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I understood her, closing my arms around her and kissing her dark hair. We stayed like that for a few moments, holding each other.
After her confession, we both had talked about having children and stopped using protection. She had been working regularly at the vet clinic and with me while studying to make the laws of Maahnoor better. The council had taken Hamid Elbaz as a prisoner and announced her family not guilty. We didn’t know why her father wasn’t executed, but we didn’t want to push our luck when they had ignored my breach in the Palace of Maahnoor.
We walked out of the study together and looked for my brother to wish him a happy birthday. It was Khalid’s thirty-second birthday and as both Zara and Khalid were leaving Azmia, we had hosted a small party. Zara had worked hard to get into the same university as Khalid had once got his art degree from. She would learn photography and explore the world like she wanted to. Khalid was going to London for his upcoming exhibition of his paintings in one of their famous art galleries.
“What are you guys arguing about?” I asked Zara and Zayed when they bantered with each other while Khalid sipped on the glass of his wine.
“I was giving her sex ed,” Zayed answered as my sister glared at him.
“I don’t want to hear it. I already saw the horrendous presentation these two had shown me when I was eleven,” Zara grumbled, looking at me and Khalid.
I protested, “It was not horrendous.”
She deadpanned, “Khalid hand painted each sheet. No one does that!”
“Hey,” Khalid frowned at her. “We did it for your knowledge.”
“I know you did, but please tell Zayed to stop asking me if premature babies are made from precu—”
“Zayed!” I warned him, and Khalid smacked him on his head.
“Fine, I will go eat thekunafahNasrin made,” he grumbled, leaving the group clearly offended.
“Do you want to eatkunafah?” I asked my wife, who was rubbing her stomach.
She frowned at me. “No, I don’t know why I don’t like the taste of sweets anymore.”
“You are kidding!” Zara gaped at her in horror.
“Yeah, I will go look for something sour,” Nasrin mumbled, leaving her glass of wine untouched.
“I think she is pregnant,” Khalid said casually, drinking the wine.
“You are not a doctor,” I said, ignoring the tugging at my heart.
Maybe she was?
“No, but I am observant, unlike you,” he shot back.
Zara said, “Maybe you should go after her. Apparently, the taste buds change when you get pregnant.”
“How do you know about it?” Khalid narrowed his eyes at her.
“Because I read about it.”
I ignored their pregnancy banter and went to look for my wife. I found her leaning against the pillar in the hallway, the glowing chandelier making shadows on her face, which was scrunched in pain.
“Nasrin, are you okay?”
My eyes widened when she puked, her hand clutching the pillar. I closed the distance between us and held her hair, soothingly rubbing her back.
Nasrin heaved, pulling back and taking my handkerchief to wipe her mouth when she said, “I never vomit.”
“What do you mean?”
“That I never puke if I am sick, but I don’t feel sick.”
“Then…” I drawled, Khalid’s words echoing in my head.
“I must be pregnant,” she whispered at the same time, I said,
“You must be pregnant.”