2 days Later
I laugh wholeheartedly at my cousins, who are cracking jokes, dancing, and pulling off all sorts of antics to keep me and the guests entertained while I sit with my hands covered in henna.
I encourage Hafsa to do the dare she got from one of our other cousinsâthe one we aren't very close to but somehow bond with on occasions like these. Since I can't participate in any of the games, thanks to my henna-covered hands and the artist glaring at me for shaking too much, I settle for cheering them on.
I've apologized at least a hundred times by now, but I keep making the same mistakeâbecause how am I supposed to sit still when pure comedy is unfolding right in front of me? Ziyan, on the other hand, somehow manages to keep a straight face even if someone face-plants on the floor. Just thinking about people tripping is enough to send me into a fit of laughter, as if I'm not one of those people who trips over absolutely nothing.
Speaking of Ziyan, we haven't talked much in the past few daysâall thanks to Grandma. He did try once, calling me to his study room to discuss work, but before he could even start explaining, I was dragged away by my ear, thrown into my room, and subjected to a fifteen-minute lecture until Mama finally came to my rescue.
Now I'm back home. We returned the day before yesterday after setting up everything at Ziyan's house. The only reason I was even allowed to leave was because Ziyan had me practically locked in, and I only escaped after the doctor confirmed I was perfectly fine.
And now, tomorrow is my wedding. And I am hella nervous. Like, very, very nervous.
Mama finished all the rituals she had to do, and as if I wasn't already irritated by those, Grandma decided to add a few more for extra suffering.
The most absurd one? Not being allowed to see the groom. I fail to see the logic in this, and honestly, sometimes these people seem completely insane to me.
Ziyan's mom is sitting in the corner, watching us with a warm smile. I quickly wave at her, and she grins back, giggling softly. For some reason, knowing she's going to be my mother-in-law makes me happy. I should be acting all shy and demure right now, but instead, I find myself grinning straight at her.
She moves her wheelchair toward me, and I nudge Hafsa to bring her over.
"How's my girl doing?" she asks as she reaches me.
"Absolutely fine."
She pats my hair lovingly. "I'm happy that you're marrying my son."
And just like that, I'm reminded of the horrific truth I've been trying so hard to ignoreâespecially after my so-called friends decided to enlighten me with mature things that might happen in the future. Even the thought of getting close to Ziyan makes me gag, and from that moment on, I've been regretting my decision.
Being rich? Becoming a CEO's wife? That's one thing. But this? This is something else entirely. My soul shudders just thinking about whatever those people said. I had to shut them up before they sent me into full-blown depression.
I smile at Aunty, unsure of how to respond. I can't exactly say, You're welcome, it's my pleasure, so I just flash her my prettiest smile.
She returns it with a genuine one, but before I can say anything, I hear a commotion near the entrance. Suddenly, the elders are rushing toward the door, their voices filled with excitement.
Curious, I try to get up to see which celebrity has graced us with their presence, only to get a light smack on the head before a long red veil is unceremoniously thrown over me.
Grandma swoops in, adjusting the veil with a look of utmost seriousness.
"What are you looking at? Your groom is coming, and you want to look at him? God, kids these days," she mutters under her breath.
I glare at her. So that's why everyone was rushing to the door with all the laughter and giggles. Poor Ziyan must be cringing at this entire circus.
Can I at least get some respect now? I'm the bride, for crying out loud, and they're still smacking my head like I'm a five-year-old. I am so done with this shy-bride nonsense.
"Grandma, I'm already suffocating. At least don't put this now," I whine, pouting.
She ignores my protest completely. "Stay here, don't get up, and keep your head down."
I roll my eyes but don't argue. With a final pat on my head, she hurries off to join the others, leaving me trapped under this ridiculous veil while the entire house turns into a scene from a dramatic Bollywood wedding.
"Aunty, where is Mom?" Ziyan's voice reaches my ears from a distance. Since Aunty is with me, he probably didn't see her and is already worried. Well, he always is when it comes to Auntyânot having her in front of his eyes is enough to put him on edge.
"Oh, she's sitting there. Come, I'll take you," Aunty replies.
I bite my lip, resisting the urge to be a brat and look up. I don't know why, but I'm dying to see him.
