The Year of You (on hold)

chapter 2

"Do you, Muneerah Sulaiman bint* Adeel Muhammed Sulaiman, accept Nabeel Naqvi ibn* Hussam Abdel-Saeed Naqvi for the amount of 10,000 dollars mahr* to be your husband?"

"I accept."

"Do you accept?"

"I accept."

"Do you accept?"

"I accept."

I never thought I'd be hearing myself say those words, accepting Nabeel as my husband, nor did I ever think I'd be hearing him accepting me to be his wife. Especially since I'm only 18 and Nabeel is almost 24. But that's what happened. Exactly how it happened. A few months before the nikkah, my brother brought forth a proposal, of sorts. He asked me, if I'd ever mind being Nabeel's wife. I didn't want to tell him I wouldn't mind at all. But before I made any desicion, I prayed istikhara*. I prayed istakhara for 2 weeks, and each time I prayed, I felt happy and over joyed afterwards. I felt, it could be Allah telling me it's the right thing to do. So I told Yunus and Yunus told Nabeel and Nabeel proceeded in telling his father. Over joyed, Hussam Uncle spoke to my father, and my father spoke to my mother, and they both spoke to me. Eventually, by some miracle, it all worked out and I found myself in front of the sheikh* saying the words, "I accept."

It was one of the happiest days of my life. I didn't know what i was getting myself into at the time, but I thought, God loves me enough to give me what I want, and I didn't feel a single regret. Then we had our wedding, and the whole time through Nabeel was being such a sweet considerate gentleman. I thought, if my istikhara felt positive, I shouldn't feel any fear. I made the full intention to marry him for the sake of Allah, and with His consent. I got the dress I'd been dreaming of, the Desi wedding I'd always wanted with dabke*, and Nabeel was being so kind and generous, making sure I was alright and happy the whole way through.

We shared our first dance on the floor as a happily wedded couple, all our family and friends were cheering and clapping, sharing our happiness. Everything seemed so surreal.

We've known Amu Hussam and Khala Saleema since we were young. They were interracial themselves, Amu Hussam being from Iraq and Khala Saleema being Syrian. Of course that meant they didn't mind their son marrying a half Indian half Egyptian girl. I've always been more prominent with my desi side. It's probably because my mother is the one who raised me and she's Indian. Nabeel has always loved my mother's cooking and my mother taught me everything she could, and I learned from my Nanima* as well. Yunus always talked about how Nabeel said he'd love to marry an Indian girl. In a way we were both getting what we wanted. I've had something of a crush on Nabeel ever since he became my brother's best friend, but I never spoke to him directly, nor had any contact with him prior to our marriage. I only ever dreamt that this day would come. He had dark wavy hair and the perfect shade of dark brown eyes. He's well built. Though Nabeel is much paler than I and also much taller than me, 6'2 while I barely reached 5'5. I didn't know Nabeel too much before marrying him but I knew him enough. Besides, Hussam Uncle is a sheikh, and sheikhs don't lie.

The Wedding Night.

I take in the grandeur of Nabeel's bedroom when I am placed so delicately on the bed, by Aisha and Khala Saleema. I am almost completely wowed by the excellence of the drapery and cherrywood finish coffee table, which matched the bed set and the furniture in the room. The hardwood floor is accented also with a cherrywood polish and the cream colored suede couches attract most attention in the dimly lit room. The bed is decorated with flowers and rose petals, and there are candles lit all over the room. A glass door peeks through the curtains indicating a balcony that hides behind it. I can't wait to check this place out.

As I sat on the bed, waiting for Nabeel to come in, like a South Asian bride does, I ponder all the possibilities that could happen when he steps through the door. I silently thank the woman at the salon who un tightened my curls and make them looser, which also accented my face. Alhamdulilah, I've been blessed with Indian silky hair, and Egyptian curls. The lady at the salon did my makeup at a bare minimum, as I asked her to keep it simple, yet elegant. The only thing standing out on my face would be the slight wing of my eye liner and the matte shade of my favorite color lipstick. And of course the tikka and matching earrings and the dupatta of my Sabyasachi wedding dress. She did my liner in a way that my brown eyes would seem lighter.

