07-08-2025, 07:48 AM
(This post was last modified: 07-08-2025, 07:50 AM by matiba2025213. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 19: Wasim & Jamal (Act 1)
A few weeks later, Lina woke up to a wave of nausea that left her clutching the edge of the sink. She’d been feeling off for days tired, queasy, her body seemingly out of sync. She fumbled through her drawer for the pregnancy test she’d bought on a whim, her hands shaking as she unwrapped it. When the two pink lines appeared, she felt a flood of emotions of relief, joy, and a tinge of guilt. After nearly six years of trying, she was finally pregnant.
She knew Rahim wasn’t the father, but the thought of telling him the truth terrified her. Instead, she decided to let him believe it was his. Later that evening, she sat him down, her hands trembling in her lap. “Rahim,” she began softly, “I’m pregnant.”
His eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at her in disbelief. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, lighting up his features. “Lina, this is… this is incredible!” He pulled her into a tight embrace, his joy palpable. “I can’t believe it! We’re going to have a baby!”
Lina forced a smile, her heart heavy with the lie. But seeing Rahim so happy made it easier to push aside her guilt. He kissed her forehead, his voice filled with sincerity. “I’ll make sure you’re comfortable during this pregnancy. Whatever you need, I’ll take care of it.”
Over the next few days, Rahim doted on her like never before. He brought her meals in bed, massaged her feet, and even started reading pregnancy books, eager to understand every detail. His enthusiasm was endearing, but it also made Lina feel even more conflicted. She told herself it was for the best that this child would bring them closer together, even if the secret weighed heavily on her conscience.
As she lay in bed one night, Rahim’s arm dbangd protectively over her growing belly, Lina let herself imagine a future where everything worked out. A future where Rahim never found out the truth, where their family thrived, and where her past remained buried.
Rahim and Lina had decided to keep her pregnancy private until the three-month mark, when her baby bump and physical changes became unmistakable. Lina continued working at Rahim’s sundry shop, her growing belly drawing quiet admiration from the neighbourhood women who stopped by. "Your prayers have finally been answered," they would say, their eyes soft with warmth. Lina would smile politely, though a flicker of unease always lingered in her chest.
The men in the neighbourhood, however, were a different story. Some of them had shared her bed before, always in secret, and now they watched her with a mix of curiosity and desire. Their lingering gazes followed her as she moved around the shop, their silent hopes that their seed had taken root evident in their hungry eyes. Lina ignored them, her focus on Rahim and the life they were building together.
But as her body continued to change, Lina grew increasingly frustrated with her wardrobe. Her hips had widened, her breasts felt fuller and heavier, and none of her clothes seemed to fit properly anymore. Even the ready-made maternity dresses she’d purchased from local shops clung awkwardly or left her feeling shapeless. One evening, after yet another failed attempt to find something comfortable, she turned to Rahim with a sigh. “I can’t keep wearing these ill-fitting clothes,” she complained, her hands resting on her swollen belly. “I feel like I’m drowning in fabric.”
Rahim, ever attentive, immediately sought a solution. A former colleague of Lina’s recommended Wasim, a specialist tailor known for crafting exquisite maternity wear. Overjoyed at the prospect of seeing Lina comfortable and happy, Rahim handed her some cash. “Go and visit this tailor,” he said with a smile. “You deserve to feel beautiful.”
And so, Lina stood outside Wasim’s tailor shop the next day, her handbag clutched tightly in her hands as she took a deep breath.She hoped this would be the answer to her wardrobe woes.
The warm, inviting scent of fabric and thread wafted through the air, mingling with the faint hum of a sewing machine coming from within. She hesitated for a moment, glancing at the shop’s modest exterior. Her former colleague had praised Wasim as a “master of his craft,” recommending him highly for maternity wear. But Lina couldn’t shake the unease that twisted in her stomach. At 26, she was young but glowing with pregnancy, her body changing in ways she hadn’t anticipated.
Her breasts felt heavier, more sensitive than ever, and her baby bump was now unmistakable after three months. She had tried on countless maternity clothes, but nothing fit quite right. The fabrics clung awkwardly or sagged in all the wrong places, leaving her feeling frumpy and self-conscious. This visit to Wasim was her last hope for finding something that would make her feel like herself again.
Pushing the door open, she stepped inside. The shop was cozy and cluttered, filled with rolls of vibrant cloth stacked against the walls. A small counter was littered with measuring tapes, pins, and scissors, while a mannequin dressed in a half-finished dress stood off to the side. From the backroom, she heard the rhythmic whir of a sewing machine.
“Hello?” Lina called out softly, her voice trembling slightly.