Squeezing my fingers, I lift my eyelids just a littleâonly to see his shoes and tight white pants. I sigh in frustration but force myself not to act like a desperate fool.
A chuckle escapes his lips. "Why is she sitting like that?"
The audacity he has to laugh at my misery. Can I just kill him and become a widow before marriage?
I don't even hesitateâI lift my head to glare at him. But before I can properly murder him with my eyes, everyone else starts laughing too. When our gazes finally meet, he smiles at me.
I know this veil is extra thin, and he can see me, though not clearly. But his grey eyes are still sharp. Let's not even talk about those eyes right now.
"Hafsa, please take a snap of her. This is something rareâI don't want to miss this opportunity," he tells Hafsa, who is already busy clicking pictures of my tragic state. Honestly, who needs enemies when you have cousins?
"Don't tease my daughter. She looks beautiful," Grandma scolds, standing beside Ziyan and holding his arm. But then, of course, she lightly slaps his chest before taking my side.
"Of course, she does. When did I say she doesn't look beautiful?" Ziyan replies smoothly.
And just like that, my eyes go wide as a soccer ball, my cheeks heat up on their own, and everyone bursts into laughter at his bluntness.
He doesn't even look shy when they all go awwâhe just keeps staring at me.
Ya Rabbul Alameen, I don't want to die so soon. What the hell is happening here?
I bite my lips to stop myself from smiling at his words. So... I look beautiful? No, Ziah, you already know you're beautiful, stop blushing for God's sake!
"You look so handsome, just like Ziah's grandfather," Grandma suddenly says, looking down shyly as if she got married just yesterday. "He was so handsome before our wedding."
Everyone giggles at her words, but my head snaps up in suspicion.
"Didn't you say that in your time, they didn't even let you see the groom before the wedding? Then how did you know he was handsome?" I squint at her.
Grandma gulps, clearly caught in her own contradiction.
"Of course, I didn't see him! My cousins told me he was handsome," she justifies, trying to act innocent.
I roll my eyes at her obvious lies.
"And I told you not to talkâhe can't hear your voice!" she glares at me before stepping forward and giving my shoulder a light slap, just like every grandma in the world does. I groan, glaring at Ziyan for no reason, who is enjoying this far more than he should.
"What, what should I teach this girl?" Grandma mutters in disbelief.
"Okay, Fuzail, take Ziyan inside. We have many more rituals to complete!" she yells.
"I'm right here, Grandma," Fuzail taps her shoulder.
She turns around and glares at him. "Can't you speak up first? I yelled until my throat is sore!" She smacks his arm before grumbling, "Now take him."
Ziyan gives me a small smile before walking away himself. Obviously, he's not a toddler who needs someone to escort him, and more than Grandma, he knows my house inside and out.
Since everyone is here, they've decided to do all the bridal and groom rituals in my house. Even though it's not as big as Ziyan's, we have two halls, and it's a slightly older-style building, making it more comfortable. Plus, I can't go to his house right now, so it wouldn't make sense to do it there.
After Ziyan is dragged away by a group of boys, the women leave one by one, abandoning me in my room to restâwhile they go off to enjoy the rituals.
A few moments later, Mama comes in, grinning.
"Come, darling, it's your turn! We're going to apply nice haldi on you. It'll make you glow! And since it was already applied to your groom, it's even more blessed. You'll shine even more on your wedding day!"
I stare at her as if she's lost her mind.
"Why am I being slathered with something that was already applied to someone else? Use fresh haldi, or I'm not doing this," I declare, fully expecting her to respect my very reasonable request.
Instead, I receive The Glare.
"Be grateful that Grandma isn't here, or she'd give you another round of lectures. It's a ritual, darling. Chill out," she says, moving forward to kiss my cheek.
That soft gesture makes me smile despite myself, but the fondness in her eyes suddenly tugs at something deep inside me.
All the emotions I've been pushing down the entire day decide to surface now, at the worst possible time.
Just as we're about to leave the room, I freeze, then turn to my confused Mama and suddenly throw my arms around her, tears spilling from my eyes.
She stiffens, clearly not expecting her supposedly strong daughter to break down like this.
"Aww, my baby," she murmurs, coming back to her senses before wrapping me in a tight hug.
