Fragile Lies

Fragile Serenity

Novel By: Zaf Faris Stories

Title: Fragile Lies

Chapter 3: Fragile Serenity

Long before the sun came up, the village was alive with excitement. It was more than just a wedding; it was a sacred meeting of hearts, a celebration of love shaped by Allah's will.

Women hurried into the compound, their hands fragrant with henna and their laughter booming like wind chimes beneath the baobab trees.

The fragrance of simmering spices, including ginger, cardamom, and cloves, wafted from the clay ovens, engulfing the day in warmth.

Drummers began to play as the sun reached its highest, their rhythms drawing people from far and wide.

Hauwa's relatives, clad in flowing boubous and beautiful hijabs in gold and emerald hues, filled the courtyard like a blooming garden. Children clapped and danced around them, and dust rose from their bare feet as they sang.

Inside the family house, Hauwa sat quietly, her heart racing with emotion. Her abaya shimmered softly in the filtered sunlight, and her silver-embroidered veil topped her like a lovely moon.

Elderly women approached her, chanting prayers and blessing her with oil-slick hands and Qur'anic phrases. "May this union be filled with barakah, and may Allah protect your hearts," they muttered, kissing her brow.

Outside, the Imam's voice increased steadily while reciting the nikah in rhythmic Arabic. The groom's side had arrived in respectful silence and humble gladness, giving simple presents such as dates, cloth, and honey to represent peace and sincerity. There was no luxury, only dignity and divine presence.

When Hauwa was summoned, her eyes rose, not in fear, but in surrender to the adventure ahead. She came out gently, accompanied by her aunties, as the women let out joyful ululations that pierced the sky like songbirds.

The brief and deliberate exchange of glances between her and her groom was enough to pause time. It was the union of two souls entrusted to each other by their Creator.

Following the du'a, the celebration continued with emotional dances, community meals, and songs passed down through generations. Women sang about marriage struggles, patience, and joy, while elders gave honeyed wisdom under the moonlight.

Hauwa didn't smile much that day, not out of sadness, but because the emotions were too intense. Her heart had both the memory of loss and the desire of something fresh.

But, as her mother grasped her hand and whispered, "Your father would be proud," a single tear fell down her cheek-and there was serenity in that.

The air smelled like cardamom, fireplace, and nostalgia. I sat still, knees nestled behind layers of soft fabric, as a pleasant murmur of women's voices surrounding me.

My aunt ran her fingers over my hair, adjusting a wayward curl beneath the edge of my veil. She didn't say anything, and neither did they, but their presence surrounded me like lullabies I hadn't heard since I was a child.

The ancient matriarch beside the door said a du'a over a bowl of perfumed oil and dabbed it on my wrists as if to remind me that this moment, this day, is precious.

I could hear the drums outside, with a deep, steady sound ringing across the village walls. It wasn't only music. It was a call, a declaration: a daughter of our earth is marrying today. My heart pounded faster than the drumming.

Not because of dread, but for reasons that are more difficult to articulate, such as standing at the edge of a river that you must cross alone, even if everyone else on the beach cheers. I looked down at my hands, which had been intricately henna-painted the night before.