A moment later, an elderly man emerged from the backroom. He was tall and lean, with a kind face framed by silver hair. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled warmly at her. “Ah, you must be Lina! Your colleague told me you’d be coming. I’m Wasim. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
She stepped further into the shop, feeling his eyes on her as she moved. He’s just professional, she told herself, though the way his gaze traced the outline of her body made her skin prickle.
“I need some dresses made,” she began, clasping her hands together to steady them. “For… for my pregnancy.”
Wasim nodded, his expression softening. “Ah, I see. Congratulations.”
His is gaze gentle but observant. “I understand completely. Pregnancy is a beautiful but challenging time. Let’s see what we can do to make you feel confident.” He gestured toward the counter. “Please, have a seat."
Lina hesitated for a moment before sitting down, her legs pressed tightly together. Wasim moved around the counter, pulling out a measuring tape and a notepad. As he approached her, she caught the scent of his cologne..spicy and rich and it sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.
Just then, a young man appeared from the backroom, a tall, lean, and in his early twenties. He had a shy smile and a mop of dark hair that fell into his eyes. “This is Jamal, my assistant," Wasim introduced. "He helps me with measurements and fittings.”
Jamal nodded politely, his eyes briefly meeting Lina’s before he looked away. “Nice to meet you,” he murmured.
Lina returned the greeting, though she felt a flicker of discomfort at the thought of being measured by men. Wasim seemed to sense her hesitation. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he reassured her. “I’ve been tailoring for over 40 years. I know how to make women feel at ease.” Taking a deep breath, Lina nodded. “Okay. Let’s get started.”
“Stand up for me, please,” he said, his tone polite but firm.
She did as she was told, her heart pounding as he stepped closer. He began with her shoulders, the tape brushing lightly against her skin. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, so close to hers.
“You’re quite petite,” he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. “But your figure is… remarkable.”
Wasim led her to a small fitting area, partially concealed by a curtain. He gestured for her to stand on a low platform while he retrieved his measuring tape. Jamal hovered nearby, holding a notepad to record the measurements.
“First, we’ll start with your bust,” Wasim said gently, stepping closer. Lina clenched her fists nervously as he lifted the tape and wrapped it around her chest. His hands were steady and professional, but she couldn’t ignore the brief brush of his fingers against her skin as he adjusted the tape. She glanced at Jamal, who kept his eyes fixed on his notepad.
“Thirty-eight inches,” Wasim announced, jotting it down.
Next, he moved to her waist, kneeling slightly to wrap the tape around her growing belly. Lina bit her lip, trying to focus on anything but the proximity of his hands. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver down her spine.
“Thirty-four inches,” Wasim noted.
Finally, he measured her hips, his hands lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. Lina’s cheeks flushed as she felt the warmth of his fingers through the fabric of her skirt.
“Forty-two inches,” he said, stepping back. “You have beautiful proportions, my dear.”
Jamal scribbled the numbers on his notepad, his expression unreadable.
When he finally stood up, Lina thought it was over until he gestured toward the changing area.
“I need to see how the dress will fit,” he explained. “Please, step behind the curtain and remove your outer clothes. Just leave on your undergarments.”
Her heart raced as she stepped behind the curtain. She fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, her hands trembling. This is normal, she told herself. Tailors do this all the time. But as she slipped off her skirt and stood there in only her bra and panties, she felt anything but normal.
“Ready?” Wasim called from the other side of the curtain.
She hesitated before answering, “Yes.”
The curtain parted, and he stepped inside. His eyes widened slightly as they took in her figure, and Lina felt a flush of heat spread through her body. The bra she wore did little to contain her full breasts, and her panties clung to her hips in a way that left little to the imagination.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. He began dbanging fabric over her body, his hands moving with practiced ease. But every so often, his fingers would brush against her skin, her arms, her shoulders, the curve of her waist and it sent little jolts of electricity through her.
She tried to focus on her breathing, on keeping still, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.
Finally, he stepped back to admire his work. “Turn around for me,” he said.
Lina did as she was told, feeling his eyes on her as she moved. When she faced him again, she noticed something a slight bulge in his trousers that hadn’t been there before. Her stomach tightened, a mix of fear and something else she couldn’t quite name.
“You look stunning,” he said, his voice husky now. “But I think we need to make sure the dress fits perfectly.”
Before she could respond, he stepped forward again, his hands sliding over the fabric on her hips. This time, his touch was firmer, more deliberate. She could feel the warmth of his palms even through the layers of cloth.
“Wasim…” she started, but her voice trailed off as his hands moved higher, skimming the sides of her breasts.
“Relax,” he said softly. “I’m just making adjustments.”
His words did little to calm her racing heart. She felt trapped between the desire to pull away and the strange, almost magnetic pull drawing her closer to him. His fingers brushed against the edge of her bra, and she gasped softly.
