"Ride it" - Jay Sean
Unedited
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"Haii, my son is getting married!" exclaimed Ammi.
Zayn turned to look at her, amused.
"Are vah. You look like a shahzadah," commented Aboo. (Oh wow), (Prince).
He smiled at both his parents in the mirror reflection he was standing in front of. He wore a three piece
tuxedo today. The trousers, jacket and waistcoat were all black and he wore a cream shirt to match Syra's dress colour. He was in the middle of tying his black tie, pushing it right to his neck before his parents had come in.
Zayn held all 6"4 of him proudly, with dignity, pulling down his cuffs and jacket. He was mostly glad to be wearing his black formal shoes - all the other days the kuseh had obliterated his toes. He put on some cologne on his chest, neck and wrists, careful not to over do it. He wore all his rings; this time on his left hand ring finger was his engagement ring, so he wore a jewelled band on his index, and on his right hand he wore a similar silver one on his middle finger & a plain one on his pinky. He put on his monogrammed bracelet next to his chain bracelet on his right hand, pulling down his cuff sleeve over it.
On his left he wore a watch. He didn't know where it had come from, someone had posted it through his letterbox so he wore it, assuming it was from Syra or one of her family members. Or his. He loved the way it looked though, he wasn't a watch person but looking at this made him want to be one. It didn't exactly match but he didn't care.
He put it one and yanked his sleeve down; he knew if someone saw it the would demand he take it off and put on the black one he had received from his Nana on Eid. (Maternal grandfather).
"Zayn beta, come on its time to leave!" called Ammi.
With one last quick look in the mirror Zayn ran downstairs, the chaos downstairs covering the little beep that came out of the watch.
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Zayn sat on a settee, facing a the cloth that was currently acting as a barrier between him and Syra. Once the nikkah was performed, everyone would leave but not before they dropped the barrier, giving the newly weds ten minutes alone. The nikkah was happening in a side hall of the masjid, specifically sectioned off for events like this. So everyone would escape to the prayer area to give out little bags of sweets and stay for a bit once the pair came out, and leave respectively.
"Do you, Syra Hayat Siddiqi, daughter of Sikandar Alam Siddiqi, accept this union?" asked the Imam, who sat on Zayn's side of the room. Her mother and sisters sat with Syra.
A silence prevailed, spiking Zayn's anxiety. It felt like it had gone for ages before he realised she had simply spoke too quietly. She repeated herself louder,
"Qubool hai,"
His heart thumped loudly.
He asked the question again, and she repeated,
"Qubool hai,"
His palms begun sweating slightly.
The question was asked one last time, she again said,
"Qubool hai,"
Zayn exhaled shakily, trying to get a grip of himself before the Imam turned to him.
"Do you, Zayn Malik Ahmed, son of Asfandyar Ali Ahmed, accept this union?"
"Yes, qubool hai, qubool hai, qubool hai," he rushed out all at once, not wanting to waste any time.
Laughter filled the room at his antics. Zayn rubbed his hand up and down his face, embarrassed but he firmed it, smiling sheepishly at everyone.
He couldn't remember exactly what happened next, he just fidgeted, waiting for everyone to leave the room. Slowly everybody filed out, not before Abba
mentioned he had a ten minute timer on.
Zayn stood up, nervous before he reached up and pulled down the the drawstring with the tassle. The two cloths dropped from the middle, parting and revealing his Syra, sitting down on her settee, smiling up at him. He was stunned by her appearance yet again, this time her dupatta was set in the middle of her head, showing her glossy sable hair which had been combed back into a bun. He had always imagined her with black hair, so the brownish strands around her face surprised him. He found he loved it more, just as he would to any part of her.
She stared right back at him, her bright emerald eyes twinkling, expecting his next move. After he stared some more, she did her signature eyebrow raise. She looked like an absolute hoor. (Extremely beautiful woman, extraordinarily gorgeous or something idk).
"Wow. Just wow. I - you look amazing. I - dunno what to say. Mashallah. Woah," he stuttered, eyebrows raised, eyes wide with shock.
"Shukriya. You cleaned up nicely too," she said, a lot more confidently. (Thank you).
Why, thanks, said the prideful side of him.
He went up to her and put his hand out, his eyes never leaving hers. She placed her delicate hennaed hand in his, gripping it as he helped her stand up. He didn't move back so she stood up right into his arms. His hand left hers and snaked around her waist, pulling her as close as he could without ruining her clothes, her resting her hands on his chest. Her close proximity dizzied him, he savoured her lavender scent he had missed so much. Holding her like this felt like the most natural things in the world, like he'd done it a dozen time before. She fit right into his arms, like a puzzle piece, as she had when she had ran into his arms the first time they had met. God, that seemed like a lifetime ago.
"Finally," he spoke quietly, letting his eyes roam her faces, taking in every detail as he always did, this time taking his sweet time.
Yeah he would be checking her out 24/7 but who would stop him? She was his wife after all.
His wife. His pride filled up upon thinking that.
Syra didn't say anything, just laughed a little, with a hint of nervousness. This greatly amused him.
"Are you going to ignore me now? Like you had done all the time? Greet me the last?" he asked, humour dancing in his eyes.
"Maybe. Perhaps I did - what would you do then?" she responded, a challenge burning in her eyes, all traces of her previous nervousness wiped away.
