" I don't wanna blink, cause I am afraid to miss even a second of your cuteness"
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An arranged marriage-a bond forged not just by families, but by fate. She's clumsy, adorable, and full of quirks, while he's the calm, steady presence who falls...
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Jannat's pov
My parents were the idol couple in everyone's eyes because, no matter how much they quarreled, they made up quicker than anyone could imagine. They were admired for always being together. Maybe that's why they are lying beside each other even now, even after closing their eyes forever.
The evil eye is real, and it is terrible—I can clearly see it.
Maybe Allah loved them so much that He didn't want one to suffer when the other was gone, so He called them together. That's lovely—but what about their kids? We're not even adults. One is 19, and the other is just six. Too young to be in this world all alone with some relatives whose fakeness is clearer than a transparent sheet. They don't even bother to hide their love for my father's bank balance.
Some say it's better to show what you feel than to stab someone in the back. I would disagree. Watching their daily annoyed expressions, which clearly scream you're a burden just two weeks after my parents' death, is way better than them pretending to care while waiting to stab us later. At least this way, the pain is spread out instead of hitting all at once.
Ammi loved roses. Abbu loved bringing them to her. So today, in my trembling hands, I hold fresh roses—the same ones that always made my mother shy. Tears of pain, regret, guilt, and memories run down my cheeks, yet somehow, I manage to bring a soft smile to my lips. I remind myself it's real. It's been more than two weeks since my parents left me and my little brother all alone in this big, cruel world.
People say, Have patience. Everything will be alright. I do know Allah will make it right, but when my Ammi's and Abbu's bodies, wrapped in white shrouds, were lying right in front of me, how could they even say that? Two huge pillars of my life were snatched away so easily, and they tell me to have patience? How could they even utter such words?
I wish having patience was as easy as it slips off their tongues.
"Ammi, Abbu, I love you," I whisper between my sobs. I do love them—that's why it hurts so much. I take a deep breath and wipe my tears. These stupid tears. Even though they're in my eyes, they never obey me.
"Ayan is doing fine. After a long break, I've sent him to school today—" I smile to myself, thinking about my brother, before telling my parents about my daily routine and what I plan to do. Even though they can never hear me, surprisingly, it feels really good.
"I'll be leaving now. Don't want to be late on my first day of work. You know how punctual your child is," I mumble, getting up and dusting my black burkha, which is now covered in dust. I wave toward their graves, take one last glance, and walk away.
