In the quiet of the late night, Ibrahim arrived home, tired from a long day. His tie was loosened, and the top two buttons of his white shirt were undone, allowing a glimpse of his strong chest. And his coat draped over one arm as he made his way to the bedroom.
The soft glow of the bedside lamp revealed Ava's absence when Ibrahim entered their room. He tossed his coat onto the bed and began to unfasten his tie, He sighed, wondering where Ava might be at this hour, maybe in his study.
His tired eyes caught sight of the snow globe resting on Ava's side of the bed, near the pillow. A flicker of hope crossed his face as he murmured to himself, contemplating whether she had accepted his gift.
His gaze lingered on the globe for a moment before he remembered the letter he had left for her the previous night. He looked around here and there but he didn't notice the letter. He thought whether Ava had even read the heartfelt words he had penned. Did she appreciate the gesture? or did she throw it without a second thought?
With a heavy sigh, Ibrahim questioned the absence of a message or any indication from Ava, she could send a message to him. "A simple message wouldn't hurt, would it? Such an anti-romantic girl."
Ibrahim left the bedroom and his steps led him to his study room. In the study room, bathed in the glow of bright lights, Ibrahim entered silently, his eyes searching for Ava.
There, in the center of the room, Ibrahim discovered sleeping Ava, her form perched on a rocking chair. And her hand resting on her lap, the paintbrush cradled within her fingers. The vibrant colors on the brush had left their mark on her white trousers and black t-shirt. And the room was filled with the sweet scent of acrylics.
In front of her, an easel stood tall, displaying an incomplete painting. It seemed like, the painting frozen in time, awaiting the touch of the artist to bring them to life.
It seemed that the fervor of creation had given way to drowsiness, leading Ava to drift into a peaceful nap. Ibrahim marveled at the scene before him, a smile playing on his lips at the sight of Ava, lost in a world of dreams.
Approaching her with a quiet step, Ibrahim observed the tranquil expression on Ava's face. The gentle breeze from the open window ruffled her hair. In this moment, Ava appeared more like a child than the strong-willed woman he often encountered.
Captivated by the purity of her slumber, Ibrahim couldn't resist the impulse to preserve the scene. He retrieved his phone from his pocket, silently framing a snapshot of Ava in repose. The soft click echoed as he discreetly took a photograph.
With the photo secured, Ibrahim continued to watch. But he couldn't shake off the concern for her comfort. The rocking chair wasn't an ideal for sleep.
Ibrahim bent down beside Ava, his hands reaching under her knees and beneath her back. She was lighter than he expected, almost weightless. Her head found a place on his shoulder, her hair falling gently against his chest. He lifted her with the careful grace one might use with delicate glass, ensuring not to disturb her peaceful repose.
As he began to lift her delicate form, the paintbrush in her hand slipped from her grasp, falling with this sound on the floor. Ava stirred, her eyes fluttering open with a startled expression. Ava, now awake, found herself cradled in Ibrahim's arms. Confusion painted her features as she looked up at him. The scene before her eyes was beyond her expectation – Ibrahim, holding her as if she were the most delicate treasure. In that moment, Ibrahim froze, a hint of panic crossing his face as he registered her unexpected awakening.
"Ibrahim?" Ava blinked and questioned with her widened eyes, "What are you doing?"
"You were sleeping here, and I thought it might hurt your back. So, I was just... I thought I could move you to your bed." Ibrahim replied.
Ava, however, was having none of it. Her initial surprise morphed into irritation, and she insisted, "Put me down. You didn't have to do that."
Respecting her wishes, Ibrahim slowly lowered Ava back to the floor. And she stood safely there on the floor, "Don't touch me like that,"
Ibrahim sighed. He placed his hands inside the pockets of his pant and asked her, "Are you still angry with me?"
Ava shot him a sharp look. Her sleep was nowhere to be found in her eyes. "When have you let me live peacefully after our marriage?"
Ignoring Ava's reply, Ibrahim asked, "Did you read my apology letter?"
Ava nodded, her gaze fixed on him. "I read it."
"Then have you forgiven me this time?" Ibrahim pressed, a hope flickering in his eyes.
"What do you want?" she challenged, "Every time you forcefully kiss me, and every time I'm supposed to forgive you?"
Ibrahim's response was steadfast, "Yes."
Ava was dumbfounded, her disbelief evident in her eyes. "Every time?" She asked for confirmation.
But Ibrahim was Ibrahim. He was unfazed, "Yes, Every time."
It seemed like Ibrahim enjoyed to see frustrated Ava. If it was that case, then he succeeded in his goal. Because Ava was really looking furious by his response. Her ears were red.
Her eyes bore into Ibrahim's. "In that letter, you seemed genuinely guilty," she remarked.
"You are right, I am guilty, even now too," he admitted, "But I never wrote that I'll stop coming near you. So I'll ask for your forgiveness everytime."
"Why should I forgive you every time?" Ava demanded, "What gives you the right to invade my personal space?"
"Because I'm your husband," Ibrahim asserted. He was looking confident as ever.
Ava scoffed, a bitter smile playing on her lips. "Husband? In name only. You don't respect any boundaries."
Ibrahim leaned against a nearby shelf, "And you think you can live peacefully without acknowledging me as your husband?"
"I don't want to talk to you, and I won't forgive you," Ava declared, her voice sharp with frustration. But in the reality Ava didn't have any answer for Ibrahim's question. She decided to retreat to the kitchen to find solace by making a coffee. Ibrahim really gave her a bad headache.
Ibrahim also followed her into the kitchen. Ava turned to him, "Don't follow me," she admonished.
"It's my mansion. I can go anywhere," Ibrahim calmly asserted.
Ava sighed, her temples pulsating with the ache. She muttered to herself, "Should've never married him."
She made her way to the kitchen, noting that it was her first time setting foot in this part of the Rahman Mansion. In the mansion there were many helpers, so she never had to come here. But now they were sleeping as it was late night. So Ava had to make her own coffee by herself.
Ava surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings, she couldn't help but notice the modern coffee machine on the countertop. It was a device she had no intention of using. Instead, she opted for the traditional gas stove, taking out a small pot to make her coffee.
Meanwhile, Ibrahim, leaning against the kitchen counter, observed her movements with a calm demeanor that only seemed to amplify Ava's irritation.
"Why don't you use the coffee machine?" Ibrahim suggested.
"I don't like the taste of machine-made coffee," she replied without looking at him.
Ibrahim requested, "Make one for me too."
Ava looked at him, she was ready to refuse. However, a fleeting memory crossed her mind—of a time when Ibrahim had made coffee for her in her apartment. Reluctantly, she acquiesced, "Fine, just this once. Don't expect it to become a habit."
When the milk began its slow ascent to a boil, Ava couldn't help but mutter to herself, "What if I make Ibrahim fit in this pot, in the boiling milk? All my problems would disappear in a moment."
The thought brought a wry smile to her face, and she continued her task. On the other hand, Ibrahim was really amused, "I heard that, you know."
"So what? I'm not scared of you." Ava retorted.
Ibrahim stood beside Ava, "You really don't get scared by me?"
Focusing on pouring coffee grounds into the pot, Ava, scoffed lightly. "Scared? No. Irritated? Absolutely."
Ibrahim chuckled, amused by her candid response. "You find me irritating?"
She handed the coffee cup to Ibrahim, "You forcefully married me, and now you keep barging into my personal space. Shouldn't I find that irritating?"
A smile played on Ibrahim's lips and he accepted the cup, "Well, if you're not scared, how about we go for a honeymoon?Enjoy somewhere beautiful?"