#bassam

The smell of cardamom wafts around you heavily from the dark amber liquid. You stir the tea slowly, mixing in the thick layer of sugar at the bottom of the glass. Steam rises into the air.

Bassam stirs his eagerly for barely two seconds before he pours a sizable amount from the istikana glass into the saucer to cool before drinking it now in a greedy gulp. His throat bobs as he swallows and pauses. 

A slight frown crosses his face, a furrow of his brow and a wrinkle of his nose. 

You bite back the smile that threatens to surface. There’s something about his expression that reminds you of an outraged kitten. 

“What is it?” You ask and he shakes his head, takes another sip from the glass, this time. 

He swears quietly. 

“What?” You raise your own glass to your lips. 

“It’s burnt.” He looks utterly crestfallen. 

You take a sip anyway, letting the flavour spread across your tongue. It’s not bad, there’s only a slight bitterness to the tea at the end of the flavour. In fact, you would call it pretty good. The blend is a high quality with the correct amount of cardamom to complement it and not completely overwhelm.

“The water must have been too hot when the leaves were added.” He sighs.

You give him a sympathetic look. “Bassam, it’s hardly burnt, really.” You take another sip to show him. “It’s good.” 

He shakes his head. “It’s not as good.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s silly, I know, but I wanted you to taste it like it tasted the other day.” He glances around a little, and then shakes his head. “Must be different staff today.” 

“Well, I like it.” You purposefully finish the rest in one mouthful and he gives you one of his sweet smiles. 

“I’ll have to make it up to you.” He says with a nod. 

You chuckle. “We can go here again, I don’t mind.” 

“I was thinking more…” He leans closer to you. “That I could say sorry with a kiss?” 

Thank you for reading!

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@lill4n

You dried your hands and stifled a gasp when you checked through the curtains, quickly unlocking and opening the door.

“Hey, habibti—”

Smack.

“Okay. Yeah.” He slowly turned back to you, nodding. “Not undeserved.”

“Where in the world have you been, Bassam! I thought you were dead!”

“I’m sorry—”

“You didn’t say anything!!”

“I know—”

“It's been a month and you haven’t so much as called us once!”

“I was at a safe house—”

“You promised me you wouldn’t—”

“Would you let me explain for a second!” He pleaded only just raising his voice enough to be heard, and you sighed, folding your arms.

“Can I– can I come inside, please?” He looked like a stray cat, his usually smooth wavy hair kept too long in too tight a bun, dull, unwashed and splitting.

And his eyes, his eyes looked like he needed sleep weeks ago.

You reluctantly stepped aside so he could walk in and shut the door behind him.

“Look, I– I lost my job.” His voice broke and you could see the tears shiny in his eyes.

“What… what happened?”

“The CIA thinks I’m a double agent. I can’t tell you the details, I had to sign a huge pile of papers, but we met up with this guy and he knew stuff he shouldn’t have, about where Ferris and I had been. Stuff he should not have known, and the only person he’d had contact with who could’ve known was me.” You could see anger and frustration burning in him, how hard he was trying to keep it down.

“I didn’t!” He bit out, trembling. “I would never fucking do that but the only reason I’m not in a U.S. federal prison right now is because of Ferris and I had to agree to not leave the country. I can’t... I can’t ever get contract work ever again for any agency.”

He breathed hard. You took him by the shoulders and guided him to the couch, rubbing his bicep.

“I am so sorry…” he murmured, wiping his eyes.

“Bassam, no, I’m sorry they treated you that way. To hell with them, damnit.”

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I don’t— I don’t know what I’m gonna do to support you and Hana and I am so, so sorry, fuck…”

“Baba…?” You both turned to the small voice in the hall, her eyes wide and bright in the moonlight.

“Baba!” Dropping her blanket, your three-year-old rushed right up into Bassam’s arms.

“Back!” She cried.

“Yes, Hana, baby, I missed you.” He hugged her tight and you felt your heart melt, seeing Hana’s smile, her hands fisted tight in his shirt, so happy to see him again.

But she had playgroup tomorrow and you had shopping.

“Yes, he’s back.” You put your hand on her back. “But you have to get back to bed now—”

“I’ve got her.” He stood, holding her but not even having to with her koala grip.

“No, she’ll just get excited, want you to read every book in her room. You go, get cleaned up, get some rest, we'll talk more tomorrow.”

Bassam sighed but nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

You gently took your daughter out of your husband’s arms, shushed her whining and let her give her father a big kiss before you gathered up her bedding, tucked her back into bed and stroked her back until she fell back asleep.

You finished up in the kitchen and met Bassam in the master bedroom, his hair damp, changed into something considerably less streetworthy.

He rubbed over his face and thighs as you got into bed next to him, and feeling prompted by your presence, laid back and shifted uncomfortably in the sheets.

You put a hand on his arm, adjusting to his level, cradling his face in your hands. “Love, what’s—”

“What kind of a husband can’t even keep his one kid stable?” He sniffed, burying his face in your neck. “I don’t want to have to move you again!”

“Bassam, calm down. Hana’s sleep.”

He took a deep breath, turned up to you.

“Sorry, habibti.”

“Don’t be. It will be okay. We will get through this.” You pressed a kiss to his eyebrow. “Like always, we will get through together, inshallah.”

You brushed away his tears. “I just wish I had known sooner.”

“I know.”

“Hana wants a tricycle. You tell her she’ll have to settle for her cousin’s old one.”

“I can do that.” He nodded.

“Then it’s all okay, I’ll forgive you. Probably.”

He let out a sigh. “Inshallah?”

You chuckled. “Inshallah, habib. Get some sleep. I’m happy you’re home.”

“Me too. I love you.”