Dare You To Love Me

«21» so be it

On the eve of July 5th, the Farraj family’s courtyard had transformed into a vibrant hub of celebration. Tents adorned with plush cushions, and low-slung tables which boasted of exotic fruits, richly spiced dishes, and local drinks were artfully arranged.

Beneath each tent, invited guests had their henna applied, while some engaged in merry conversations and dances.

Rich Arabian music played in the background, adding to the mix of laughter that drifted around the environment.

The air carried the alluring scent of bakhour, and a blend of smoky incense with subtle spices that wrapped around the atmosphere in an intoxicating mix of sensuality.

Upstairs in his bedroom, Fou’ad Farraj leaned against the windowsill, a dopey grin on his face, as he tried to catch sight of his future bride.

“Fou’ad Muhammad Farraj!”

“Oh dear, someone’s in trouble,” Jawad snickered, as Hayat barged into the bedroom, seething with annoyance.

“What on earth would possess you to change the wedding decor? We have less than twenty-four hours till the nikkah. JJ was crying when she called me, I honestly have no idea what to do with you. Soyayya hauka ne?”¹

Half-listening to her scolding, Fou’ad’s attention remained locked on the largest tent where he knew Yaseerah was seated, his heart racing in anticipation, hoping each time the tent’s flap fluttered, it might reveal the enchanting sight he yearned for.

His silent prayer was answered when a sudden gust of wind teased the tent’s flap open just sufficiently for him to catch a fleeting glimpse of her–head slightly tilted as she listened to something one of the ladies with her was saying.

In a moment of pure joy, he turned to face his siblings, squealing like a teenager. “She is so beautiful!”

“You aren’t even listening to me,” Hayat huffed, before she took off her shoe and flung it at him, aiming for his head.

Fou’ad dodged the projectile, and the shoe sailed out the window, landing straight inside the tent, narrowly missing Yaseerah who sat closest to the tent’s opening by mere inches.

Heart racing, Fou’ad rushed towards the window, hoping the shoe hadn’t landed on anyone, most especially not his bride-to-be.

It took him a few seconds before he spotted the shoe due to the distance between his window on the third floor, and the tent in the courtyard below. And when he did, a sigh of relief escaped his lips because the shoe hadn’t hurt Yaseerah.

Leaning against the window for support, as he fought to regain his breathing back in control, Fou’ad released another sigh of relief, saying alhamdulillah for the missed target.

He had no idea what he would’ve done if the shoe meant to hurt him had hurt her instead, because he had dodged it.

“It missed her,” he said out loud, earning snickers from Jawad and Abbad who had elected to be silent during the whole scene.

Annoyed at missing her target, and the fact that Fou’ad was unrepentant about possibly ruining the wedding reception, Hayat stormed out of the room barefooted in a fit of annoyance, her husband trailing after her, attempting to calm her down.

“Look at him, smitten like a schoolboy,” Abbad teased, elbowing Jawad playfully. “Yaseerah has you wrapped around her finger. And to think, you still haven’t said a word to her.”

Fou’ad’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment, as he slid against the floor, avoiding his siblings’ gazes.

“You know you could just go downstairs and introduce yourself to her right?” Jawad suggested, to which Fou’ad shook his head adamantly. “Instead of lurking around and watching her from the shadows.”