I halted in front of the house. The fairy lights were lit up even during the day, hundreds of them coiled around the newly painted building like colourful snakes, yellow and blue fabric dangled from the roof railing, pinned above the silver gates, the house looked beautiful and festive, it was a shame really that nothing stirred up inside me aside from fear that bordered on panic and I just stared and would have continued for many more minutes but a touch on my back made me walk again, cautious of my eyes. I didn't wish to see how much my misery made my parents happy.
There were more than a dozen people sitting inside the living room and on my side, I felt Shifa take in a breath and for a violent, scary moment I wanted to take her hand in mine and hope to provide the comfort she never failed to give me but of course, I didn't do it, instead, as a coward might, I stepped a foot away from her, plastering a polite smile on my face. The smile hurt. So pathetically disgusting that I couldn't keep the façade for longer and the lines of my mouth dropped. I moved along the chairs and sofa to personally greet everyone, my aunts and uncles and a few faces I had long forgotten. My abbu was the last one to face me. He put his palm atop my hijab-clad hair, the weight of his hand forced me to lower my head into a slight bow. I couldn't even meet his eyes without feeling a strange dread like I had done something wrong and didn't know it, but he did. How could I tell him I didn't want to marry the man he chose for me? How could I tell him that all the lights in the house did nothing to allay the need to cry.
In the periphery, I saw one of my cousins talking to Shifa on the sofa and another one offering a glass of water. A part of me felt bad for her, she was dragged here by my uncle who won't take no for an answer and since no one from her family came to pick her up, my uncle believed the job had been placed on his shoulder. Wahab's cousin was an important guest and slighting anyone in her family when the wedding was so near would have been a grave mistake. What would become of me if he refused to wed because my parents didn't offer enough hospitality to his cousin? The other part, the more selfish one was relieved to have her there, no matter how uncomfortable she looked coerced into a conversation with my relatives. Her attire and hair would remain a topic of hot debates and teachings for at least two days, and I wasn't sure how I would respond if one of them dared to speak ill of her in front of me and hoped to get a supportive response. I turned to my aunt.
"Where's ummi?"
She barely glanced at me, too busy with her infant son who won't stop crying, "In the kitchen."
I didn't linger and walked toward the kitchen, well aware of the fact that I had just abandoned Shifa, left her with people who were trying to make sense of her and her bright yellow hoodie which she had chained up to the chin as soon as we got into my uncle's car. I had thought of offering her my scarf to cover her head but that would have been a slap on her face. An insult to her courage and the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint her and burden her shoulders with my own bundle of fears. She was the only woman in my home who didn't find her voice to be below anyone else's. Who made no attempt to hide. Everyone in there should feel blessed to stand so close to her.
Zoya was with my ummi, arranging a platter of fruits into small plates and failed to notice my arrival, telling my ummi about some new serial she had recently finished watching and my lips stretched into a smile. I had missed her and only realized just how much when I saw her, and my heart ached with fondness. Her hands moved somewhere between the task of arranging fruits and gesturing around to make her narration livelier and the focused frown on her forehead did nothing but deepen my need to embrace her.
"What are we talking about?"
They both turned at the same time and my smile widened to touch my eyes at the look on Zoya's face. She dropped the knife and half sliced apple on the plate and rushed toward me, her hands wide open and I allowed myself to hug her back with equal intensity if not more. I heard my ummi laugh and let go of her and tilted my head to let my mother caress my face with an adoration that I couldn't keep looking at her in the eye.
"Khala, you can go out now, Adia will help me here."
Ummi glanced at me before nodding. I watched her adjust her hair inside her scarf and left without a word, probably too eager to please Shifa.
"Okay, we have a lot to talk about but first you really need to prepare tea."
I didn't think twice before slicing one more ginger and adding it to the boiling milk, Shifa loved the burning taste of it and sure, a few members of my family preferred mild ginger but wasn't that all about Shifa at the moment? So, when I put the flame on low heat and turned to take the melon from Zoya's hand, I didn't feel bad about it at all.
"We're going to the salon today after Shifa leaves. Who is coming to pick her up?"
"I don't know. And why today? I am a little tired."
Zoya gaped as if I had offended her with my honest response, "Because you need to glow, what would Wahab say if he saw your face right now? So dull and... Adia, did you cry?"
I didn't have to reply right away as ummi barged in, sounding frantic and out of breath, "Jihan is here, hurry up," she stepped inside the kitchen and closed the door behind her, her face twisted with nerves and edging panic, she moved from one place plate to another, "Is the tea ready? And halwa? You haven't even started to fry the chicken! They would leave without eating, is that what you want? Hurry up!"
The time went in a blur, ummi and I remained inside and handed the plates to Zoya. After the seventh round of carrying food into the living room, she came back and slouched down on the floor. And that was when ummi decided to go back out and serve as the perfect hostess.
"Does Shifa always dress like that? No hijab either? And her hair?"
I handed her a cup of tea and before I could hold my tongue, the words of defence poured out, "Her hair is nice and it suits her."
Zoya took a sip, and I followed the gesture, my heart beating in my ear, the fear that Zoya might smell the truth in my words forced me into silence.
"They don't even reach her shoulder," she shrugged, apparently losing interest in the topic, "The air of city could do that, I guess."
"It didn't do anything to me."
I tasted the lie before I even said it and Zoya looked up from her cup. She didn't say anything for a long minute and stared at me as if she saw right through me into my head and knew all I wanted to hide.
"I really hope so, Adia. Short hair won't suit you."
The breath that was caught between my ribcage escaped in small puffs of laughter and Zoya caught up soon after. I knew that was her attempt to hide whatever she truly wanted to say but the kindness was a pleasant welcome.