The Midnight Recovery
Around 11:00 PM, the storm in Habiba's head finally broke. The throbbing retreated to a dull ache, and the fog lifted. She sat up slowly, feeling the cool weight of the cloth Nabil must have replaced three times while she slept.
She found him in the living room, working by the dim glow of a single reading lamp. He wasn't on his phone; he was hand-writing a list of things they needed for their upcoming trip, crossed out with suggestions he knew she'd prefer.
"Nabil?" she called out softly.
He was at her side in three seconds. "How's the head? On a scale of one to ten?"
"A two," she smiled weakly. "I'm so sorry, Nabil. I ruined our dinner plans. I wanted to make that lamb with you."
Nabil sat on the floor by her feet, resting his arms on the mattress. "Habiba, look at me. You didn't 'ruin' anything. You were unwell. My only 'plan' for tonight was to be wherever you are. Whether that's eating a five-course meal or sitting in a dark room watching you breathe, it's all the same to me as long as I'm with you."
He brought her the broth he'd kept warm. As she ate, the color slowly returned to her cheeks.