The Warmth of Waiting
The Warmth of Waiting The clock had crossed 10. The house was quiet, shadows soft against the golden glow of a single candle on the dining table. She sat there, not restless, but calm—her heart humming in rhythm with the thought of him. Every night was the same. She could have eaten earlier, could have filled her hunger hours before. But what was food without the warmth of his presence? Dinner, for her, was not about the meal. It was about sharing, about laughter, about knowing that no matter how late he came, they would end their day together. When the door finally opened, she saw him—Azaan. His steps were heavy, shoulders carrying the exhaustion of a long day, the world pressing against him. But the moment his eyes found her waiting at the table, something in him softened. She rose without a word, walked to him, and wrapped him in her arms. He exhaled into her embrace, as if he had finally found rest after being lost in the storm. “You’re my peace,” he whispered, his voi...