Chapter 36: 35

'A song written easily' - Oneus

Unedited

I'm afraid it will take me a while to write the epilogue. I only get a certain amount of time on my phone, sometimes not even that, so I will only get to write a paragraph or so a day. Or maybe I might squeeze it in. Idk. It all depends on my dad. So yeah. The book is finished. I will write the epilogue on paper so I can quickly copy it in. Hopefully by the end of this week. Idk. My dad is unpredictable. Take care. Xxx

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Planning wedding celebrations with 3 sons who were either one years old or younger proved to be a challenge for her. Even with Zayn helping around. The doofus was like a child himself when it came to this matter.

"So first we have the sangeet for your father's side of the family. Look, us girls also need a day for henna application two days prior to the barat, which also the registry. And my family from Australia and Pakistan are coming. Then two days later is the walima. Bas! Nothing more! Mum already had my clothes sorted, I'm going to confirm with my henna artist -"

"Don't you do henna?" Zayn asked, scrolling on his phone. Wretched TikTok.

She must have said that aloud because he replied with, "Its actually Instagram reels,"

"Whatever, anyways. How am I supposed to do my own bridal henna? I don't want to do one hand myself as all henna artists have a different style. Besides I'm not going to break my back,"

"No because us four already do that for you," he said, snickering.

She raised her eyebrows, holding in her laugh because she was still kinda annoyed with him. Thankfully her sister in law gifted her a breastfeeding pillow so she didn't end up becoming a hunchback.

"Shut up. How many wedding guests?" she asked.

"We will have to ask our parents that. Easily over a hundred from each side."

Syra grumbled at that. She hated big weddings. It was all about the showing off, flashing your wealth, and not actually enjoying your wedding celebrations with your loved ones.

"Just so you know, Imran will be with you those three days. I'll have people to help out with the jurwai, but he's all yours," Syra informed him. (Twins)

Imran had proved to be a handful ever since he begun walking. You could not sit in peace. He created chaos wherever he went. Zayn was often left running after him while Syra tended to the twins.

Zayn grabbed the pillow next to him and screamed into it, causing her to laugh.

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Today was the day of the sangeet. Syra was nervous and excited. She was excited to wear Pathan clothes, but she was nervous because she barely knew anything about the culture. Not to mention she would be meeting more of his relatives for the first time, and she didn't understand their language, Pashto. Zayn had told her they wouldn't do anything they were familiar with, it was really the clothes and the dancing that were different.

She was given her clothes by Shahzad's mum who was kind enough to watch her kids as she quickly took a shower and changed into her clothes.

Syra twirled around in the dress, absolutely adoring the mirrors, which reminded her of her Gujarati traditional clothes. She often wore simpler versions around the house. She then went downstairs to the Aunty, who sent a flurry of praises in Pashto. Syra just smiled and nodded cluelessly.

She had decided to do her makeup herself. Just winged eyeliner and a pinkish nude lip, as the jewellery she was given to wear was on the heavy side.

She sent a snap to Zayn of only her eyes and headpiece, to which he sent a snap back. His black waves were mussed, silver eyes twinkling, his sharp jaw  generously covered by his beard, his eyebrow cocked. There wasn't a day where she didn't marvel at his inhuman-like beauty. On his shoulders sat Imran who made such a similar expression to his father that she couldn't help but laugh. His hands were tangled in Zayn's hair, his silver-emerald eyes innocently staring down at the phone. A simple showed in his left cheek. She could tel he had just been given a bath as his chocolate-coloured curls were slightly damp. Her heart warmed at the picture, a large smile spreading over her face.

'Stargy de khaaista dee," the caption read. A quick search told her that meant 'Your eyes are beautiful', sending her heart into overdrive. She sent a snap back of the twins sleeping this time, captioned 'Khaaista,', which meant handsome (she hoped Google Translate was reliable).

