His silence is his Pride (ON HOLD)

Chapter Twenty Two ♥ "The wedding"

                                              

                                                  Chapter Twenty Two 

                                                      "The wedding"

                                          "في الإنتظار، نموت كثيرًا و لا نُريد سوى الحضور"

  

Mahra

The night before the wedding

I was sitting in my room looking at a picture of me and my mother-in-law, Umm Zayed, from yesterday’s function. I was covered with gold from head to toe and wore a traditional Emirati green dress on my laylat-al-Henna. Despite me refusing to dress in a conventional manner, my mother insisted I do since she is a very traditionalistic person. She even did a Miksaar for me, which is a very old tradition where people show all the stuff the bride buys for herself, to the guests; such as clothes, shoes and gold.

I looked through the pictures and saw a picture of me and Laylah sitting together, another with me and Mona, there was also one where I was smiling at a joke which Zayed’s grandmother had cracked when she came to meet me. It was a nice one, the picture I mean. Another one where Sara and I sat together, I noticed my slanted backbone and posture, my neck a bit tilted, which didn’t look good.

Quick note to self: Sit straight no matter how tired you are.

But I wasn’t to be blamed for being tired; my days were spent going from the mall to the dentist and to the beauty Salon, and my nights were spent thinking about Zayed, who wasn’t just any man I first saw at work, he was my husband now, by obeying the Sunnah of Allah and his messenger­­­­.

No longer integrated with the pictures, I was lost in the beautiful memories that I made with my to-be family, when a soft knock on my door made me look up. The door knob clicked and in came my mother along with my aunt Amna —who’d stayed here last night — with a loving smile in their eyes.

“Hala Mahra,” They both greeted in unison. My mother walked up to the large rectangular box that was placed on the floor, carrying my wedding dress and sat down beside it. Aunt Amna on the other hand came to sit beside me on the chair near my window.

This was weird!

 “What’s wrong?” I asked, eyeing both of them.

“Nothing,” I heard Aunt Amna say. She took my hand and looked at the dark brown color of the henna on my hands.

“Why would something be wrong?” mother joined in, opening the box and running a hand over my dress. Not receiving a satisfying reply, I stared at them for an explanation for their unexpected arrival.