Chapter 7 A Promise on

Jamal turned onto the quiet cul‑de‑sac that housed Colonel Edrees's quarters, easing his brand‑new sedan beneath the shade of a sprawling neem tree. The glossy black paint gleamed even in afternoon light, a subtle announcement that something had changed in his life-and Alia's.

Inside the house, Alia sat with her mother in the sitting room, double‑checking the last of her exam flashcards. A condolence for missed tests had already turned into a celebration: she'd sat every final, and now she waited only for results. House walls still echoed with her father's pride and Adam's teasing congratulations.

When the doorbell rang, Alia rose, heart shifting gears at the familiar cadence. She reached the foyer just as her father opened the door to reveal Jamal in neatly pressed civilian trousers and an open‑collar shirt. Behind him, the car shimmered like obsidian water.

"Afternoon, Colonel," Jamal greeted, straight‑spined but relaxed. "I brought something to show the family."

Curiosity lit the Colonel's face. He called out, "Everyone, outside!"

In minutes the front yard filled: Alia's mother wiping flour from her hands, Adam off duty in cadet fatigues, Aisha video‑calling in from her parents' place just to squeal through the phone. Jamal stepped aside, gesturing toward the sedan.

"Bought it yesterday," he explained. "She still needs a name."

The Colonel walked around the vehicle, inspecting engine lines with a professional eye. "Smooth suspension? Good mileage?"

"Excellent, sir."

Alia ran her palm along the trunk, smiling. "It feels... fast," she murmured.

Jamal grinned. "Fast enough to keep up with a future pharmacist on rounds."

Laughter rose from the group. After more praises and a quick blessing from her mother, Alia's parents retreated inside to finish lunch prep. Adam followed, claiming he needed a nap before evening PT.

That left them alone by the curb.

Jamal leaned against the passenger door, soft breeze ruffling his hair. "Come for a quick drive?" he asked, voice low, eyes holding hers.

Alia nodded, pulse fluttering. He opened the door, waiting until she was settled before closing it with gentle finality. The car smelled of leather and new beginnings.

They cruised the length of the barracks road, passing drill fields where young cadets jogged in cadence. Jamal kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift-close enough that Alia's fingers tingled with the memory of his touch.

He pointed out minor upgrades-built‑in navigation, reinforced safety features, a trunk big enough for her textbook crates. "Practical," he said, glancing sideways. "But I wanted something sturdy. Something worthy of the journeys we'll take."

Her heart tucked those words away.

Fifteen minutes later, he parked in the same spot outside her gate. Before she could reach for the latch, Jamal circled to open her door. She stepped out, but he didn't release her hand; instead, he drew her gently against him, fingers settling at her waist.

Their faces hovered inches apart, afternoon sun gilding his lashes. She could feel his breath-steady, warm-brush her cheek.

"Tomorrow night," he murmured, eyes dark with anticipation, "our first official date as an engaged couple. Dress for magic, habibti."

She tried to laugh, but it came out a breathless whisper. "I've never known you to do anything halfway."

"Not with you," he said. Then, teasing, "Since you became mine, I intend to claim every stolen moment."

Her cheeks heated. She pressed a palm to his chest, feeling the solid beat of his heart.

"Look forward to it," he said, winking.

Alia rose on tiptoe, gifting him a swift kiss on the jaw before slipping from his arms. She hurried up the path, pausing at the door to wave. Jamal lingered beside the car until she vanished inside, a quiet smile playing on his lips.

---

Inside, time warped into syrup. Alia checked the hallway clock a dozen times, counting down hours rather than days. With Aisha away, her mother gladly joined the ritual of outfit selection: rejecting bold gowns, debating heels vs. flats, pinning curls just so. By late afternoon, a soft lilac dress hung ready on the wardrobe door, shoes aligned beneath.

Evening crept in golden layers. Alia touched up a hint of blush, applied a sheer gloss, and surveyed herself: a girl reborn from fatigue and fear, sapphire ring catching the light, eyes reflecting cautious wonder.

Her father's voice called from downstairs. "Your young lieutenant is here!"

Alia inhaled, smoothed her skirt. She kissed her mother's cheek, hugged her father, then stepped onto the porch.

Jamal stood waiting, one hand tucked in his blazer pocket, the other holding a single white rose. When he saw her, his breath visibly caught. He walked forward, offered the flower, then opened the car door with a courtly bow.

"Shall we, minha rainha?"

She laughed softly, letting the nickname-my queen-settle over her like stardust. Slipping into the passenger seat, she glanced up just as he closed the door. Their eyes met through the window, a promise suspended in twilight.

He rounded the hood, slid behind the wheel, and started the engine. Soft music filled the cabin-velvet saxophone notes that matched her racing pulse. Jamal reached over, threaded his fingers through hers, and squeezed.

"What will tonight hold?" she asked, voice barely above the music.

Jamal smiled, shifting into drive. "Everything we've both been waiting for."

And with that, the car glided down the barracks road, carrying them toward a night neither of them would forget.