This was going to be more complicated than she’d expected.
A few weeks later, Lina woke up to a wave of nausea that left her clutching the edge of the sink. She’d been feeling off for days tired, queasy, her body seemingly out of sync. She fumbled through her drawer for the pregnancy test she’d bought on a whim, her hands shaking as she unwrapped it. When the two pink lines appeared, she felt a flood of emotions of relief, joy, and a tinge of guilt. After nearly six years of trying, she was finally pregnant.
She knew Rahim wasn’t the father, but the thought of telling him the truth terrified her. Instead, she decided to let him believe it was his. Later that evening, she sat him down, her hands trembling in her lap. “Rahim,” she began softly, “I’m pregnant.”
His eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at her in disbelief. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, lighting up his features. “Lina, this is… this is incredible!” He pulled her into a tight embrace, his joy palpable. “I can’t believe it! We’re going to have a baby!”
Lina forced a smile, her heart heavy with the lie. But seeing Rahim so happy made it easier to push aside her guilt. He kissed her forehead, his voice filled with sincerity. “I’ll make sure you’re comfortable during this pregnancy. Whatever you need, I’ll take care of it.”
Over the next few days, Rahim doted on her like never before. He brought her meals in bed, massaged her feet, and even started reading pregnancy books, eager to understand every detail. His enthusiasm was endearing, but it also made Lina feel even more conflicted. She told herself it was for the best that this child would bring them closer together, even if the secret weighed heavily on her conscience.
As she lay in bed one night, Rahim’s arm dbangd protectively over her growing belly, Lina let herself imagine a future where everything worked out. A future where Rahim never found out the truth, where their family thrived, and where her past remained buried.
Rahim and Lina had decided to keep her pregnancy private until the three-month mark, when her baby bump and physical changes became unmistakable. Lina continued working at Rahim’s sundry shop, her growing belly drawing quiet admiration from the neighbourhood women who stopped by. "Your prayers have finally been answered," they would say, their eyes soft with warmth. Lina would smile politely, though a flicker of unease always lingered in her chest.
The men in the neighbourhood, however, were a different story. Some of them had shared her bed before, always in secret, and now they watched her with a mix of curiosity and desire. Their lingering gazes followed her as she moved around the shop, their silent hopes that their seed had taken root evident in their hungry eyes. Lina ignored them, her focus on Rahim and the life they were building together.
But as her body continued to change, Lina grew increasingly frustrated with her wardrobe. Her hips had widened, her breasts felt fuller and heavier, and none of her clothes seemed to fit properly anymore. Even the ready-made maternity dresses she’d purchased from local shops clung awkwardly or left her feeling shapeless. One evening, after yet another failed attempt to find something comfortable, she turned to Rahim with a sigh. “I can’t keep wearing these ill-fitting clothes,” she complained, her hands resting on her swollen belly. “I feel like I’m drowning in fabric.”
Rahim, ever attentive, immediately sought a solution. A former colleague of Lina’s recommended Wasim, a specialist tailor known for crafting exquisite maternity wear. Overjoyed at the prospect of seeing Lina comfortable and happy, Rahim handed her some cash. “Go and visit this tailor,” he said with a smile. “You deserve to feel beautiful.”
And so, Lina stood outside Wasim’s tailor shop the next day, her handbag clutched tightly in her hands as she took a deep breath.She hoped this would be the answer to her wardrobe woes.
The warm, inviting scent of fabric and thread wafted through the air, mingling with the faint hum of a sewing machine coming from within. She hesitated for a moment, glancing at the shop’s modest exterior. Her former colleague had praised Wasim as a “master of his craft,” recommending him highly for maternity wear. But Lina couldn’t shake the unease that twisted in her stomach. At 26, she was young but glowing with pregnancy, her body changing in ways she hadn’t anticipated.
Her breasts felt heavier, more sensitive than ever, and her baby bump was now unmistakable after three months. She had tried on countless maternity clothes, but nothing fit quite right. The fabrics clung awkwardly or sagged in all the wrong places, leaving her feeling frumpy and self-conscious. This visit to Wasim was her last hope for finding something that would make her feel like herself again.
Pushing the door open, she stepped inside. The shop was cozy and cluttered, filled with rolls of vibrant cloth stacked against the walls. A small counter was littered with measuring tapes, pins, and scissors, while a mannequin dressed in a half-finished dress stood off to the side. From the backroom, she heard the rhythmic whir of a sewing machine.
“Hello?” Lina called out softly, her voice trembling slightly.