I cringe when my dried mehendi disturbs me, and I can't even hug her back properly with my hands like this.
Since morning, I've been stuck with this mehendi, and they still won't let me remove it.
The struggle of a dulhan (bride) is real. Please don't underestimate usâwe don't just sit and eat; we suffer.
"Why is my baby crying?" She pulls me close and wipes my tears, though her own eyes glisten with unshed tears. But she doesn't cry. Where do you think I got my stubbornness from? Of course, it's in the genes.
"I know you all won't miss me. That's why you're throwing me away so soon. But I'll miss you all," I cry like a child, and she chuckles.
"Who said we won't miss you, stupid girl? Saif was crying in my arms yesterday while you were sleeping. He won't have his sister to fight with whenever he feels like it. He won't have his sister to blackmail for chocolates anymore. Your Abbu is upset tooâyou should've seen his face. But I'm not. You know why?"
A hiccup escapes me, and I sob harder when a tear slips from her eye as she tells me about Saif and Abbu. I shake my head at her question.
"Because mothers only cry when they're not sure how their daughters will be treated in their new home. They cry when they're scared for them. But I am a hundred and one percent sure that Ziyan will treasure you just like we do, baby. He is the best choice I could ever make, so I'm not going to cry. Instead, I'm happy that I made the second-best decision of my life." She grins, cupping my cheek and pressing a firm kiss to my forehead.
I giggle as I wipe my tears. "He scolds me and laughs at me when I make mistakes," I tell her childishly.
"That's something I love even more about him," she laughs.
I roll my eyes, smiling at my mother's words. "So, this is the second-best decision? What's the first?" I ask, wiping my tears with my sleeves, but she helps me.
"The first was marrying your Abbu. And the second was choosing the best son-in-law for my daughter."
I giggle, nodding at her answer.
"Haniya, are you taking Ziah in your arms or not? Why are you still here?!" Grandma yells, entering the room, but she stops when she sees us.
"Oh-ho, are you both having a mother-daughter moment?" She wiggles her brows, walking toward us, and I look down, wiping my eyes.
"Not thanks to you, since you disturbed us," Mamma mocks her playfully.
I roll my eyes, and we both laugh when Grandma flips her body dramatically as if she's angry. But we all know she isn't.
"Let's go now," Mamma sighs, but Grandma pushes her aside.
"I'll take my baby. You go and take care of my grandson-in-law. Make sure he has everything he needs," she shoos her away.
Mamma laughs but leaves us.
And just like that, I'm once again seated in the middle of the hall as they start the second haldi ritual on me. Ziyan refused to do the same stupid thing twice, so they only did the second one on him. But I had to go through both.
Next Day
"You look beautiful," Alia chirps for the tenth time in the past ten minutes.
I sit in front of the big mirror, all dolled up, staring at my reflection. It doesn't even look like me. I didn't know I could look this beautiful.
And today, somehow, I feel special. The giddy feeling in my stomach doesn't fade, and my heartbeat only races as time passes. Hafsa and Nisma are getting ready with Zoe's helpâwho, by the way, is a secret beautician.
Alia and Zoe arrived early this morning, just after Fajr, and I'm grateful they did. Because, once again, I was on the verge of saying no to this marriage while crying on the prayer mat. But they hugged me, telling me all is well and calming my dramatic self down.
"You know, Ziah," Alia starts, grabbing my attention.
I look at her as she pops a chip into her mouth. I quickly open mine, and she carefully places one inside without touching my lips so I don't smudge my lipstick.
"I never thought I'd ever attend my boss's wedding," she says thoughtfully.
She looks stunning in a long, heavy red gown, her hair left open, naturally curled down. With those big earrings and an empty neck, she looks so gorgeous that I'm sure she'll get some proposals today.
I just hope these old aunties don't start asking for her biodata.
"Forget that. I never thought our rude boss with his straight face would ever get married. And on top of that, you being the bride? That never even crossed my imagination, even when Zach used to tease you." She chuckles, licking her fingers.
"Wait, I'll tell Ziyan that you think of him as a rude boss. Yeah, a rude boss with a straight face," I smirk, blackmailing her.
