Various One-Shots from 'Confessions of a Muslim Girl'

Weddings That Parents Drag You To - Adam Ali ♥

I added the heart because I love him. Would you like to know what goes on in Adam's head?

** DISCLAIMER: I am not responsible for any cardiac arrests or stolen hearts. ;D

Weddings That Parents Drag You To

Adam Ali

Age fifteen, two years from present-day

          When she walks into the room, I think my heart is about to stop functioning correctly. The beats in my chest become irregular and suddenly, everything around me has no purpose, no significant meaning.

          I don’t hear the clinking of silverware as waiters around me carry trays to various tables. I don’t hear the soft romantic music in the background. I don’t process how Bilal is trying to get my attention, trying to tell me about the newest gadget that Apple is coming out with.

          I feel like I’m twelve again, the age I was when it dawned to me that somewhere in my heart, I’d reserved a place for Maysa. Corny, yes. True, also yes.

          We are at a posh hotel, at some wedding that the Muslim community was invited to. I’m a guy, so weddings naturally aren’t my thing. I never found interest in the long speeches about how amazing the bride and groom are, or how they crashed their first car. The romantic music always makes me roll my eyes, and the smell of millions of flowers makes me sneeze. And the weird mix of happy/sad crying at the end? It makes me want to scream and run the other way.

          But going through all this torture turned out to be worth it because the moment I turned to glance at the door, she came in, her beautiful face radiating happiness.

          She looks so graceful as she holds a bouquet of flowers, in line with a bunch of other girls who were standing in two rows as the bride enters the room and begins making her way towards the stage with her father by her side.

          Zakariya is sitting next to me and he mumbles something about how the bride is pretty. I can’t honestly say that I agree. My perception of beauty is standing quietly, her large brown eyes fixated on the bride. She looks over and catches my eye. She smirks and grins widely.

          For a split second, I blank out on what to do. The manly part of my brain is screaming at me to wave back at her, wink, do something, but I’m mesmerized, totally taken by this girl who manages to rock my world without doing much at all.

          I wink at her and discreetly wave. The bouquet in her hands moves a little as she waves with three fingers back at me. Before I get carried away and think some non-Islamically-acceptable thought about how she looks, I lower my gaze.

          After the bride gets up on the stage, the recitation of the Quran begins, made by one of the college guys from the mosque. It’s beautiful, the second best thing about this night. Then, the long bout of speeches begins. I feel myself growing more and more impatient and fidgety.

          I feel a tap on my shoulder and Zak is looking at me with a grin on his face. He slides a napkin over to me. In pen, he has drawn a tic-tac-toe board. This is why this dude is my best friend. He understands why weddings are boring to the extreme.

          Twenty intense games of tic-tac-toe later, the Speeches of Torture end and the food is set out. The guys and I all make our way to the long line. The food is delicious – I mentally dub that as the third best reason as to why this night isn’t that bad.