He responded by saying, 'Imran has managed to weaken his way into the plastic containers again. Gotta go, see you soon ;)'. 'See you x' she replied with and out her phone down to remove the headpiece and do her hair.

She decided to take two strands at the front, near her ears and braid them, then pulled them back and tied them. She considered curling her hair but it would be covered by the dupatta anyways. None of her hair would be on show.

Soon enough, she was in the hall. She would enter the hall with Husna and Anayah carrying decorative plates,with Amma in between, her following behind. She would walk underneath a cloth called banrasy, thw four corners held by Malikah, Layla, Isla and Jannah. Her two most closest cousins, Haniya and Ameema, would follow behind with Hashir and Hayder, who were dressed in cute little shalwar kameez. The rest of her side of the family followed behind.

She joined Zayn at the stage, who wore a matching embroidered waistcoat over white shalwar kameez, a matching shawl, surprisingly also a pakol (traditional hat) and even had a motherfuckinf sword in his hand. He held it like it was something ordinary to him. When he met her eyes and smirked, wiggling his eyebrows, she was tempted to pull the sword free of its decorative scabbard and stab him. Fool. He was being ridiculous while she met the rest of his family for the first time, and he was meeting hers too.

The rest of the event went by far quicker than Syra would have liked. She was throughly enjoying it. Zayn's women relatives first begun doing a dance called the Shadoola, then they put mehndi leaves on their hands and feet again so people could come and apply mendhi on them. Then another traditional dance, the Attan was performed. Then they served some sharbat gond kateera (a famous beverage in Peshawar), before doing a traditional swirling dance with the decorative plates. After that they served food, the main course being Dum Pukht (pieces of mutton/beef cooked in specific spices. And the event finally ended with the khattak dance. That had to be her favourite part of the day. The coordinated sword movements, so synchronised. She would forever keep that in mind.

They concluded the event soon after that.

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Honestly, in Syra's opinion, she would get married 10837493 times just for the clothes. The feeling of dressing up as a bride would never get old. She relished those moments. Took a ton of pictures and videos so she could look back on them with her children.

At the moment she was getting her henna done. Her arms and hands had been done. She had gone all the way up to her elbows because why not? You only live once. She opted for an elegant design on her feet.

(What she got on the back of her hands)

A bit blurry because I took a screenshot of a video

Credits: @hennabytanzeela on Instagram

(What she got on her insides)

Credits: @mehndi_by_naaz on Instagram

(What she got on her feet)

Credits: @hums.henna on Instagram

She used natural henna, so she had to keep it on for at least six hours, but she was going to sleep with it. The next morning it would be orange, the stain developing over 48 hours. She would keep her hands warms and away from water to achieve a dark stain.

Syra wasn't one for cringed traditions, but as a henna traits herself, she had Zayn's name hidden in her henna. And she would make him find it. Whenever she did henna on brides and hid the name, she would show him the pictures and ask him to look for it. So he had some practice. Normally her brides would tell her how long it would take their manz to find it, due to how detailed the henna was.

Her back ached from staying in one position, her but numb from all the sitting, her arms ached from holding them on a way so the henna didn't smudge and her neck was sore. But she didn't care. She she was more worried about the henna artist, whose back and neck must also ache, thumb aching from pressing down. She knew the feeling. At least they were almost done. 7+ hours of henna application.

She had another two artists come and do the henna for her mum, sisters and some cousins that were over. She had gone to her mums house for the day. The twins mostly spent the time sleeping, only needing a feed and a nappy change once which her dad did while Zayn chased after Imran. He discovered new places in her mums house every time he came over. Syra missed them, even though they were just in the room next to her.

"Hayyyeee, kitni soni," she hadn't realised her mother had come up to them and was analysing her henna. (Oh my, how beautiful).

"Thankyou, Aunty," said the henna artist, whose name was Rabia.

"It is, isn't it," Syra marvelled.

She would cherish it. And miss it a lot when it would fade. That was the only downside of henna. When some parts of it fade quicker than the others. She wished it would leave altogether.

