His smile is sad. “It’s just a camera.”
“I’ll get you a new one.”
He laughs lightly and kisses my knuckles. When he brushes my cheek, my eyelashes flutter.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, guilt saturating his voice.
“What for?” I frown.
His jaw strains. “For what happened at the hospital when you were… when that happened.”
I shake my head. That little girl’s terror reminded me of Samar. Of my sin. “I couldn’t let him… get to that little girl.”
“I know,” Kenan whispers. “It’s okay. You did what you had to do. I’m just glad you’re safe.” His fingers brush over the bandage on my throat. “It may scar.”
I nod, fussing with my sleeves, needing the comfort, so I ask, “Would you be okay with that?”
He lets out an incredulous laugh. “My wife has a battle scar. She’s a badass.”
I shake my head, smiling. “It’s not the only scar I have.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You mean the ones on your hands. I love those.”
My smile deepens.
“Here.” I take his hand and place it at the base of my skull, under my hair. “Do you feel it?”
“Yeah.” He traces the ridges lightly, his touch gentle. His eyes are wide with wonder. “Does it hurt?”
“No. I got it when that bomb killed Mama. When I started seeing Khawf.”
I frown. When Khawf warned me about the hospital getting bombed, it felt like a blindfold I didn’t know I was wearing dropped from my eyes. Now, I can see clearer than before, but I don’t know what it is I’m seeing.
“Are you okay?” Kenan asks and I blink. His fingers slip down, and he loops one through my wedding ring.
“Yeah.” I smile and it dispels the concern on his face.
“Are you okay withthis?” He points at his busted lips. “It might scar. I know you fell for my pretty face.”
I laugh and delicately run my thumb along the stitches on the edge of his lower lip. His eyelashes flutter. “I guess I’ll make do.” His expression then turns serious and he sits up and reaches for my hands. “Whatever happens tomorrow, we’ll be okay. Even if…” He takes in a deep breath and presses his forehead against mine. “Know that even in death, you’re my life.”
My heart skips a beat. Then another. I have no words to fashion into an everlasting promise that defies the world. So I press a quiet kiss to his lips.
He sighs and after a few seconds says, “Tell me something good, Sheeta.”
I blush. “Are you trying to distract me from today?”
He smiles. “And me.”
I sigh. “You’ll like this one. The day you were supposed to come over, I was going to prepare a whole knafeh.”
He jerks back, a different glimmer growing in his eyes, until I swear the candlelight is trapped in them. “You know how to makeknafeh?”
“From the semolina dough to the cheese to the drizzled orange blossom water over the pistachios and almonds,” I murmur and tap my forehead. “It’s all saved here.”
There’s genuine happiness in his expression, all traces of pain gone. “You’re perfect,” he declares.
I laugh, lacing my fingers through his. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