Zayn's playful demeanour dissipated; his pupils expanding into his silver-grey eyes. He dipped his head lower, his eyes betraying him and trailing down to her glossy lips, before flicking back to her eyes, which still burned with the passion of a challenge.
"Maybe I'll show you when you come over to my house. At the end of this week, hmm? After New Years." he responded, brushing his nose against her cheek.
And with that he stepped back, removing his arms from her. His self control begun to waver; he didn't want to scare her off straight away. Just in time actually, because someone begun knocking on the door. He put good distance between them and smiled challengingly back at her.
Two could play at this game.
The door opened and in walked her friends, so Zayn left, leaving a very vexed Syra behind.
And a soon-to-be very obvious erection growing in his pants so he legged it to Aboo's car to calm down.
The second time she had been so close and he had reacted the same way. He had to get a hold of himself - he couldn't be getting hard every time she was in his arms. They hadn't even kissed. What would happen to him then; he didn't even know.
He knew he would not be able to see her the rest of the week. Today was Tuesday, he'd see her on Friday evening. The last day of 2021. And then the whole weekend he would have with her. Ammi had let them use the attic, but just this once she had said. Then on Monday morning he'd take her home, spend some time with his in laws and return. When college would start, he'd take her straight to his house from there on Fridays and bring her home after college ended on Monday. During the week, he would frequent her house, but he knew they would barely be alone over there.
He decided he would get a job. He would work in Halfords - they were hiring young people anyways. A decent wage too. Which would go straight to his savings. He had to save a lot - buying a house in one of the most expensive cities in the world was not easy. His activities had earned him a great amount of money already - each fight gave him at least 1 grand. That was a lot of money, especially for someone his age. And he had fought twenty five fights, some earning him up to 1.5k. Not to mention he had some money from his delivery service too, roughly 800 quid from that.
He used to have a legal job too - he worked in the supermarket ever since he was fourteen. A part time job. From then till now that had accumulated him about 300 quid - he's used some too. He had some from Eidi as well - having a big family meant he received more money from them too. That got him a total of roughly 700. Lastly - he had to thank her parents for this one - they had said they did not want any boxed gifts for the wedding, so people gave money instead. It was smart - they could choose to spend that money and they didn't have their own place, so they would have nowhere to keep anything they gave to both of them.
He had slowly been transferring his money from cash to his bank account ever since his dad made him one when he was sixteen, and now he had finished adding it all. It was much safer that way, it gave him anxiety when he left piles of cash hidden all across the house. But he'd hidden them well, he'd only been caught once and thankfully that had only been his Eidi so he didn't get much of a scolding.
He checked his account balance: £35,750. He was satisfied. That was a very good amount of money for someone his age. He wasn't sure how he'd dodge the questions on how he'd gotten most of it, but Syra knew and she'd help him through that.
He had been ready to spend his money on Syra - it was his responsibility and her right in Islam. Even if she was a millionaire, if she wanted him to buy her necessities, then he'd have no choice. His money was both of theirs, her money was only hers.
But she had flat out refused. She reasoned that she wanted him to save up for their future, and she would be chipping in too. She still used her fathers money and stayed in his house, they both did. She had money from her henna business - which she used to buy her bits and bobs here and there.
She told him during holidays, there were tons of brides ready to book her, and each bridal coat at least 100 quid; some even went up to 400. It depended on the amount of henna, the intricacy, the time it took, how far Syra had to travel, the type of henna and if they wanted the aftercare package. So he had agreed, it was very mature and reasonable of her. But he had assured her that if she wanted to stop contributing or start using his money, she had every right to and he'd never be against it. She said she would transfer £25 weekly, and she had stuck true to her word.
An average property in London costed roughly half a million. That was a lot. He wanted to move out as soon as possible. He wasn't even at half of 100k.
What's wrong with starting fighting again? a sneaky voice in his mind put in.
He couldn't do that to Syra. Or could he ask her? She had not seemed opposed to it that one time.
He would definitely not begin through the same contacts but maybe he could go to Sudbury? Or Harrow, Kingsbury? He couldn't go Alperton - they were beefing with his town, and he couldn't risk any of them recognising him. He would definitely get shanked - they took turf wars so seriously. He knew many stories of dealers being stabbed because they sold on someone else's turf.
Since when are we dealers? came that voice again.
He wasn't a dealer. But he had helped transport shît for a while. He had taken some too. But he'd promised himself he would never get into that again. Drugs were a whole other business, and that game had a lot of competition and got dangerous really quick.
He didn't fight guys who didn't want to be fought. In fact, they are the ones who make the first challenge, he would just accept it. He did admit that he would often anger some guys here and there so they could come and challenge him. He tried to do a fight every week, but he had to give the other fighters a chance too.
Zayn would speak to her tonight. He would lay his cards out on the table and take her advice.
He ignored the part of him reminding him of Rafael's warning. He'd gone to Mexico, so he wouldn't know.
And he was sure going to another town would let him raise his rates up. They must have heard of his reputation. It was a good one, for he was rather young.
All for his future. For Sia.
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So how'd you feel about his latest thoughts? Lmk.
I know I didn't focus much on the actual marriage bit but dw the weekend is coming.
2350 words.