A moment later, an elderly man emerged from the backroom. He was tall and lean, with a kind face framed by silver hair. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled warmly at her. “Ah, you must be Lina! Your colleague told me you’d be coming. I’m Wasim. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
She stepped further into the shop, feeling his eyes on her as she moved. He’s just professional, she told herself, though the way his gaze traced the outline of her body made her skin prickle.
“I need some dresses made,” she began, clasping her hands together to steady them. “For… for my pregnancy.”
Wasim nodded, his expression softening. “Ah, I see. Congratulations.”
His is gaze gentle but observant. “I understand completely. Pregnancy is a beautiful but challenging time. Let’s see what we can do to make you feel confident.” He gestured toward the counter. “Please, have a seat."
Lina hesitated for a moment before sitting down, her legs pressed tightly together. Wasim moved around the counter, pulling out a measuring tape and a notepad. As he approached her, she caught the scent of his cologne..spicy and rich and it sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.
Just then, a young man appeared from the backroom, a tall, lean, and in his early twenties. He had a shy smile and a mop of dark hair that fell into his eyes. “This is Jamal, my assistant," Wasim introduced. "He helps me with measurements and fittings.”
Jamal nodded politely, his eyes briefly meeting Lina’s before he looked away. “Nice to meet you,” he murmured.
Lina returned the greeting, though she felt a flicker of discomfort at the thought of being measured by men. Wasim seemed to sense her hesitation. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he reassured her. “I’ve been tailoring for over 40 years. I know how to make women feel at ease.” Taking a deep breath, Lina nodded. “Okay. Let’s get started.”
“Stand up for me, please,” he said, his tone polite but firm.
She did as she was told, her heart pounding as he stepped closer. He began with her shoulders, the tape brushing lightly against her skin. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, so close to hers.
“You’re quite petite,” he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. “But your figure is… remarkable.”
Wasim led her to a small fitting area, partially concealed by a curtain. He gestured for her to stand on a low platform while he retrieved his measuring tape. Jamal hovered nearby, holding a notepad to record the measurements.
“First, we’ll start with your bust,” Wasim said gently, stepping closer. Lina clenched her fists nervously as he lifted the tape and wrapped it around her chest. His hands were steady and professional, but she couldn’t ignore the brief brush of his fingers against her skin as he adjusted the tape. She glanced at Jamal, who kept his eyes fixed on his notepad.
“Thirty-eight inches,” Wasim announced, jotting it down.
Next, he moved to her waist, kneeling slightly to wrap the tape around her growing belly. Lina bit her lip, trying to focus on anything but the proximity of his hands. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver down her spine.
“Thirty-four inches,” Wasim noted.
Finally, he measured her hips, his hands lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. Lina’s cheeks flushed as she felt the warmth of his fingers through the fabric of her skirt.
“Forty-two inches,” he said, stepping back. “You have beautiful proportions, my dear.”
Jamal scribbled the numbers on his notepad, his expression unreadable.
When he finally stood up, Lina thought it was over until he gestured toward the changing area.
“I need to see how the dress will fit,” he explained. “Please, step behind the curtain and remove your outer clothes. Just leave on your undergarments.”
Her heart raced as she stepped behind the curtain. She fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, her hands trembling. This is normal, she told herself. Tailors do this all the time. But as she slipped off her skirt and stood there in only her bra and panties, she felt anything but normal.
“Ready?” Wasim called from the other side of the curtain.
She hesitated before answering, “Yes.”
The curtain parted, and he stepped inside. His eyes widened slightly as they took in her figure, and Lina felt a flush of heat spread through her body. The bra she wore did little to contain her full breasts, and her panties clung to her hips in a way that left little to the imagination.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. He began dbanging fabric over her body, his hands moving with practiced ease. But every so often, his fingers would brush against her skin, her arms, her shoulders, the curve of her waist and it sent little jolts of electricity through her.
She tried to focus on her breathing, on keeping still, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.
Finally, he stepped back to admire his work. “Turn around for me,” he said.
Lina did as she was told, feeling his eyes on her as she moved. When she faced him again, she noticed something a slight bulge in his trousers that hadn’t been there before. Her stomach tightened, a mix of fear and something else she couldn’t quite name.
“You look stunning,” he said, his voice husky now. “But I think we need to make sure the dress fits perfectly.”
Before she could respond, he stepped forward again, his hands sliding over the fabric on her hips. This time, his touch was firmer, more deliberate. She could feel the warmth of his palms even through the layers of cloth.
“Wasim…” she started, but her voice trailed off as his hands moved higher, skimming the sides of her breasts.
“Relax,” he said softly. “I’m just making adjustments.”
His words did little to calm her racing heart. She felt trapped between the desire to pull away and the strange, almost magnetic pull drawing her closer to him. His fingers brushed against the edge of her bra, and she gasped softly.
This was going to be more complicated than she’d expected.
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