I wasn't going to update this chapter, but I had to because of the message I have for you all at the end. Please read it xx.

Jadwa shot him daggers with her eyes, filled with unshed tears on the verge of pouring. 

"Babe," he ran a hand over his head, feeling just how badly he had messed up. "I really tried to explain, but you were so upset," he said. 

She bit her lip to keep it from quivering, simultaneously swallowing back her tears. "Do you know how hard it was for me?" she choked on a sob, and he hugged her immediately. 

"I wasn't happy either. It was so difficult," he started. "I called and texted you so many times, waited for hours outside Baba's house. I sent people. Letters. But you left me hanging. I tried to explain," he said honestly. "Even if I had, you wouldn't have believed me at the time. I'm sorry," he apologized. 

She wiggled out of his hold and craned her neck up to look at him. "You still enjoyed watching me be jealous, didn't you?" 

Imran sighed. "Of course I did," he answered honestly, and an unplanned, stubborn smile broke onto his face. "It was very hot and pleasing to watch." He leaned back and winked at her, trying to lighten the mood. 

Pushing down the hiss that almost escaped her mouth, Jadwa yanked away the death glare she had been sending his way, turned with an irritated huff, and aggressively dragged out the faucet above the stove, filling her pot with water. 

"Haba, pwretty," he mimicked Alina, but she ignored him. 

So he thought it was funny? She thought, I'll teach him a lesson. 

She stomped toward the pantry, but Imran followed, barely holding back his laughter as she swayed around the kitchen, still fuming over what had happened. 

He watched as she cat-walked her way around, her hips swaying with each step in a way that always attracted him—but today, it nearly made him laugh. Even in her walk, even in her steps, it was loud just how pissed she was. 

He stayed quiet as she opened shelves, walking in and out of the pantry, taking out whatever she needed to make the meal. 

It had been a long time—hell, really—without his wife's hearty meals. He did enjoy the food Maama always cooked for him and Ibrahim, and sometimes Hajiya whenever he visited, but most of his days had been filled with food from Sadiq's restaurant chefs or endless takeouts. 
He missed her food. Nothing compared to it. Ever. 

When she opened the fridge, he reached over her head, grabbed a drink, and popped it open, taking a sip—hoping to get a reaction. But she ignored him, walking past as though he were invisible. 

"What are you making for us? You have no idea how much I miss the taste of your food," he said honestly, and she rolled her eyes—even though he couldn't see her. 

"You didn't hear me?" he asked when she continued ignoring him. "Me zaki dafa ma mijinki? Eh, fine girl?" he teased. 

Jadwa turned her head and gave him a slow, deliberate once-over. "Who is cooking for you?" 

"Matata mana," he said, leaning on the counter. "Who else?" he added with a smirk. 

Jadwa nodded at his playfulness, but he had no idea what he was playing with. 

She dropped the pack of spaghetti she had retrieved, marched back into the pantry, and returned with two packs of noodles. Without a word, she shoved them against his chest. 

"Better cook your noodles and go to sleep." She walked past him, but not before sliding off her hair tie that had been on his wrist. 

Imran stared at the pack in disbelief. "You mean to tell me I've gone this long without eating something you cooked, and now you're giving me Indomie? Not just to eat—but to cook myself?" 

"You managed just fine without the meals I worked so hard on to impress you. Before, you barely even looked at them. You'll survive this too." She began chopping vegetables, her knife hitting the cutting board a little too forcefully. 

"Baby, please forgive me." He moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I'm sorry." 

For a second, Jadwa was actually proud of how far he had come. Muhammad Imran, apologizing this easily? Must be raining diamonds tonight. 

"I'm not cooking for you." She stood firm. 

Imran moved back, shaking his head in amusement. "You're seriously denying me food? Ni da matata? You, as a whole, are mine too, don't forget." 

She rolled her eyes. His flattery didn't budge her. "Kai da matar ka, da gidan ka, da abincinka—you're not eating what I cook today." 

He laughed. "Just know you won't get the satisfaction you want. You can't punish me," he clicked his tongue, grabbing a pot. "I've survived military prison," he murmured under his breath. 

But Jadwa heard him. 

She stilled for a moment, but a smile graced her face. She was partly enjoying this, even though she was still very annoyed. 

She watched him from the corner of her eye as he effortlessly moved around the kitchen while she stirred the chopped-up Haitian hot dogs in the pan. 

"Baby, can I have that?" he asked, pointing at the spice jar next to her. 

"No," she grumbled in a bored tone. 

"Please, can I have it?" he asked again, but she completely ignored him. 

"I don't like being ignored," he said, lifting her up from behind and placing her on the counter next to the stove so she was facing him. 

