“Patience, Doctor,” he murmured, turning onto a winding road that disappeared into trees.
I groaned. “If this is another nature thing, I swear—”
“It’s not.”
“Or a pregnancy photoshoot thing.”
“No cameras involved.”
“Or a weirdly specific bonding exercise you learned in therapy?”
He grinned. “Define weirdly specific.”
“Khalifa.”
He laughed again, and the sound filled the car. “You’ll see soon enough.”
I sank back into the seat. The baby kicked once, like she was in on his secret.
“Great,” I muttered. “Now you’ve got her on your side.”
“Smart girl,” he said, eyes flicking to me. “Takes after her mother.”
Warmth tightened behind my ribs, and before I could look away, he added, “I’m sorry for making you call your mom.”
A smile small quirked at my mouth. “It’s cute that you think you’re capable ofmakingme do anything.”
He huffed out a breath. “I just don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“How someone couldnotlove you.”
The words landed gently, like they didn’t realize how devastating they were. I swallowed, pulse thrumming, then shrugged in what I hoped passed for casual. “It’s okay. I don’t feel like I’m missing out anymore. Besides,” I said, “you were right. Ididneed to call her. Not for Noor, though. For myself.”
We crested a stretch of road and arrived atHorseshoe Bay Lookout—a wooden platform perched just off Horseshoe Bay Drive with sweeping views of Howe Sound and distant islands, blue water kissed gold by the setting sun. The car was parked beside the railing, and the few steps it took to reach the edge felt like walking into a painting.
“This,” he said, gesturing toward the glowing horizon, “is one of the best places to watch the sunset in Vancouver.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You know I was born and raised here, right? I’ve obviously been here before. Several times.”
He leaned back against the seat, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “Not with me, you haven’t.”
And damn it, he was right—because somehow, with him sitting beside me, even the familiar felt brand new. The view wasn’t just a view anymore. It was a beginning disguised as an ordinary evening.
The sky blazed like it had caught fire—liquid gold melting into violet, clouds catching the light until they looked almost holy. I exhaled, my heart settling somewhere between my ribs and the horizon. “It’s so pretty,” I murmured.
“It is,” he agreed.
But when I glanced over, he wasn’t looking at the sunset. He was looking atme, the wind teasing my hijab, the sun dipping low behind me like a spotlight I definitely didn’t ask for.
“It’s been incredible to watch,” he added, thumb sweeping once more over my knuckles.
“Watch what?”
“TheTariq Postpartum Institute. It’s doing amazing.”
Heat climbed up my neck, fast and embarrassing. “Yeah, it is. Thank God.” I tried for breezy and failed spectacularly. “And Iknowyou’ve been keeping track. We got an anonymous donation that hadKhalifa Nasserwritten all over it.”
