LUCENT

20

NADIRA

The day has been nothing short of eventful. The walima organised by Tayyib's aunts had taken my friends, cousins, and me by surprise. We had shown up in tight-fitting clothes and were met with stares accompanied by whispers. Turns out, it was an actual walima, complete with a khutba.

Amna and Laila had laughed their asses off, claiming they had mentioned the workings of the event in passing, but I didn't care enough to remember. Luckily, Laila could lend me an abaya and kept me company whilst my friends and family returned to change.

Mama and her sister laughed it off, saying it was an innocent mistake, but the battalion of aunties from his father's side did not have it. They made snide remarks all morning and told any guest who would listen about the incident. Kausar had advised me to ignore them, stating they were always like that.

Tayyib and his brothers were nowhere in sight, which made sense as it was a women-only event. Manal had also been missing in action. I asked after her, but Amna and Laila only brushed it off, saying something along the lines of "probably sulking somewhere," whilst Kausar gave them a look. They did not elaborate, but they didn't seem to care much.

Once the event ended minutes before Zuhr, we prayed in one of Amna's guest rooms before hopping in the car. Arriving home, I changed into a pastel yellow skirt and blouse. I stuffed my face with masa, a perk of being bare-faced, before heading out to join the festivities.

I dropped onto the chair beside Saliha as we watched Maryam and Muhibba dance together. Saliha bopped her head to the music, smiling.

"I love Kidan kwarya," she says, eyes on our friends.

"Then go dance," I urge.

"Never. You know I have two left feet," she responds.

I got up, tugged her arm, and pulled her into the dance circle. "We can embarrass ourselves together."

She attempted to leave, but Maryam and Muhibba cornered her. "You're not going anywhere. You're happy for your friend, right?" Maryam asks and Saliha nods.

"Then show it!" Muhibba encourages, gripping Saliha's shoulders and swaying her from side to side. After much persuasion, she moved her feet, and before you knew it, we were having the best time.

As evening time approached, the music ceased, and the house went silent as people hurried to find a place to offer salat. My friends and I locked ourselves in my room as usual, passing around hijabs and scooting to fit on prayer mats.

My once heavily decorated and crowded room was now a shell of its former self. I had taken down the wall art and posters as my mother asked. I knew she would quickly convert the room to something else as she had done with my sisters'.

My closet now only housed a few empty boxes and bags of clothes I had arranged for my mother to give out. The dressing table is cluttered with my bridesmaids' bags, veils and stray items, no cosmetics or make-up to be found. The bathroom is empty, the shoe rack bare and the bookshelf now void of my classic literature collection.

Reality was giving me a backhand slap as I looked around the room. The space I had spent my childhood and teenage days, happiest memories, saddest memories, and threw the most elaborate tantrums. If the walls could speak, they would write a memoir for me.