Still unable to recover from the shock of what he had just done, the spatula in Jadwa's hands was the only thing keeping a distance between them. 

"I'm not in the mood for this," she said, trying to move away, but all it took was an arm on her thigh to keep her in place. 

He crooked his neck to the side, staring at her thoughtfully. "Should I change the mood, then?" he asked, and she closed her eyes. 

He is so darn unbelievable. 

He perched his hand between her thighs and opened her legs, making her gasp. "Is this better?" he asked in a low voice as he stood between her legs and wrapped them around his waist. 

"What are you doing?" she asked, suddenly flustered. 

"Changing the mood," he murmured, biting her ear. At first, she almost gave in to the shivers that ran down her spine, but then she caught the smirk on his face. She squirmed, looking at him with her big doe eyes. 

He stretched out an arm and grabbed the spice jar from the other side, then held it up to her face. 

"See how easy that was?" he asked with a grin. 

She let out an annoyed sigh and reached for it, but he quickly raised it above her head. 

"Babe!" She stretched forward, arms raised, unknowingly pressing further into his hold on her back. 

With a smug grin, he lifted her off the counter completely, making her shriek. 

"Easy," he laughed, moving toward the stove with her still wrapped around him, her hand gripping his neck. 

He quickly twisted open the cap of the spice jar, sprinkled some into the pot, then set it aside. 

"This is not fair!" she fake-cried, tilting her head back dramatically. 

"Hold on tight," he warned, and before she could react, he began spinning them around. 

She went from screaming to giggling, and he laughed along with her. Before they both got dizzy, he lifted her off his body and set her down. 

"You are so unbelievable," she said, still breathless from laughter. 

"It's not my fault you're so easy to seduce," he teased, dusting off his shirt while she watched him with an open mouth. 

"It's going to burn," he pointed at the pan she had been stirring. 

With a loud hiss, she ran back to it. 

"Babe! A minute longer and it would've been burnt," she dragged, and he chuckled with a satisfied expression, adding a bit of the habanero peppers she had chopped into his noodles. 

Jadwa ignored any more flirtatious remarks and focused on fixing the meal. Once she had set the spaghetti to boil, curiosity got the best of her. 

---

"Is Alina his daughter too?" she asked, referring to Ibrahim. 

Imran shook his head as he poured his noodles into a bowl. "Khalifa is his only child," he answered. 

"Oh... I was just wondering," she said quickly, hoping she didn't sound like she was snooping. 

"Jadwa, you can ask as many questions as you want," he said, sensing her hesitation. 

"Really?" she asked, tilting her head. 

He shook his head at her childish happiness over such a simple reassurance. 

"Banason gulma dai," he teased, and she laughed. 

"So let me tell you what you need to hear," he added, and she rolled her eyes. 

"Zaytuna is my relative—my mother's side. Her marriage to Ibrahim was arranged because her father didn't approve of her marrying and moving to another country, so he broke off her engagement to her now husband Shamsuddeen and arranged it with Ibrahim," he said, and she folded her arms, listening. 

"But he liked her, right?" she asked. 

He laughed, remembering their early days. "After they got married, of course, he did. But unfortunately, it didn't last long before we got locked up," he said. 

Her eyes widened. "But he was there before you were?" she asked softly, peeling a cube of seasoning. 

"Yeah he was. But she gave birth to Khalifa before I went to prison. They didn't even know she was carrying Khalifa," he said. 

Jadwa's brows furrowed. "Baby, is it okay if I ask why he divorced her?" she asked. 

"It's not some hidden fact," he laughed, nodding. "He can tell you himself." He sent her a sarcastic look, and she turned back to her pot, ignoring his minor sarcasm. 

"Because she had a beautiful life ahead of her, and he was serving a life sentence," he answered simply but honestly but Jadwa turned back to him with an expression that described exactly how devastated she felt hearing that.

"It was a mutual decision. He divorced her so she could move on happily with her ex, and his parents could raise Khalifa," he added, and she nodded in understanding. 

"But Hajiya is his grandmother," she said, confused. 

"Yeah... they're no more," he clarified. 

Her hands shot up to her mouth. "Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un,Allah ya jikan su" she murmured, heart sinking. 

Imran shrugged with a thin smile. "Ameen, Zaytuna and Khalifa are both happy now. That's all that matters," he said, and she reluctantly nodded. 

"What about him?" she asked, then immediately regretted it when she saw how Imran's expression changed. She bit her tongue. 

"He's okay," he smiled. "He's the best in his field. He leads a special force, trains the strongest soldiers... so, he's trying," he said with a small smile. 

"Should I give him Sarah?" she tried to wave off the thick air between them. "She said ya mata kyau at our wedding." 

