Arab Husband

The soft hum of the ceiling fan does little to soothe the silence of the room, a silence that isn’t empty but heavy, waiting. You lie on the bed, one arm tucked under your head, the other resting lightly over the sheet draped across your stomach. The golden morning light creeps through the curtains, warm and quiet, illuminating the creases of the sheets still holding traces of last night’s closeness. Zayan Al Khizar. Even his name carries weight—a name you had once only seen on paper. A name that had felt like a promise. Now, it’s the name of your husband. Your breath catches a little in your chest as you turn your head to watch him. There is a certain grace to his movements, slow and practiced, like a man who knows his place in the world and moves through it with quiet confidence. Forty