She smiled, scanning the crowd. “And now, it’s my honor to announce this year’s winner—a project that embodies compassion, innovation, and a deep commitment to women’s health. The recipient of this year’s grant is Dr. Lillian Tariq for herMaternal Wellness Initiative.”
The applause started slow, then swelled around me—Kevin shouting “I told you!” somewhere down the table, chairs scraping, hands clapping.
Dr. Patel went on, her eyes finding me. “Dr. Tariq not only submitted this outstanding proposal, but also organized this entire gala and made a generous personal donation to the neonatal research fund. Because of her vision, more families willget to take their babies home healthy—and more moms will get to stay healthy enough to be there with them.”
For a second, I couldn’t move. Then Khalifa’s hand found mine, his thumb gliding across my palm. I glanced at him, and he was beaming. “That’s my wife,” he said, meant for the table but landing squarely in my chest. “You did it.”
“Yeah,” I whispered in disbelief. “I guess I did.”
And as I stood to make my way toward the stage, the room went fuzzy again—only this time, it wasn’t from nerves. It was from the impossible, dizzying feeling of having finally built something that was entirely mine. By the time I reached the microphone, my heart was pounding so loudly I was half afraid it would drown out my voice.
I gripped the podium. “Thank you,” I began, the word catching slightly in my throat. “When I started this project, I wasn’t thinking about awards or recognition. I was thinking about the mothers I’ve met—women who loved their babies fiercely, but didn’t have the support they needed after leaving the hospital. TheMaternal Wellness Initiativewas born out of them. It’s a promise that the care doesn’t stop once the baby is delivered—that we see them, too.”
My cheeks burned as applause rippled through the hall, polite at first, then rising to what sounded like admiration. I managed a small smile, nodding in acknowledgment, but my focus snagged on Khalifa. He was clapping along with the rest of them, but not out of obligation. His grin was split wide, radiant and unabashed, seemingly bleaching the rest of the hall of detail. For a moment, everything else blurred, eclipsed by the sheer, dazzling awe written across his face. And then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he pulled out his phone and lifted it, capturing me in the middle of it all.
It shouldn’t have meant anything, but it did, because I’d never had that look directed at me before—pure, unfilteredpride. Not from my parents, not from my brothers, not from anyone who claimed to love me. My mother’s affection was measured in criticisms disguised as advice, my father’s in silence, Malik’s in half-hearted “you’re doing greats” that sounded more like “you’re doing too much.” I’d spent my entire life pretending I didn’t need approval, that validation was for people who couldn’t stand on their own. But deep down, in the small, insecure, unguarded corners of myself, I craved it.
I wanted someone to look at me and see more than a collection of achievements and duty. I wanted to be seen and still be enough, and somehow, in that crowded room filled with respectful applause and the tinkling of glasses, it was Khalifa—of all people—who gave me that look. Esteemed, firm, and a little dumbfounded, as though he couldn’t quite believe he got to be here, by my side.
It was an expression that made my chest yearn with everything I’d spent years trying to bury: the loneliness of being the family’s success story but never the favorite, the exhaustion of having to earn every ounce of devotion I was given, the constant disbelief that I’d ever belonged among the accomplished.
I should’ve looked away, buried the warmth before it took root, but I couldn’t. Because for the first time in a long time, pride didn’t feel like pressure. It felt like sunlight.
When I got back to my seat, the band began to play a slower song. Couples started drifting toward the dance floor, dresses brushing against tuxedo pants, laughter melting into music.
I was halfway through pretending to check my phone when Khalifa turned to me. “Dance with me.”
I blinked. “What?”
He extended his palm. “One dance. You worked really hard, you organized the entire night, you won—you should at least enjoy it.”
“Youwant to dance? In front ofpeople? You won’t even dance in the living room with me.”
“I’m pretty sure I did dance with you.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, “for, like, half a second.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Okay. Fair. I’ll make sure this one lasts for at least afullsecond.”
Every instinct told me to refuse, to make a joke, to deflect before he could chip away at the trembling part of me that still wanted things from him. But then I saw it—the faint hint of sincerity beneath his usual restraint, the almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth that wasn’t quite a grin but wasn’t indifference either. And against all reason, I put my hand in his.
He led me toward an empty corner of the dance floor, his grip settling against my waist, his palm igniting through the thin fabric of my dress, fingers pressing just firmly enough to remind me that he was real, that we were real, at least for this one time-stopping moment.
I rested my other hand lightly against his shoulder, and we began to move.
It wasn’t graceful. He was too tense, I was too clumsy, and we stumbled once when he turned us too quickly, but none of that seemed to matter. The room faded—the voices, the lights, the music—all dimmed to a hum in the background, and I could only registerhim.
“See?” he murmured, his thumb tracing a faint circle against my hip. “Not so bad.”
“You’re full of surprises. I wouldn’t mind seeing the rest of them.”
“Some surprises aren’t meant to be seen,” he said. “They tend to explode the moment they’re exposed.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that for myself?” I countered, lifting my chin, refusing to let him retreat behind silence again.
He stiffened, just barely, before he said, “I know you, Lillian. I know you’re not going to like all the surprises. I’d rather you hate me for the things you know now than for the things you don’t know yet.”
His gaze stayed locked on mine, searching, almost daring me to keep holding his stare. I leaned in until my lips were near his ear, until I could feel his breath hiccup against my cheek.
