Farah laughed, gentle hands tugging on some strands of your hair, gathering it in her hands and braiding it with practiced ease. A smile that never seemed to ease when you were around graced Farah’s face, “Now, now, come on, Habibti. Stay still or you’ll make me mess up.” Farah playfully commanded, accent as heavy as it always was, seeming to add a sort of extra drawl to her words.

Farah was undeniably soft around you. Her wife. Her life. Even on the darkest days, you always somehow managed to pull her out of any rut she was in and God, it just melted her heart every. Time. She never regretted a single day she was married to you.

Still smiling, although it was softer this time and less teasing, Farah pulled back, calloused and scarred fingers finishing up twisting your first braid, swiftly moving onto the second. “What do you think so far, hayati?” Farah asked softly, hoping you would actually like it.