With the corner of her eye, she could see how nervous Ilias was. Maybe she had never seen him like that. He always exuded confidence, a natural sureness about himself. But now, knowing he had to impress Emir, he tapped nervously against his pants, played with the chain around his neck, squeezed her hand more than usual, toyed with his rings, then with hers. Yep. He was nervous.
It was going to be a nice dinner with Emir, Yasmine, Ghita, and her parents. She had met Ghita’s parents during her two-week stay. They always invited them for dinner or Moroccan tea, and they had been extremely lovely with her and Ilias. She could see how deeply they loved him.
That night, the restaurant was closed. It was Monday, usually the day Yasmine closed, so it had turned into a family gathering.
Once they arrived, Yasmine wrapped her in a big hug. After dealing with Thomas and a long confrontation with Ilias, Yasmine had shown her true colors. She was a true maternal figure, one who always wanted to take care of others. Sofia likedher wit, and how she didn’t let Ilias off the hook. His charm didn’t work on her, but Yasmine, in the end, was fond of him.
The TV was turned on to the USL tournament. They were in South Africa, and Amira was in the final against Alejandra. Perfect timing. Her eyes found her best friend prepping for her heat, long black hair tied in her usual braid, green eyes bright against tanned skin, sporting the blue shirt with the Spanish flag on her shoulder. She knew Alejandra well enough to know that even though she didn’t need to win to end in the Final Five, she would give it her all. That was who she was. But still, she was a softy for her friends. And Amira was one of them.
Then the screen shifted to Amira—curly hair slicked into a bun, sharp features etched in concentration. So different from Ilias, yet undeniably related. Sofia’s heart split in two. She wanted both of them to win. Whoever did, she would cheer for one and console the other.
“Hello, I’m Emir.”
If Amira and Ilias shared nothing but hazel eyes, the tall teenage boy in front of her was exactly how she imagined Ilias at the same age. His hazel eyes studied her expectantly as he extended his hand. “You must be Sofia.”
“Hello, Emir. It’s so nice to meet you. Welcome back home." She smiled, shaking his hand. “Have you spoken with Ilias yet?”
Lost in the TV, she had misplaced him. When she looked around, she saw him talking with Ghita and her parents—and a shorter woman with bright hazel eyes who patted Ilias’ shoulder.
“His mom is here,” Yasmine announced. “I spoke with her a week ago. I felt I needed to settle everything and invited her today. We managed to keep it a surprise.”
“He must be thrilled. He was so nervous to meet you,” Sofia admitted to Emir.
“The same as this boy,” Yasmine teased. “He’s been pacing all day.”
“Mom,” Emir groaned as Ilias and the rest of the group arrived.
“Emir, hi!” Ilias said, pulling him into a hug. Yep—no personal space. Mister affection was still very much himself. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
Emir smiled widely. They shared the same boyish gaze, and standing close, the similarities were uncanny.
“You must be Sofia,” the short woman said. The woman who was probably her mother-in-law smiled warmly and opened her arms. Now she understood where Ilias got his affectionate side.
She let herself be hugged.
“Nice to meet you. You must be Zanaib,” Sofia said in French, which was improving day by day. Since Arabic was still difficult, she had gone back to the language she’d learned growing up near the French border in Italy. Nostalgia wrapped around her heart. She shook it off. This wasn’t the moment to cry. Not the best first impression for her mother-in-law.
“Thank you so much for helping Yasmine, and Ilias, and Imsouane,” Zanaib said, still holding her hands, eyes shimmering. “It had been two years since I came back here because it hurt too much. And Ilias told me what your father told him, and… thank you.”
Sofia’s eyes turned humid. “I didn’t do anything. I just stayed with him. He did all the hard work—him, Ghita, Yasmine, and Emir.”
“But thank you, Sofia. It had been a long time since I saw my son so happy, relaxed, and carefree. Thank you, hija.”
She switched to Spanish, and their conversation became a soft mix of Spanish and French. Sofia felt it deeply, this woman was the reason Ilias was such a good man.
His arms wrapped around her. “Are you scaring her off, Mamà?”
“Me? Never. She’s a sweetheart—so smart and gorgeous. I understand why you’re together,” Zanaib said, eyes shimmering. Oh. A crier, like her. Good.
Yasmine called everyone to sit. A long table filled with delicious Moroccan food—tagines, couscous, fresh bread, bowls of olives and zaalouk—awaited them as the heat between Amira and Alejandra began.
Ilias chatted with Emir, commenting on the heat, offering insights. She spoke with Zanaib, Yasmine, Ghita, and her parents about Azul, her eyes flicking to the TV every few seconds.
When Alejandra nailed a good wave, Ilias clicked his tongue. “Couldn’t she let her win?”
“Do you think Ale is capable of that?” Sofia asked, half joking.
In reality, Alejandra had the biggest heart she knew. She loved Amira deeply. So when she seemingly slipped off her board on the second wave, losing time, it didn’t surprise her. That was Ale’s way—never admitting she gave anything away. She already had the Final Five in her pockets, she didn’t need more points.
