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?"
Ava was taken aback. "What?" She was taking the first sip of her coffee, but as soon as Ibrahim mentioned a honeymoon, her hand froze in mid-air. She looked at him as if he had suggested something utterly absurd.
"How can you even think of a honeymoon?" Ava exclaimed.
"Come on, it'll be fun. A change of scenery might do us good." Ibrahim tried to convince her.
But Ava was unamused. She took a sip of coffee and told, "Fun? With you? I highly doubt that." She shook her head in no.
Ibrahim tried to sweeten the deal, "We'll go to a beautiful place, enjoy the scenery, maybe even try some couple activities."
Ava scoffed, "Couple activities? Really? You've got to be kidding me."
"You never know. We might end up enjoying each other's company." Ibrahim was not ready to give up yet.
Ava shot him a look of disbelief. "Enjoy your own company. I'm not interested. I'm going back to the study room. This is ridiculous."
Ava continued walking toward the study room, coffee cup still in hand.
Ibrahim finished his coffee and followed her, "Come on, Ava. We can try to make some good memories. It might not be as bad as you think."
Ava reached the study room, turned to him, and sighed, "Memories? All I've got so far are forceful kisses and awkward encounters with you."
Ibrahim leaned against the doorframe, smirking, "Maybe I can the change of scenario. You might even enjoy it."
Ava shook her head, "I don't think so. And besides, I have more important things to focus on, like my exams."
He walked closer to her, "Exams? I thought we could leave all that behind for a while."
Ava raised an eyebrow, "In what world is that even a possibility?"
Ibrahim replied, "In my world. A world where you and I can coexist peacefully."
"Stop dreaming, Ibrahim. I'm not going anywhere." Ava dismissed Ibrahim's suggestion.
She walked over to the incomplete painting, carefully picked up the paintbrush from the floor, and resumed her work.
Ibrahim stood beside her, "What about a peaceful weekend getaways?"
Ava, not looking away from her canvas, responded, "Ibrahim, you can't promise peace. Every time you come close to me, chaos follows with you, and I'm still scared by those chaos. What if you try to get physical again? I can't trust you, Ibrahim."
Ibrahim, raising his hands defensively, assured, "I won't, Ava. I promise. I know I've made mistakes, Ava. But this is different."
Ava paused her painting, looking into Ibrahim's eyes. She questioned herself, "Can I trust him?" She was torn between the desire for a break and the fear of repeating history, sighed deeply. The idea of a peaceful weekend getaway was tempting, yet she couldn't shake off the hesitation.
Ibrahim complained, "Here I am, bending over backward to make you agree, and in my line of work, a single command is all it takes."
Ava chuckled bitterly, "Well, I'm not one of your 'men,' Ibrahim. I won't dance to your tune. And I have my studies. I can't afford to lose focus." She started to paint once again.
Ibrahim took a step closer, "I'll even help you cover half of your syllabus before we go. You won't have to worry about anything."
Ava's brush hovered over the canvas. The voice inside her grew louder, encouraging her to embrace this opportunity.
Ava took a deep breath and said, "I'll go then. If you help me with my studies."
Ibrahim finally sighed, "Thank you." He couldn't believe Ava had finally agreed to the weekend getaway after their half-hour struggle. His world, often controlled by power and authority, seemed to have a different set of rules when it came to convincing his wife.
Ava looked at him - Ibrahim was still there. "Don't you have any work?"
Ibrahim replied, "Not right now."
Ava put down her paintbrush and palette and she instructed him to follow her. Ibrahim trailed behind his wife.
They came inside there bedroom. Without further explanation, Ava marched toward the closet and started pulling out all her clothes, creating a messy pile on the bed.
Ibrahim stared at the pile of clothes dumped on the bed, his eyebrow raised in confusion. Ava's unexpected request left him utterly perplexed, "Iron all my clothes."
"Why on earth would I do this?" Ibrahim questioned, gesturing to the scattered clothes.
"Consider it a consequence of your actions – your punishment for that forced kiss." Ava replied.
"I'm not exactly the ironing type. We have people for that, you know." Ibrahim protested.
Ava shook her head, "No, only you will handle this task. It's your penance."