Imran laughed. "So, they're discussing a man's fineness with you?" he shook his head. 

"Ha'an! She just mentioned it, and it was in front of all the girls... she almost fought with Aya over who would crush on him," she laughed, and he shook his head again. 

"May Allah guide them," he chuckled. "Ibrahim is not for them." 

"Why?" She furrowed her brow. 

"Because he has a type," he said, only giving half the truth. It pained him to even think about how his friend hecked himself into rehab every now and then—anything just to live another day for Khalifa. 

"Zaytuna is fair and pretty... so is Sarah," she huffed. "What do you mean by he has a type? I'm offended" she clicked her tongue.

That made Imran laugh. "Toh, naji. Jadwa mai dalilin aure," he teased. 

She could only giggle, moving her attention between him and the food in front of her. 

"How has work been?" she asked, tasting the sauce. 

"Which one, wifey?" He raised a brow.

"All," she answered.

"The only job I have right now is with the Russian intelligence agency," he said out of the blue. 

Jadwa whipped her head toward him. 

"What do you mean?" She dropped the cooking tongs onto the island and walked back to him. 

"Well, then our investments if those count" he said    "I resigned from the university. Actually, I was going to stop after my students finished their exams," he said. 

She nodded in understanding, knowing they had discussed this at the beginning of their marriage. 

"What about the rice mill? I mean, the farm? Everything?" she asked. 

"There's nothing to work on," he said, taking a huge gulp of his drink. "You didn't hear about the fire outbreak?" 

"I knew about it when you were supposed to go to Maiduguri, yes... but—" she paused, her heart now pounding in her throat. "No work to do *kuma*? You said Baban Khalifa would handle it at the hospital." She rambled, her body going weak. 

"He did," Imran said. "But honestly, there's nothing left. Everything burned down to ashes. There wasn't even anything left to salvage." 

Jadwa's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening. 

She was too shocked to speak. The weight of his words pressed down on her, and her mind raced to piece everything together. The reality of it rushed through her head, making it feel crowded—too much at once. And then she remembered. He had abandoned that trip to stand by her side. He had chosen her over his business. And she had witnessed what he got in return for that. 

"Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un, Allahumma ajirni fi musibati wakhlifni khayran minha," he murmured, placing a hand on her head. 

"Say it," he urged with a small smile. 

She obeyed, letting the words slip through her lips. 

"Baby, I'm so, so, so sorry. I really didn't know," she said, guilt tightening her chest. 

"Of course, I know. I didn't tell you, so how would you have known?" He gently wiped away the tear threatening to fall. 

"Gaskiya  since the pregnancy, this baby has turned my woman into a crybaby," he teased, hoping to lift her spirits, but she only sniffled. 

"Don't cry," he pleaded, kissing her forehead. "We'll fix it and come back stronger, in shaa Allah." He kissed the pout on her lips. 

"Babe, you said everything!" she gasped. 

She had seen pictures of the factory, the rice mill, the entire farm. Sometimes, Imran would show her around on video calls. She knew the capacity it held. 

"Sit down," he said, picking her up and placing her on the island as he stood in front of her. 

"We will, in shaa Allah," he reassured. But when the worry in her eyes didn't fade, he sighed. "Should I explain? Will it make you feel better?" 

She nodded immediately. 

"To rebuild everything... it might take us years. I don't even know how many, to be honest," he admitted. "But I sat down with Ibrahim, and we discussed some possibilities—ways to build it back in two years at least." 

"Two years?" she repeated. 

He nodded. "I don't want to touch anything that keeps the family going, so we'll rely on some development projects we're working on here in Abuja. Ibrahim is handling things on the side, and Alhamdulillah, it's more than enough." 

"I understand," she said, listening intently. 

"I've put up some hectares of land in Asokoro that I own. Alhamdulillah, we've already gotten good offers. Ibrahim has also put a lot of his assets in Abuja on the market—he's already sold some—so by next week, in shaa Allah, we'll begin the process of rebuilding." 

"It was a huge loss," she whispered. As though only now realizing the gravity of it, hearing him talk about selling land and properties made it feel even more real. 

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she looked at him. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, cupping his face. 

"I wasn't," he admitted, "but I am now." He smiled. "*Alhamdulillah.*" 

She tapped his arm in a motion for him to lower his head to her level, and he obliged. 

Pressing a long kiss on his forehead, she held his face in her hands. 

"Alhamdulillah, Allah has been generous to you, and especially to us through you. And Allah knows it's halaal, you go out and do your best to fend for us, to provide for those dependent on you, and you've never failed us. And Allah will never fail you either, Albi." She caressed his face " May Allah open more doors of success for you. Allah ya mayar mana da abun da yafi alkhairi," she whispered, voice shaky. 

