Nikhat never cried. He remembered the day when her mother had died. She had been twelve. And yet Azeez only remembered her resolve to be strong for her younger sisters. Shifting closer to her, he pushed the sweat-slicked hair back from her forehead. His breath left him in a long exhale, thankful that her skin wasn’t burning up.
She stiffened suddenly, as if a hot poker was lancing her next to him, and then shivered uncontrollably as another wave of pain hit, he realized. He clasped her fingers with his tightly, willing her to draw strength from him. He felt the tremble slowly fade from her body, heard her breath leave in a jagged exhale. The whimper of relief that accompanied it caught the breath in his throat. “Nikhat, ya habeebiti, look at me,” he said. Watching her like this, he felt powerless and, at the same time, gripped with a fierce determination to see her through it.
She jerked her head back, her gaze flying to him. He thought she would stiffen and move away, demand to be released, tell him she didn’t need his comfort.
“Azeez?”
“Yes, Nikhat.”
Fresh tears welled up in her beautiful eyes, and he felt as if someone had kicked him in the gut. She scooted closer to him on the bed, and her arms went tight around his waist. “It hurts, Azeez. So much. Every time that wave comes, it feels like I will die.” Her tears leaked out of her eyes, drawing wet tracks onto her cheeks.
He wiped them with a shaking hand, his heart jammed in his throat. “Why, in God’s name, haven’t you summoned help? I’ll have them fly a specialist in, anything you need. Is it some kind of fever, an infection?”
She shook her head and hid her face in his abdomen. But not before he caught a shadow of something in her eyes. He sunk his fingers into her thick hair, rubbing her scalp in a soothing manner. “I’m going to get my period soon,” she said with no hesitation that belied the way she hid her face.
And suddenly he remembered how she used to disappear every month for a few days, and shy away when he asked her about it. Knowing that it would only make her retreat from her, he had never pressed her about it. “Have they always been so painful?” he asked now. It galled him to imagine her suffering like this every month for so many years.
And he thought he knew everything there was about pain.
She nodded, and her nose tickled his abdomen. He tightened his muscles, willing his body not to betray its automatic reaction to her nearness. “As far as I can remember.”
“So what do we do?”
“I have learned to manage it with medication and exercise, and breathing techniques. It’s so stupid, but I…forgot to renew my medication on time before I left. It’s on its way from New York. Should be delivered tomorrow morning.”
“And until then?” he said, his throat dry.
“Until then, I just bear it the best I can. It’s really bad only for a few hours,” she whispered in a small voice. He pulled himself up until he was sitting a little straighter. Her palm moved from his abdomen to his chest, and his heart thundered like a wild animal under her tentative fingers. The thin cotton of his tunic was no barrier to the feel of her touch.
“Azeez?”
Her breath feathered over his neck, the scent of her drugging arousal into his blood. He felt engulfed by her, as if he was standing on shifting sands that could pull him under any minute.
“Yes, habeebi?” he finally said through a throat as dry as the desert.