She would spray the sugar and lemons sealant on top once it was dry so it stuck to her hands. And just so it didn't crumble off while she was sleeping, she would put Mefix tape on top of it. And shower with gloves on. And she would wear gloves so Zayn didn't see the henna before the barat.

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The day of her barat arrived. She was currently getting her face beat. And her head yanked it several directions by both the makeup artist and hair stylist. It seemed like they were beefing with each other with their actions.

In the middle of it all, Hayder got some gas problems and wouldn't be consoled by anyone but her. So she had rocked him to sleep while getting glammed up. It had proved to be a challenge.

(Just the makeup and jewellery, not the clothes)

She didn't do too much of a heavy makeup look. Just the mandatory rep lip. And she stuck to traditional Pakistani jewellery, the classic gold. In her opinion, it would never get old. And her dress. She did wear a large natt, which was the large round nose ring they wore, which connected to the hair.

She went for a red on red look. It had always been her dream to have a full red look. It was common in Asia to wear red on your wedding, and she wanted to do so.

Zayn wore the classic cream sherwani, and was forced by Ammi to wear the matching red pagri (turban). Even the kusseh he wore, after a lot of complaints.

Earlier on, her and Zayn had gone to the council so they could be legally married. And with that they had gone straight to the hall, together. They held Bhangra, gabra, attan, all the sorts. Zayn and Syra had also cut the cake together. All wedding guests were given a box of sweets, which she and her cousins had packed together the night before. That had been so lit, the laughter and joy.

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The final day. The walima. This wasn't a long day thankfully. It started in the afternoon, they had food, took pictures and left. No dancing. Which was a relief because she was tired.

She went for a white, red and gold walima look. She had seen it once and was obsessed. She didn't care that she had worn red on the barat too. The highlight of this was the white, with red and gold jewellery complementing it.

The menu had consisted of Sindhi biryani, chicken tikka, malai boti, Nihari, Rasmalai and other mithai. She had begged Ilyas to keep some separate for herself because she could only eat a bit at the event, in fear of dropping it on herself. She would feast on it tomorrow.

Zayn was decked in a white three piece suit. He truly looked like royalty, like those unworldly faery princes in fantasy stories. He had a red tie, some black lines on the edges and hold buttons to suit it. He had resented it when he first saw it, saying he looked like he was going to a funeral to celebrate someone's death (as they wore white to funerals). But once he had put it on, he had announced he liked it more than the classic black suit. He would wear it again but he didn't want to steal other men's spotlight, especially if it was someone else's wedding. His words, not hers, but she agreed with him in her mind. Never out loud. The size of his ego suffocated her.

And of course, Imran, Hashir and Hayder wore matching little ones. Syra almost cried when she saw how adorable they looked. By the end of the event, Imran had gotten orange juice and some other questionable things on it. Syra had to go home and change hurriedly to clean him up. Not before she took pictures. She was sure Umar and Umair were ready to commit suicide after how many pictures she had orders them to take.

She relaxed into the soft duvets, the warmth of her new bed. It was all over. A new chapter of her life was beginning. And she couldn't wait. Her life had been established, she felt. And she couldn't wait to build one with her boys, to creat memories with them.

And of course, she prayed she had daughters. They were seen as blessings in Islam, especially three daughters. She often boasted about that to her brothers, as the same had not been said to them. It was because at the time, a woman's status had been so low. And Islam had come to fix that.

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I have not read over this at all. May have ALOT of typos. And I didn't go in detail if the events because it would get too long and they had previous events.

Last chapter :,( there will be the epilogue after this. I may add bonus chapters. But those will lag likely be much later on.

We got to 300 reads without me even reading/voting/commenting or following anyone I'm so surprised. But really. Thanks guys.

Bruh I'm supposed to be reading the Red Scrolls of Magic by Cassandra Clare but I've been busy with writing.

2550 words.