good bye

Akram woke before the call to prayer, before the light had fully settled into the room. For a moment, he lay still, listening to Asma’s breathing beside him—slow, even, unaware. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers curled slightly against the pillow, as if even in sleep she was holding on to something.

This is what I will miss, he thought. Not the big things. This.

He sat up quietly, careful not to wake her, and reached for the small bag he had packed the night before. It looked too light for a journey that felt so heavy. As he folded his clothes, his movements were slow, deliberate, as if time itself might bend if he didn’t rush it.

A faint sound behind him made him turn.

Asma was awake.

She sat up, her scarf slipping loosely over her shoulders, eyes still heavy with sleep. When she saw the bag in his hands, something in her face changed—not shock, not surprise, but a quiet ache that had been waiting all night.

“So it’s really morning,” she whispered.

Akram nodded. He couldn’t trust his voice yet.

She stood and walked to him, each step small, as though the floor might disappear if she moved too fast. She didn’t touch him immediately. She just stood there, watching him fold, refold, pause.

“You didn’t sleep,” she said softly.

“I did,” he lied, then corrected himself. “A little.”

She reached for his shirt, smoothing a crease that didn’t exist. Her fingers trembled. He caught her hand gently, holding it between both of his.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, eyes shining. “But I believe in you.”

His throat tightened. “I’ll call every day. I’ll send you pictures. I won’t let a day pass without your voice.”

She nodded, blinking rapidly. “And I’ll pray. Every time I feel sick, every time the baby moves, I’ll pray for you.”

The word baby still felt unreal on his tongue—fragile, miraculous.

“I promise,” he said, pressing her hand lightly to his chest, “everything I’m doing is for you. For us.”

When it was time to leave, the house felt emptier than it had a moment before. Akram carried his bag while Asma walked beside him, her steps slower now, her hand gripping the fabric of his sleeve like an anchor.

At her parents’ house, her father listened quietly as Akram explained the job—his posture straight, his words careful. When he finished, there was a long pause.

Then her father stood and placed a hand on Akram’s shoulder.

“Go,” he said firmly. “Work with honesty. Come back with honor. Allah will protect what you leave behind.”

Akram bowed his head. “Ameen.”

As he turned to leave, Asma suddenly spoke, her voice breaking through the room like a fragile plea.

“Abba… please. Let me go with him. Just to the airport.”

Her father looked at her for a long moment, then sighed softly. “Go.”

The drive was quiet. Asma watched the road blur past, memorizing everything—the curve of his jaw, the way his thumb tapped nervously against the steering wheel, the silence that held too many words.

At the airport, reality finally caught up with them.

Akram set his bag down. He faced her fully now. “Be strong,” he said, though his own eyes betrayed him.

“I will,” she replied. “If you are.”

He smiled faintly, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead—lingering, reverent. “Wait for me.”

“I will,” she whispered. “Every day.”

The announcement echoed softly through the terminal, distant and almost unreal, but it was enough to make Asma’s chest tighten.

Akram stopped walking.

He turned back to her, slowly, as if his body was refusing to accept what his mind already knew—that this was the last moment. Around them, people moved, laughed, dragged bags, lived their lives. But for them, time narrowed into a fragile, trembling space.

“Asma,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him. She had been trying so hard—holding her shoulders straight, her lips steady—but the way he said her name unraveled something inside her.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, voice low, serious now. “Please. Eat properly. Rest when you feel tired. Don’t ignore pain. Promise me.”

She nodded quickly. “I will. And you too. Don’t skip meals just because you’re busy. Don’t forget to sleep. And… don’t forget me.”

He smiled softly, but his eyes were wet. “Forget you?” He shook his head. “Asma, I will remember you in every second that passes.”

She blinked, trying to stay composed.

“When I wake up,” he continued, stepping closer, lowering his voice as if the world didn’t deserve to hear this, “you’ll be the first thing on my mind. When I walk into work, I’ll think of how you’d remind me to do my best. When I eat, I’ll remember how you watch me, asking if I’ve eaten enough. Even when I’m tired… especially when I’m tired, I’ll think of you.”

Her lips trembled.

“I’ll count time by you,” he said. “Three months won’t be days for me. It’ll be moments without you. Seconds I wish you were beside me. I will love you there the same way I love you here.”

That was when she broke.

Her breath hitched sharply, and before she could stop herself, tears spilled—hot, uncontrollable. She pressed her palm to her mouth, shaking her head, ashamed of losing the strength she had been holding onto all morning.

“I tried,” she whispered through tears. “I really tried to be strong.”

Akram’s heart clenched. He stepped forward immediately, pulling her gently against him, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing slow, steady circles on her back.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You don’t have to be strong with me. Cry. Let it out.”

She clutched his shirt, sobbing now, her shoulders trembling. “I don’t know how to do this without you,” she confessed. “What if I need you? What if I get scared?”

He rested his forehead against hers. “You’ll never be without me. Not really. Even when you don’t see me, I’ll be with you. In your prayers. In your heart. In our child.”

Her tears softened at that.

He lifted her face gently, wiping her cheeks with his thumbs. “Listen to me,” he said firmly but tenderly. “You are not alone. You are loved. Deeply. Completely. Nothing will change that.”

She nodded weakly. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he said without hesitation. “With everything I am.”

Another announcement came. Louder this time. Final.

Akram took a slow breath. “I have to go.”

She knew. Still, her fingers tightened around his sleeve.

He kissed her forehead again, longer this time, as if memorizing her warmth. “Wait for me.”

“I will,” she whispered, voice breaking again. “Come back to me.”

“I will,” he said, and this time, there was no doubt in his voice.

He stepped back—one step, then another. Every inch felt like tearing himself away.

Asma watched him go, her vision blurred with tears, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. She stood there until he disappeared from sight, until the space he had occupied felt unbearably empty.

Only then did she turn away, her heart aching, but still holding onto his promise like a lifeline.

Okay… this goodbye scene hurt to write 😭

Akram and Asma are at that stage where love isn’t loud anymore—it’s deep, quiet, and painful. Saying goodbye when you love someone this much is never easy, and I really wanted you to feel that ache with them.

A few questions for you:

Do you think long-distance will make their love stronger or break them emotionally?

Was Asma strong enough here, or did her breakdown make the scene more real?

Do you trust Akram’s promise… or are you scared like I am? 🥺

Tell me honestly in the comments—I really want to know how this scene made you feel.

And please don’t forget to vote if this touched your heart even a little 🤍

Your comments and votes are what keep this story alive for me.

See you in the next chapter 💭✨