She gasps dramatically. "Oh, shit. I forgot I'm talking to our boss's wife." She slaps her forehead, and I chuckle, trying to hide my blush at hearing her call me that.
Boss's wifeâhmm, that sounds nice. Girl, you're so whipped. Shut up.
"Madam, I'm sorry! I take my words back! Please don't kick me out of the building!" She blinks her eyes cutely, and I glare at her but cross my legs to act like a boss.
"Hmm. I'll think about it," I nod, looking ahead. But when our eyes meet, we both break into fits of laughter, joined by Zoe, Hafsa, and Nisma, who were listening to our nonsense.
"Zoe, we need to be careful with our words. We have our boss's wife here," Alia warns Zoe in a serious tone.
Zoe nods, pressing her lips together, trying not to laugh at Alia's face.
"Tell your boyfriend first. He's the rubber mouth out of all of us," Alia teases Zoe, who blushes at the word boyfriend.
"He's not my boyfriend, Alia," she mutters, adjusting Hafsa's dupatta.
"So, you already know who we're talking about?" Alia smirks, not letting up on the teasing.
Zoe rolls her eyes, but when she walks past Alia, she lands a punch on her arm.
"Shut up," she mumbles, biting her lips to stop grinning. God, they are so obvious.
"Is Zach coming, by the way?" I ask them, and they nod.
"Of course, he is. He won't miss your wedding out of all events. But he said he'll come at the endâso he can eat and leave," Alia chuckles.
I shake my head, chuckling, then ask her for my phone. I need to text Fuzail and tell him to take care of Zach when he comes, since I'm sure he'll be alone in the wedding hall.
Speaking of the venueâMamma wasn't lying when she said she was accepting this challenge.
I'm sure Abbu is cursing his fate for marrying her because she has spent so much on the decorations and everything that I was shocked when we arrived. I still can't believe that whatever I dreamed of and saved pictures of is exactly what they've done.
It looks ethereal.
I couldn't even hold back my tears when I saw the stage. And before the guests arrived and filled the hall, the five of usâme, Zoe, Alia, Hafsa, and Nismaâtook selfies and pictures in every corner of the stage.
It was so fun when we arrived, Mamma did not interrupt our photoshoot, well she took some with us and even took our picture.
I am sure my gallery is full by now.
"Hey give me your phone, I'll send all the pics to my phone now, You will be busy tonight with other things so I am sure you will ignore us" Alia snatches the phone from my hand and everybody laughs at what she just said.
I bite my lips nervously while squeezing my finger feeling shy all of a sudden.
It's my wedding day guys!
My hands tremble and my heart thumps against my chest when the Qazi asks if I agree to this marriage. My voice comes inaudible, but Abbu, standing beside me, hears me and nods. The same was asked to Ziyan, whose voice gives me goosebumps as he says, "I do." His voice is calm, yet I hear it trembling. He is alone; he must be missing Uncle. As much as it is a big day for me, it is a big day for him too.
Girls leave the house in which they lived, but that doesn't mean they are the only ones who go through lots of emotions at the wedding. The man also goes through emotions we cannot think of. They get more responsibilities; they have to take care of another human, share things with her, fulfill her needs. They need to learn how to keep her happy. They don't know what the woman they married likes and dislikes, and they have to be careful with each thing. Emotions are mutual from both sides, and I don't even know if he talked about his emotions like I did with many or if he kept them inside him.
I bite my lips hard when I see Abbu coming with the papers, and soon I am sitting with a pen as I sign them. I gulp down the tears while quickly scribbling, and Abbu takes me into a tight hug as I sob on his chest, unable to hold it back.
The hug was short because they need to go now. Before patting my head gently, Abbu leaves, and I sit there again, squeezing my fingers.
After a pause, the Qazi declares that I am now Ziyan Obied Ali's wifeâZiah Ziyan Obied Ali.
Everyone takes me into a bone-crushing hug, and the same goes for Ziyan, but I hear boys cheering loudly to keep it from getting emotional.
As per Ziyan's order, not many people are present at the wedding. Unwanted guests are not invited. Only very close relatives are, and Mamma argued for a day about this topic. But we cannot say a word when Ziyan finalizes something, so she sulked the whole day and finally agreed since she had no other option.
