani turned to Muhsin. He'd been quietly trailing her path, his hands clasped behind his back and his smile brighter than what the sun would have been if it dared rise and challenge his beauty. The lights behind her reflected in his hazel eyes with each step he took closer. Her heart skipped a beat and, for a moment, Amani's body was overcome with a powerful weakness under his gaze.
"What do you think?" He asked.
"I've never seen anything like it."
Muhsin moved closer until he stood directly in front of her, hardly any room separating their bodies. He held her gaze but Amani's attention dipped when he gently extended his hands toward her, open and awaiting the company of her touch. "The street is empty," he whispered, as if he thought her hesitation stemmed from worry they would be seen. "It's just you and I."
"We're alone?" She asked.
"I told you it would only be us."
"Are we going to move in together, Muhsin?"
He considered. "After the wedding."
"What if I don't want a wedding?" Amani challenged. "What if I want to move in with you right now? It's not impermissible anymore."
"The apartment isn't ready, yet."
"That's OK."
"Amani."
"What?"
"Take my hands," he glanced down at his extended arm, still waiting for her. "Everything will come in its time. For now, I want you to take my hand. Will you?"
Amani narrowed her eyes at him and dropped her hands onto his without another moment of hesitation. "We're married now, you know. I will always take your hand. Just reach for me and I'll be there. See?" She grinned.
Muhsin reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair back into her headpiece. His fingertips carefully traced the point where the golden plates met her skin. "Your skin is soft," he mumbled.
"Your fingers are not."
He chuckled and pulled them away. "No?" Muhsin asked, running his thumb over his fingertips. "Working in the field makes them a bit rough."
Amani captured his hand between hers. Muhsin flinched. "I like them. I know how your hands feel now. Like a real man."
Muhsin raised a questioning brow. "I wasn't aware that was ever a matter up for question."
She shrugged. "Tell me something about you, Muhsin."
His hands slipped down her arms until they rested on her waist, tugging the girl an inch closer as the wind blew gently between them. It ruffled his hair and blew it back from his face, exposing his forehead and hints of his hairline. Amani enjoyed the full access her position allowed her of his features—proper for admiration. "What would you like to know?"
"Your favorite color?" She teased.
But Muhsin answered in focus. "Green."
"Food?"
"Waraq enab."
Amani frowned at the response. It practically went against her natural heredity to dislike wrapped grape leaves but she could not bring herself to eat them. They smelled too strongly of Henna the same way okra did. Neither food suited her palate but she was willing to overlook it for Muhsin's sake. "Favorite number?"
"Three," he answered quickly.
She raised a curious brow. "You're adamant."
"I am."
"Why?"
"The sunnah is three. I eat in three, drink in three, pray in three. The most important things in my life happen in sets of three. You entered my life in three."
The statement drew a pout onto her lips. For the first time, Muhsin's eyes dipped to the movement and rested on her lips as his own lifted into a smile. When his gaze met hers, he'd already recognized her confusion. "The first," he whispered as the music continued faintly in the distance. "My sister Fayza told me of the return of a visitor from the foreign countries."
He lifted his hand between her and lifted a second finger. "The second, you crossed my path by the graves as the strange girl who enjoyed the company of the dead in the darkness of the night." Amani dropped her head forward, her forehead brushing against his chest when she covered her grin. She'd been strange even to him.
"And the third," his third touch gently urged her head up. "I believe you'd named a grapevine after me."
Amani snorted. "It was that touching of a gesture?"
Muhsin shook his head. "Hardly. I was sure it would die rather quickly from dryness. But it was the moment our gazes met for the first time. And when I looked into your eyes that night, I knew I would marry you. I knew this girl petting the leaves of a plant had rather audaciously claimed a place in my heart and would mean my ruin if she'd gone and returned from whence she'd come."
"You decided to marry me then?" she winked.
He smirked. "Quite confidently."
"Nobody could've stopped you," Amani chuckled.
"I would have asked for your hand if it meant crawling to your front door. Not even the Occupation could've stood in my path."
She threw her head back and laughed at the thought, his tone not conveying the slightest hint of sarcasm. "How'd that feel then?"
Muhsin's smile dropped an inch. "It was terrifying."
"Was it?"
"You'd come into my life so abruptly and, just as quickly, I found myself looking into your eyes and realizing how petrifying the thought of your farewell had become. I've only felt fear like that once in my life. So, I acted selfishly for the first time in my life."
"Proposing to me was selfish?"
Muhsin nodded. "It is the single selfish thing I had never allowed myself to dream of. My family needed me, my mother, my sister, they were more important than any wife who may come. I'd told myself that I could never marry and risk not being there for them. It was never going to be worth it," his intently drawn expression eased.
"Then I found you. The girl who screamed at an armed soldier to protect my brother without the faintest idea of who he was. You became worth it. I knew that, even if I became distracted, you would protect my family and all I needed to do then would be protect you. Now," he raised her hand to display the ring. "You are my family."
Amani grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck.
But he pushed her away. "Wait."
"What?" Muhsin left her to step past the motorcycles, ducking for a moment to pick up a potted plant that had stood below the window. The pink ceramic pot fit easily in his hand. Amani watched the plant swing lightly in the blowing wind as he walked back over. "That's not...," she began. It couldn't be. "Is it?"
"My katb-kitab present to you," he extended it to her.
The grapevine had grown almost threefold since the last time she'd seen it, its leaves beginning to unravel and form the distinct five-lobed heart shape. "How'd you grow it so big?" She excitedly took it from his hands. "It's so tall!"
"Grapevines are easier to care for than olive trees." Amani's head shot up to see the simple smile faintly tug at the corners of his eyes as he watched her. "You can place it in the balcony of our new apartment once I've finished it."
"This is our grapevine," she beamed.
"We can make waraq enab."
Amani chuckled, placing the pot on the floor beside her and throwing her arms over Muhsin's shoulders. The leaves rustled above them as she breathed in his familiar scent, a vulnerable air settling on the peace between them. His hands slipped to her back as they embraced beneath the dancing colors of the lights. "You're my favorite person, Muhsin Awad."
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This chapter is so WHOLESOME. I had to rush to upload it cuz I forgot to yesterday and I'm heading to a protest so I was like OMG I should upload before I go lest I never return😐, SIKE let these men come at me. Free Palestine for now and forever babes!
Goodbye, LOVE YOU!
Until NEXT TIME!