Beneath Loves's Veil

9. His Queen

As the clock mercilessly ticked closer to 11:00, my hands moved in a frenzied blur, the sharp knife slicing through the garlic with urgent precision. With each passing second, the weight of my decision bore down on me like a leaden weight.

But amidst the flurry of activity, a chilling realization gripped me: was my mother intentionally trying to sabotage my meeting with Khalid? Perhaps she believed I would reject his proposal, and this was her way of ensuring it.

Summoning all my courage, I addressed her tentatively, the panic and fear palpable in my voice. "Ummah," I began, bracing myself for her reaction, "I'm going to say yes to Khalid."

Her back turned to me as she chopped at something on the counter, she responded with a casual "Okay."

But when I timidly mentioned Khalid's request for me to wave by the window if I agreed, her reaction was anything but casual. Whirling around, she scrutinized me with a mixture of disbelief and disdain. "What is this?" she demanded. "Is this some kind of teledrama? If he cares so much let him come to the door!"

Before I could respond, the doorbell shattered the tense silence, its sudden ring jolting us both. My heart raced with apprehension, a silent plea echoing in my mind: Please, don't let it be him.

But my mother's demand cut through my thoughts like a blade. "Go open it," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Shocked by her insistence, I hesitated, unsure if I could face Khalid in my current state. Yet, as I glanced down at my hands, still reeking of garlic and musty potato water, I realized I had no choice but to open it.

With trembling hands, I scrubbed furiously at the lingering scent, the jasmine-scented handwash offering little solace as I desperately tried to erase any trace of the pungent aroma.

As I cautiously approached the door, my heart pounded with foreboding and nervousness. Peering through the peephole, I caught sight of Khalid standing just outside, his presence commanding and striking.

Leaning casually against one of the pillars flanking the stairway, he exuded an aura of confidence and charm. His dark brown hair, swept back in waves, added to his allure, framing his handsome face with a touch of rugged sophistication.

Dressed in a beige polo T-shirt paired with crisp white pants, Khalid cut a striking figure, his muscular physique evident beneath the fabric of his sleeves. Every detail seemed meticulously chosen, from the way his clothes hugged his toned frame to the relaxed yet poised stance he adopted.

For a moment, I simply stood there, transfixed by the sight of him, my heart fluttering with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. With a deep breath, I prepared myself to face him, knowing that whatever lay ahead would shape the course of my future in ways I could scarcely imagine.

As I swung the door open, Khalid's arms, previously crossed against his chest, fell to his sides, and his eyes lit up at the sight of me.

"Assalamu alaikum, Zahra," he greeted, the sense of déjà vu washing over me all over again.

"Walaikum salam," I replied, unable to suppress the shy smile that tugged at my lips, feeling acutely self-conscious under his gaze.

"I thought you said you would await my answer by the window," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Khalid met my gaze, his expression softening. "I did say that, but when I didn't see you there, I thought that maybe you were busy and that's why you didn't come."

"Well," I exclaimed, "that's a positive way of looking at things, because what if my answer had been no, and that's why I didn't come to the window?"

His grin widened, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. "Does that mean you're going to say yes?"