Imran listened, unmoving, his eyes locked onto hers as he took in every word she spoke. 

He didn't say a word at first, just kept looking at her. Then, finally, he spoke. 

"Aameen, baby na," he smiled. "I really needed to hear that." 

She kissed his cheek. 

"I love you," she whispered, pressing another kiss to his other cheek. 

"You are my whole world, Jadwa. My whole life." 

Before she could respond, he pulled her into a tight hug, holding her so close she could barely breathe. Then, slowly, he loosened his grip, settling into her small arms. 

"Why do you have a habit of squeezing the life out of me when you're happy?" she murmured. 

He didn't answer. Instead, he rested his head against her body, letting the silence speak for him. 

They stood there like that, completely still. What felt like mere seconds stretched into well over ten minutes—just them, melted into each other's embrace. 

"I love you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before finally standing straight. 

"I love you more" she pecked him. "Our food is waiting," she reminded him pointing at the food waiting to be served on the pot.

He raised a brow, rubbing his hands together, a playful glint in his eye. 

Before he could say anything, she beat him to it. "If you say anything, I won't share it with you." 

He laughed. 

"Nah, marriage is truly humbling. See this small girl," he shook his head but when she turned around, arms akimbo, he quickly made a motion of zipping his mouth shut. 

She dished out the steaming hot food into a large serving bowl while Imran grabbed chopsticks for both of them and They walked to the dining where they  sat across from each other.

"Good Lord." He dramatically dropped his chopsticks into the bowl and leaned back. 

"Jadwa, *Allah ya miki albarka,*" he prayed, laughing heartily as she poured him a drink. 

"This simple meal?" she asked, amused. 

He shot her a glare before taking another bite, pure enjoyment written all over his face. 

"I love it," he declared. 

"Aameen, I'll cook all your meals from now on. Better not get tired of it," she warned. 

He hummed in response, nodding as he ate—so focused on the food that he clearly hadn't even heard her. She smiled happily with satisfaction before she joined him. 

"Mmm." She sighed, washing it down with a glass of water. "Baby, I literally hated water when I was pregnant." 

He hummed, sipping his drink. "That's why you always added lemons and all those things. Or drank flavored water," he said, like it was an obvious fact. 

She smiled. "And you hated my presence and my distance," he added. 

She laughed. "No. I just missed you worse than normal, and whenever you came back, I felt overwhelmed," she admitted with a small shrug. 

He chuckled. "You lost the weight you gained." 

She let out a relieved breath. "I know, right? Alhamdulillah" 

"Why? It suited you so well," he said. 

She smiled. "All my decent clothes became indecent, and I was policed around," she muttered. 

"Aa baby, Say it with your chest, mana," he teased looking at her in the eye. "Say Muhammad policed you." 

She giggled. 

"I had a feeling you were pregnant," he said calmly. 

She nodded. "I saw the test kits in your car," she murmured. 

As difficult and embarrassing as this conversation was, it needed to be had. 

"I was overwhelmed and distracted with everything happening at work... If I had stayed longer than those few days, I'd have been certain," he admitted, rubbing slow circles on her back. 

"But that morning before I was called and had to leave  for the airport—I was already almost sure of it, even. I was going to ask you to check, that's why I got the tests" he said with a small smile. 

"I love you," she mouthed. 

He smiled. "I love you," he mouthed back, mimicking her. 

"My child gave you a better appetite, and it's still there," he pointed at her stuffed face. "I'm happy." 

Jadwa wasn't sure if that was a compliment or if he was mocking her for eating too much, so she simply pulled the bowl toward herself. 

"Silly girl, you can't even take a compliment." He dragged the bowl back to the middle. 

"Stop it," she warned, smacking his arm. 

He laughed. 

The rest of the night stretched on like that wrapped in each other's arms, making up for lost time, filling in the gaps, and eventually falling asleep together.

RAMADAN MUBARAK MY SWEETEST ANGELS❤️

As I always say, the only book worth reading during this blessed month is the Quran. Use your time wisely, take care of yourselves, and never neglect your prayers. Don't forget to wake up every night to ask your Rabb for everything you need and want, especially a good ending and a life with you and your family in Jannah.

To everyone in pain, there's nothing impossible for Allah. Whatever you are going through, remember the mercy and might of Allah and remember that only dua can change Qadr.

This could be the month when many of us are saved from the punishment of the fire. And who knows? It might be the last Ramadan some of us will witness too. I pray we all get to live countless more of this blessed month.

And If you can, please remember me in your duas, I'm in desperate need of them. 💓

I love you all and I will see you all again after Eid.

Fi Amanillah.