"People have meet cutes, ours was an Eid Cute . This is the story of the Eid we Met. "
Amidst the fun and chaos of Eid celebration, Maha comes across Isahaq whom she is instantly drawn towards .
Maha is captivated by his gentle demeanor and charmin...
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Third Person POV
Tahira picked up the chandbalis, carefully wearing the heavy earrings before wrapping the golden hijab loosely around her head. She looked ethereal in an emerald green saree, with silver zari work all over. It was her cousin's mehendi after all. Most importantly, Ashar would come.
The thought of Ashar immediately brought a smile on her lips, which she quickly wiped away.
What if someone enters her room and sees her smiling like this on her own?
To her the name Ashar was just like the soft cotton candy she yearned for as a child, sweet and sugary, one that lingers on her tongue even after she finishes eating it.
The halls were decorated with golden fairy lights, dark green and royal blue clothes draped over, forming the ceilings, in between which pitch black velvety sky peaked.
Qawwali music from notable singers played in the background, while guests in vibrant green and blue clothes mingled all around, exchanging handshakes, jilabis or latest gossip.
Ashar's mother approached, looking elegant in bottle green katan, while his sister, pretty in parrot green lehenga smiled and waved from behind. Tahira approached them, saying salaam, pinched his sister's cheeks and nervously looked around. Her eyes couldn't find the pairs they were searching for. Ashar was nowhere in sight.
Two hours passed. Tahira smiled at everyone she met, exchanged greetings, while drops of sweat gathered around her neck. Her eyeliner became weary, so she finally asked Ashar's mother, "Aunty, won't Ashar come?"
"No maa, I don't think he will. He went to meet a friend."
She wanted to text him. What if he ghosts her? Even after switching her phone on and off, viewing the message option several time, she resisted the urge to text him.
Who was this friend who was more important to him than her?
Before Tahira could ask any more questions, another aunty came and started talking to her.
The song 'Ghalat Fehmi" melted with Tahira's thoughts and she looked around, while the small beating machine inside her ribcage slowly got torn apart into pieces. She did so much. She did too much.
The bride's side and groom's side were supposed to wear different coloured attires.
She changed it so they could wear matching outfits. She made her cousin send the emerald green punjabi to Ashar's house. She bought chandbalis. She borrowed Nanu's saree.
Everything is crap. Everything.
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