Still, something about the simplicity of it—waves always returning—struck me in a place I wasn’t prepared for. There was a softness to the way he said it, a glimmer of unguarded truth that felt almost private. For a moment, I had the ridiculous, gnawing wish that I could tuck myself behind his eyes and see the world the way he did—unshakable, cyclical, full of things that left and came back again.
His gaze didn’t waver from mine, and I felt his words, his meaning, the tranquil poetry threaded through both, crash over me like the very thing he loved.
“What’s yours?”
I thought about it. “Laughter,” I said. “The real kind. The kind that’s loud and silly. The kind people don’t mean to make.”
“Then I guess I’ve given you two of your favorite things tonight.”
“Yeah,” I said, a smile tugging at my mouth. “I guess you did.”
His expression shifted, amusement curving through the tired edges of it. “It’s funny, actually.”
I poked the tip of his nose. “Why is it funny?”
He looked at me like he was weighing whether or not to hand over the truth. “Because when I think of real, loud, silly laughter...I think of you.”
And there it was again—the reckless thrum in my chest, the flutter I couldn’t reason my way out of. I was suddenly, acutely aware that his face was only inches from mine, that if I moved even slightly, I’d feel his breath against my skin. I turned on my other side, pretending to settle in. “Goodnight, Khalifa.”
“Goodnight, Lillian.”
I WOKE TO THE SOUNDof my athan app going off for Fajr, the faint melody weaving through the room. For a few blissful seconds, I didn’t move. I was so warm, so comfortable, so—
Wait.
I opened my eyes, realizing that the warmth was not, in fact, divine intervention.
It was Khalifa.
His arm was wrapped firmly around me, my head resting on his chest, his face buried in my hair. The covers had somehow migrated to the floor, and his leg was slung over mine like we were characters in some forbidden romance novel I didn’t have the attention span to sit through. My leg, traitorously, was resting between his thighs. My pajama pants were riding dangerously high.
I froze, my heart forgetting how to beat. Then, because the universe had a sick sense of humor, he shifted slightly, tuckingme closer, letting out a relaxed sigh against my neck, and every muscle in my body screamedmore.
I jerked away, rolling right off the bed with a thud that rattled the nightstand. My head connected with its edge, pain blooming just above my temple.
“Ow,” I moaned.
“Lillian?” Khalifa’s voice came sharp and alarmed as he scrambled upright. “Are you okay? What hurts?”
I winced, clutching the side of my head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
He ignored that, naturally, and crouched beside me. “Let me see.”
Before I could protest, he was already brushing my hair back with tender fingers, making my chest throb.
“Sit on the bed. I’ll be right back.”
I sat, dazed and vaguely humiliated, watching as he crossed the room and rummaged through his suitcase until he produced a small first aid kit.
When he returned, I muttered, “You’re being dramatic.”
“Can you just shut up and be quiet?”
“They both mean the same thing,” I shot back.
“Well, clearly you need to be told twice.”
I glared at him. He didn’t notice—or pretended not to. He knelt again, one hand bracing my chin as the other dabbed something cold and wet near my hairline. I hissed softly, and he blew on the spot, the heat of his breath sending a shiver straight down my spine.