I've dreamt of this day, I've imagined it so intricately to the last detail and Alhamdulilah everything is going the way I wanted. I never expected to be really sitting and waiting for Nabeel. I decided I should pray 2 raka'at* shukran Allah before Nabeel came in, so that I don't have to pray it later. I lay my prayer mat on the floor and prostrate in front of my Lord. I finish my prayer and raise my hands making dua and thanking Allah for all of His Blessings. as I get up from my position, I find that Nabeel is already in the room, sitting on the bed. He was watching me pray, I think. "I'm really sorry Nabeel but could you please leave the room and come in like 2 minutes after? Please? It's just I've always wanted this moment to go exactly the way I've dreamt of it-" he silences me, and leaves the room. I set myself on the bed, and sprawl out my dress and he knocks, then enters. I'm looking at my hands, and I can hear Nabeel's footsteps drawing closer until he comes around to the bed where I'm sitting.

He sits down, next to me.

I'm still staring at my hands, as he takes one of mine into his. "Muneerah." He says. The way he says my name sends shivers up my spine. "Your nanima told me about a tradition in Indian culture, called mu-dikhayi*?" I reply with a slight nod of my head. He places his free hand under my chin, and lifts my head asking me to look at him. But I can't meet my eyes to his. I've never had a man this close to me ever before. "Look at me" he says, and I lift my eyes to place them in his. "I bought you this necklace as a gift", letting go of my hand and pulling a small box out of his pocket. "I didn't know whether you'd like it or not, we can go and exchange it tomorrow, I chose the one I liked best though." He opened the box, and I watched him, then he pulled the necklace out in front of me and I gasped at its beauty. One single diamond surrounded by smaller diamonds, holding the center together in a tear drop shape. "N-it's beautiful. I love it. We don't have to change it", I say barely believing that Nabeel bought me this. "Can I put it on you?" He asks. I look away and he takes it as my consent. He draws in near me and asks me to push my hair back. I can feel his breath on my neck as he fiddles with the chain of the necklace. My own breath hitches as he gets so close I can feel his heart beat. "Why don't we get all you're jewlery off so we can talk." he says suggestively. I take off my bangles and he puts them away into a box, and the tikka and matching earrings and necklace also. After we're done undolling me, he takes off his pathani* leaving him in a t-shirt and shalwar*. Again he sits down on the bed near me and leans into my face.

"There's a few things I have to tell you" he whispers, I can feel his breath cooling my hot cheeks and I don't dare look at him.

"I promise I'll treat you right, and give you your haq*, if you promise not to interfere in anything I do." He says in a hushed voice. "I want you to be as obedient as you can be. Don't expect anything from me. Gradually you will find out the type of guy I am and don't let any of it be a surprise to you. I want you to understand that I'm used to doing what I want and no one ever stops me. I except the same from you. Now please excuse me, I need a shower. Oh, and wash off the makeup, you don't need to doll up for me." He says, standing up.

I'm at a loss for words as he leaves me alone in his room, our room, on the night of our wedding. Silent tears slide down my face as the impact hits me. Ya Allah, I think, what is this?

dictionary:

mahr: an islamic right the woman has, if she doesn not recieve mahr she is not obliged to get married mahr comes solely from the woman's husband to be, she is allowed to ask for how ever much she pleases

istikhara- a type of prayer performed when seeking guidance from Allah SWT

sheikh- the islamic religious leader of a mosque

dabke- a traditional arab dance

nanima- respctful term for maternal grandmother in hindi

raka'at- a position during prayer which is commonly used to measure how long the prayer is

mudikhayi- a gift a husband gives to his wife on their first night spent together after marriage

pathani- an indian menswear

shalwar- bottoms

haq- rights

A/N: that took a turn pretty quick! ahah really hope you're all enjoying it, don't forget to comment and vote!