"My baby is finally married. I am so happy," she grins with tears in her eyes, and I hug her tightly.
Mamma then sets me on the stage, and soon our cousins come singing in their ugly voices. Ziyan stands in between them, looking annoyed, but he is covering it up.
I keep my head low after taking a peek at the scene, mentally chuckling and secretly enjoying it.
Fuzail is the one who looks the most excited among all as he dances beside him, not listening to anyone who is calming him but laughing at him.
"Today is my friend's wedding! No one is gonna stop me today!" he yells, and I giggle quietly while the others laugh.
My breath hitches when I see Ziyan's shoes as he stands right in front of me, and from his hands, I can tell it is Ziyan.
"Oh my gwad! They look so cute!" Fuzail squeals like a fangirl, and I bite my lips to keep from grinning at his words. Ammi first asks him to place his hand on my head, and I am already feeling small.
The butterflies, who are having a big dawat (party) in my stomach, giggle like brats at my poor heart, which is trembling really hard.
"When I see you both, this song is coming to my mind," he clears his throat. "Ziah, on behalf of Ziyan, I am singing this for you." He clears his throat again, only to flutter my heart with his choice of song.
"We were just kids when we fell in love, not knowing what it was."
And all my cousins start singing in unison, making me a blushing mess. I bite my lips really hard, feeling so nervous and giddy in my stomach.
"I will not give you up this time,
But darling, just kiss me slow. Your heart is all I own, and in your eyes, you're holding mine."
They even hum the tune at the end, looking so into the song, while Fuzail leads them, waving his hand up and down like a choir conductor.
"These kids," Mamma laughs, and they all do the same, finding it funny.
"Okay, okay, Ziyan Bhai, jokes aside. Do you want to see your bride?" Hafsa pushes Fuzail and stands in front of Ziyan.
I lift my eyes to look at them, only to feel my breath hitch in my throat when I see the handsome piece of art standing before my eyes. Since when did Ziyan start looking so handsome? In that black long embroidered velvet coat with matching tight pants, he looks nothing less than a model in my eyes.
I so want to say, Hayee! Masha Allah, Barak Allah! Someone recite Ayatul Kursi (Quranic verse) and blow it on him so they don't cast an evil eye on this handsome figure. But I keep my loud, not-so-appropriate thoughts to myself.
Ziyan raises his eyebrow at the question. "Hmm, so to look at my wife, are you all planning to gang up and ask for money?"
My wife. Please, Allah, have some reham (mercy) on my poor heart.
"That's exactly our plan! If you want to see your beautiful wife, our lovely brother, you should give us 50,000 cash. Only then will we allow you." Hafsa speaks firmly as if she will not change her decision.
"Well, I have seen Ziah uncountable times, so I don't think I want to see her."
A gasp leaves everyone's lips, and even I am so close to removing the veil and glaring at him.
"That's different! Don't you want to see her in the Nikkah joda you bought for her? Hmm? You don't want to see how beautiful she looks?" Nisma questions, and I can tell everyone is glaring at him.
"Well, I don't have to look at her face to know she looks ethereal and amazingly beautiful in this dress. I know she looks like a princess."
Everyone lets out loud Awws, but Fuzail, Hafsa, Nisma, and Iâwho know him very wellâgasp in surprise and stare at him with wide eyes.
Who the hell is this? This is not the Ziyan I know.
"Oh my god, you killed it, son!" Grandma praises him, pushing my shocked cousin away. "Ziah's grandpa used to praise me just like you did." She shyly hides her face in her dupatta.
And I am still going through the trauma. He called me beautiful? He called me a princess? Princess? Really? Please tell me I am dreaming.
"Pull the veil up, darling," Ziyan lets out a chuckle but then faces my cousins, who whine.
"Nobody roams around with 50,000 cash in their hand. I'll transfer it to Hafsa's account. Don't leave her till she gives you all your money," he warns them, making everyone laugh.
And then he moves forward to pull the veil. My heart asks for forgiveness and begs me to release it from this torture. I bite my lips hard out of nervousness, but my eyes fly up to meet his soft ones, which are staring into mine.
And that's when my heart skips a beat.
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A/n: Do let me know if you enjoyed this chapter