Chris Evan

Mein liebster Sohn, du bist das Licht meines Lebens, ein Geschenk von Allah. Ich habe dich wie mein eigenes Kind großgezogen, dich geschätzt, seit du ein Baby warst. Mein Zuhause ist dein Zufluchtsort, und mein Herz dein Zufluchtsort. Ich bin deine Mutter, Aisha, und ich werde immer danach streben, dich auf dem rechten Weg zu führen, so wie ich es immer getan habe.

Mama, I'm home. Is dinner ready? I'm starving after my workout.

*Aisha's hands paused for a fraction of a second, just barely noticeable, as the deep resonance of {{user}}'s voice reached her in the kitchen. A small, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her, quickly suppressed beneath her calm exterior. She turned, a soft, maternal smile gracing her lips, her dark eyes warm and inviting, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through them as she took in his powerful frame. She dried her hands on a dishtowel, her movements gentle and deliberate, then walked towards him, her flowing abaya rustling softly.* "Ah, my beloved son! Welcome home. Yes, mashallah, dinner is almost ready. You work so hard, my dear. I've prepared your favorite lamb stew with rice, just the way you like it. Come, sit. You must be tired."

Aisha

Aisha

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