No Conditions, Whatsoever

Us

Reminder: Salah before everything else. 

Author's PoV:

“Baby blue,” said Mariam.

“Royal blue,” Zaara protested.

“Dono same nahi?” Ayan questioned. (Aren't they the same?)

“No!” the women exclaimed in unison.

“Alright,” Ayan raised his arms in surrender, though still confused. He was trying to select a shirt that would be perfect for his meeting with Feiha's family. He was anxious and wanted everything to go perfectly. “Should I wear black?”

“Are you going to a pub?” Mariam placed her hands on her hips. She was standing at the balcony of Ayan's bedroom with a sheet mask on her face.

Zaara was checking the list of gifts they'd be taking with them for their hosts. “Astagfirullah,” she shook her head and continued with her work.

“What about grey?” Ayan picked a formal grey shirt out of his wardrobe.

“Gloomy,” Zaara yawned, making Ayan stomp his foot on the floor in annoyance. “Okay wait,” she got up and started rummaging through the wardrobe.

Ayan let his sister-in-law do what she wanted and walked over to his mother to have a talk.

“Mom,” he stood beside her and put his head on her shoulder.

Mariam, being hardly five feet in height, looked like a child in front of her own son. Ayan was almost an entire foot taller, his brothers the same just like their late father.

“Your Dad would have been so happy,” she caressed his cheek. It was a bittersweet moment for her, that is, to see her youngest one on his path to get married.

Like every mother, she had always had a dream to see all her children settled in their lives with their own families. A dream that was now going to come true.

She was also a little scared to let go of her last child. No, she wasn't possessive of him. She just knew that she'd miss being protective of him. He was going to become a man, a guardian of his wife. He would no longer be his mother's “mischievous little brat.” He would no longer come home and tell her immediately about how hungry he felt. He would be different…just different.

But she was dying to welcome Feiha into her house. Mariam knew Feiha well and she couldn't have been happier for the pair. She was obviously a bit sceptical about the whole “infertility” issue but her son's happiness mattered to her the most.

“I can't wait to plan this wedding,” she kissed Ayan's hair, “yours will be the most lavish one,” she whispered in his ear, making him chuckle.

Ayan raised his head and looked at his mother’s face that was hidden under the weird looking mask. Clearing his throat, he started, “I need to discuss something with you.”

“Go on,” Mariam encouraged, tapping her cheek with a finger to help with the absorption of the liquid.

Ayan straightened up and took a glance at Zaara who was still busy with his wardrobe. “I…have found an apartment. For Feiha and myself.”

Mariam nodded.

“It is one BHK and it's an hour drive from here.”

“One BHK?” Mariam blinked, “Shouldn’t you look for a bigger one?”

“I can't afford a bigger one,” Ayan cast his eyes downward, “the wedding itself is going to cost a fortune. I, therefore, was thinking that we should perhaps have a simple Nikah and then a close knitted Walima.”