The gentle chill of early spring had begun to fade, and with it came a soft warmth that touched everything—especially Maryam's heart. It had been two months since she found out about her pregnancy. The joy of that moment still pulsed like a quiet rhythm in her veins, reminding her every day of the miracle growing inside her. She was now four months along, and the changes in her body had become more noticeable—so had her emotions, which swayed like branches in a light wind.
In their cozy Richmond home near Vancouver, mornings had found a new routine. Irfan would wake up before her sometimes, quietly watching her as she turned in her sleep, one hand instinctively resting on her belly. Other times, Maryam would rise first and sit by the window, sipping warm milk and listening to the birds, her mind filled with dreams of the child she hadn't yet met.
On one such morning, Irfan returned from the mosque after Fajr and placed a gentle kiss on Maryam's forehead as she stirred awake.
"How are you feeling today, my queen?" he whispered.
Maryam smiled, eyes still closed. "Like I'm carrying a tiny world inside me."
They laughed softly together, their hearts connected in ways deeper than words could describe.
As the days passed, Irfan's care grew more tender. He began texting her every few hours from his office:
"Had your lunch?"
"Taking enough rest?"
"Feeling any kicks yet?"
Maryam would respond with long, loving replies, sometimes teasing him, sometimes sending photos of the little baby clothes she'd started buying secretly.
Their visits to the doctor became more regular, and each time they stepped into the clean, fragrant waiting room of Dr. Lena Rahim's clinic, they felt like expectant explorers waiting for new glimpses into a mysterious and beautiful future.
One afternoon, during the fourth-month checkup, Dr. Lena smiled while reviewing the sonography report.
"Everything looks perfect. The heartbeat is strong, and development is on track."
Maryam looked at the screen with awe as the faint outline of her baby's profile came into view. Irfan held her hand tightly.
"SubhanAllah," he breathed. "That's our child..."
Maryam turned her face toward him, her eyes shining with tears. "I still can't believe it. It feels like a dream."
After the checkup, as was their new tradition, they walked to a small café just down the street. It was called Sweet Haven, with white wooden chairs, potted lavender plants at every table, and large windows letting in the golden sunlight.
They ordered fresh croissants, chicken sandwiches, and orange juice. Maryam rested her hands on the slight curve of her belly and leaned back in her chair.
"You know what?" she said with a thoughtful smile. "I'm scared… but I'm also the happiest I've ever been."
Irfan nodded slowly. "Scared is okay. It means you care. But you're not alone in this, Maryam. We're in this together. Every single step."
She reached across the table, touching his hand gently.
"Thank you, Irfan… for everything. For being more than just a husband."
"And thank you," he whispered, "for being the mother of my child."
On weekends, they began going to local parks—Stanley Park being their favorite. They would walk slowly under tall cedar trees, Irfan always keeping his arm wrapped around Maryam's shoulder, making sure she didn't trip or tire too much.
They talked about baby names, whether they'd like a boy or a girl, and what kind of parents they wanted to be. They even argued once over who would be the "strict" one.
"Definitely you," Maryam laughed. "You'll be the one enforcing bedtime."
"Only because you'll be the one sneaking chocolates behind my back!" he teased.
These walks became sacred hours for them—hours of bonding, dreaming, and laughter.
Back at home, Ayesha would always fuss over Maryam's meals, making sure she had everything needed—almonds soaked overnight, freshly squeezed juices, and her favorite: khajoor milk.
"Pregnancy isn't just a woman's journey," Ayesha would say. "It's a whole family's blessing."
Even Khadija and little Hamza seemed more attached to Maryam than ever. Khadija often asked if the baby could hear her stories, and she would sit beside Maryam and talk softly to her belly.
One evening, while watching a light rain fall outside the window, Maryam and Irfan sat together on the couch. She rested her head on his shoulder, eyes half-closed.
"You think our baby will look like you or me?" she asked.
"Hmm," Irfan smiled, brushing her hair away. "InshaAllah, the baby will have your strength and my eyebrows."
Maryam giggled. "That's a funny combination."
"But a perfect one," he said.
As the night deepened and the rain grew stronger, they sat there in silence, listening to the rhythm of droplets and the quiet music of their hearts.
It was in these little moments—simple, real, and tender—that their love deepened, and the joy of a growing family settled into every corner of their home.
And even though the future remained unknown, filled with diapers, sleepless nights, and new challenges, they were ready—together.
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[End of Chapter 187