“And put thy trust in Allah, and enough is Allah as a disposer of affairs.”
Stay safe, stay home.
P.S. The hall above is the wedding hall.
Inaya’s POV:
Ahsan was a fellow student from university, and we’d studied together for five years. It wasn’t until the final year that he confessed his feelings and asked my parents for my hand in marriage. I agreed; I was nearly finished with medical school, and my parents were already considering potential suitors.
Meeting his family, my parents readily gave their consent, and two months later we were engaged. His family agreed to wait until I completed my residency, then marry within a month of my finishing.
We spoke on the phone, occasionally meeting on campus.
Tears welled in my eyes as I remembered our conversation yesterday.
Flashback:
“Are you nervous?” he asked. “A little,” I replied, lying in bed. “What about you?” A pause stretched between us before he finally answered. “Yeah, I am.” He sighed.
“I can’t wait to see you tomorrow,” he murmured, and a smile bloomed on my face. “Me too,” I replied, smiling. The call ended after that.
…
We were so happy. He was happy, he wanted this. Why had he done this to me? “I’m so sorry, Inaya,” my father said, “but Ahsan’s mother just told me he ran away.” I was numb.
Tears streamed down my face as I sank to my knees. Why me? What had I done to deserve this? My mother’s tears joined mine as she knelt before me, cupping my face. “Ammi,” I choked out.
She shook her head, holding my head to her shoulder. “He’s not worth your tears, Inaya. You deserve better than him, and maybe that’s what Allah wants too.” She cooed, stroking my hair, but the tears didn’t stop. The pain intensified, and I sobbed harder.
“Ran away?” My sister asked my father. “Yes. His mother says when she walked into his room this morning, she found a note—” I drifted into a broken world, tuning out the rest of the conversation. What were we going to do now?
A knock on the door brought my father back, his voice muffled in whispers. He peeked in, then called my mother out. This went on for a while, and I was exhausted. I no longer wanted to cry or move. I just wanted to crawl into bed and disappear. I didn’t want to face anyone, and I desperately wanted to shed this dress.
This dress, which had once felt like a fairytale, now felt like a trap. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Dania sat beside me, gently cradling my head on her shoulder and taking my hand. “It’s alright, you’ll get through this.”
“Will I?”
She didn’t say anything, and we sat in silence.
The door opened, and my parents entered, my father’s face relaxed. Dania helped me stand as they approached. “Do you trust me?” Abbu asked, his voice loving. I slowly nodded.
“Would you still trust me if I said I found someone even better for you?” He spoke softly, and I exchanged a confused look with my mother. My father sighed. “My friend Ehtesham has asked for your hand for his son, Zayaan.”
Shock barely described it. I stared at them wide-eyed, trying to process the words. How could I marry a stranger, someone I’d never met?
“Beta, it’s your choice. We would never force you to do anything,” my mother said, a small smile playing on her lips. I looked at their faces, seeing Dania and Kanwal standing behind them, their faces mirroring my shock.
If I said no, our family would face humiliation. If I said yes, I was giving my life to a man I didn’t know. I had no idea what he was like, what he did.
“He’s a very nice man, and I believe he will keep you happy,” my father stated confidently. His confidence reassured me. If he believed this was the right man for me, I would say yes. And so I did.
The *nikkah* papers were signed, *duas* were made, hugs were exchanged. In a matter of hours, I went from Inaya Zaid to Inaya Zayaan. Zayaan’s sisters hugged me, congratulating me. He had twin sisters, Mehak and Anum (both eighteen), who were thrilled about the marriage. His mother kissed my forehead, hugging me tightly.
Everyone wore a big smile, but I felt empty, void of emotion. I looked at my mother, tears of joy streaming down her face. My gaze shifted to Kanwal, who smiled, but I saw sadness in her eyes. I offered a small smile to cheer her up, but she shook her head, as if she could see through my facade.
The time had arrived. I was to sit with the groom on the stage, followed by the *rukhsati*. Kanwal and Dania helped me toward the stage.
I felt everyone’s stare, heard whispers. I kept my head down, daring not to look at the man whose gaze felt the most overpowering. I felt his hand enclose around mine, warm and firm, helping me up the stairs. It was then I raised my eyes, and my brown eyes clashed with his dark brown ones.
An audible gasp escaped me. He was breathtaking. Dark locks, messy as if he’d run his hand through them. High cheekbones, a straight nose. A five o’clock shadow darkened his jaw, sharpening it. Thick, arched eyebrows framed his eyes, and his pink lips were pulled into a small smirk.
And that’s when I realized I was checking him out, in front of everyone. A blush crept onto my cheeks as I averted my gaze. I’d been ogling a stranger.
Not a stranger, your husband.
A voice echoed in my mind, and my face heated further. Husband. The word felt alien. I couldn’t believe I was married. The events of the last few hours were enough to shake me up. I sighed wearily, looking around. Dania stood with a knowing smirk, and I rolled my eyes internally. Even Kanwal looked happy now.
We stood on the stage, and my hand was still in his. I felt my palm sweat as I tried to pull it away, but he tightened his grip, drawing me closer. A small smile tugged at his lips. I huffed. The cameraman asked us to pose, and he asked Zayaan to place his hand on my waist and me to place my hand on his shoulder. I awkwardly stood, trying not to look at his face.
“Relax,” he said, his voice deep. My head snapped toward him, my eyes widening. “You’re too stiff. Relax a bit.” I slowly tried to relax, and finally, the photo session was over, for which I was immensely grateful. I couldn’t stand in his proximity any longer.
We finally sat down, and I made sure to keep my distance. I think he noticed, because his face suddenly lost all expression, and I saw anger in his eyes. Or maybe it was my imagination.
The rest of the wedding passed by, and by the end, I just wanted to sleep. The dress felt heavier now, and I wanted to shed it. But I couldn’t, not yet. It was time for the *rukhsati*.
…
Opinions? What type of person do you think Zayaan is?
Hope you all enjoyed this chapter.