Ibrahim was trying to maintain his image, argued, "I lead a whole organization. I don't do household chores." It seemed like his image was going to be shattered soon.
Ava retorted, "Well, there's a first time for everything. Consider it a lesson."
"I've never done these things. It's not my area of expertise." Ibrahim looked at the piled clothes.
"It's time you broaden your skill set. And I need those clothes perfectly ironed for our weekend getaway." Ava countered.
"Can't we just ask someone else to do this?" He tried another approach.
Maintaining her stern tone, Ava replied, "No. This is your task. But...if you don't want to do this then do you want another wax treatment like last time?"
Ibrahim winced at the memory, "No, no more waxing. I remember the pain. It was worse."
Ava was satisfied with his reaction. "Good. I'll be back in an hour. Make sure all my clothes are perfectly ironed."
"Where are you going?" Ibrahim asked.
Ava replied, "I'll be completing the painting. You focus on your punishment."
Ibrahim sighed as he watched Ava leave the room, wondering how a simple request for a weekend getaway had led to him being assigned household chores. He accepted his unusual punishment begrudgingly, picking up the iron from the drawer and faced the unfamiliar territory of ironing. He eyed the pile of Ava's dresses.
The pants and trousers seemed straightforward enough, and with a hint of confidence, he started tackling them. He picked up a pair of pants, thinking, "Alright, trousers, I can handle this."
The iron glided over the material smoothly, and Ibrahim found a rhythm. But his newfound confidence was short-lived. His gaze shifted to Ava's stylish tops, adorned with ruffles and intricate lace designs. He hesitated for a moment, contemplating the best approach. "How in the world do you even iron lace?" Ibrahim pondered aloud.
As he pressed the iron over the delicate fabric, Ibrahim soon discovered that not everything went as smoothly as he hoped. The fabric protested against the heat, and a lace section curled ominously. "Maybe ironing isn't as simple as I thought," Ibrahim admitted. Some sweat formed on his forehead, ofcourse not because of the heat of the iron but for his frustration.
"Ah, come on!" Ibrahim exclaimed, inspecting the damage.
The situation worsened as he moved on to a top adorned with rhinestones. With each pass of the iron, a few sparkled gems succumbed to the heat. "Great. Just great," he grumbled, realizing that this seemingly simple task required more finesse than he anticipated.
Then came the dresses, an array of confusing patterns that left Ibrahim scratching his head. The dresses varied from bold florals to abstract prints. He picked one dress, "This one looks like a Picasso painting," he muttered. He attempted to decipher the artistic chaos on the fabric.
He tackled each dress and his frustration grew. "Ava hardly wears dresses when I'm around, she practically lives in trousers and t-shirts at home and now I'm tasked with ironing her entire collection," he grumbled, the irony not lost on him.
Despite his exasperation, Ibrahim persevered, determined to conquer the challenge Ava had set before him. Nonetheless, Ibrahim pressed on, choosing a relatively simple dress to start with. And he succeeded with a first attempt.
Then he moved to the other dresses. Picking up one of the dresses, he studied it as if it were an mystery, "What kind of design is this? Is this the front, or did I just turn it around? Why can't dresses have a manual?"
He struggled with the dresses, one after another. But somehow he managed to iron with some little bit burnt marks. "Why couldn't she have given me something simpler?"
Trying to iron them became an ordeal. He would start on one side, only to find out later that it was the back, not the front. The confusion mounted with each garment he attempted to press. Though he was managing somehow but the dresses seemed to have a mischievous agenda of their own.
In the midst of his struggles, Ibrahim accidentally left the iron on one dress for too long, resulting in a burnt fabric and the release of an unpleasant odor. Panic set in as he noticed the smoke. He managed to burn not only the dress but also a section of the mattress. "Oh, she's going to kill me for this. Why on earth did she give me these dresses? And who designs these things? I can't even tell which way is up."
The burnt smell filled the room, and Ibrahim frantically tried to fan away the smoke with a magazine. He considered whether attempting to fix the dress or concealing the damage would be a better approach.
"Fantastic," Ibrahim sighed, surveying the damage. "Ava's going to kill me."
Unbeknownst to him, the same time Ava entered the room.