My Quiet Wife

Chapter 8: The Day of the Marriage

It was a morning of heavy, unspoken emotions at Nawab Haveli. The sun cast a gentle glow over the sprawling mansion as Jahanara sat in the quiet of her room, her heart a mixture of prayers and trepidation. She wore a breathtaking red lehenga, gifted to her by Salma, its intricate golden embroidery shimmering faintly in the soft light. There was no need for makeup—Jahanara's natural beauty was enough to make anyone pause in awe. But in her lap, a true miracle of life—her two-year-old daughter, Malika, curled up in her white gharara, fast asleep.

Jahanara's fingers gently brushed the little girl's soft hair, her heart heavy with a single thought: I want her to have a better life. Her thoughts wandered to the countless prayers she had whispered in the stillness of the night—prayers for Malika, for her own life, for a future she couldn't control. She understood now why her mother had always been desperate to give her a better life. She understood the love and sacrifices made for her to have even this small chance. Today, she would pray again—praying that Malika would grow up free, loved, and cherished, the way Jahanara had never been.

Salma entered the room, her eyes softening as she saw Jahanara and the sleepy Malika There was a maternal pride in her gaze, and after a moment, she offered her blessings. "You are beautiful, Jahanara. May this day bring you peace, for Malika's future."

Without another word, Salma turned and motioned for the helpers to prepare, signaling that it was time to leave. The car was waiting, the journey to the mosque had begun.

Sheesh Mahal stood in grandeur, its marble floors polished, the scent of fresh flowers filling the air. The hall was already alive with the soft murmur of voices, the rustling of fine fabrics as family members began to gather.

Sufiyaan descended the grand staircase, clad in a black velvet sherwani that oozed understated luxury. The fabric had no embellishments, but the richness of the material spoke volumes. He looked every bit the powerful man he was—commanding, quiet, and yet, today, there was a tension about him.

In the hall, Malik, Anila, and Reyan had already arrived, dressed in white. Reyan, as excited as ever, ran to his father, throwing his arms around him. "I'm so happy to have a mama now, Baba!" he exclaimed with a grin that was impossible to ignore.

Sufiyaan smiled at his son, his heart swelling with affection for the boy. But his gaze shifted to his father, Malik, who stood nearby, his face unreadable. There was a silent tension between them, an unspoken understanding. Yet Anila intervened, her hand gently resting on Sufiyaan's head as she whispered a prayer for him. "Blessed be your life, my son," she said, her voice soft but strong.

Ibrahim, already present at the venue, was overseeing the final preparations. His heart swelled with pride for his brother's new chapter.

The families gathered at the mosque, ready for the nikkah ceremony. Jahanara was seated on one side with the women: Salma, Anila, and Malika, while the men—took their seats on the other side. Flower garlands were placed between them, hiding the bride and groom from one another.

The Imam began reading the verses, his voice soft yet commanding as he asked Jahanara the pivotal question: "Do you accept Sufiyaan Baig, son of Malik Baig as your legal husband with a haq-mehr (gift) of 20 million dollars?"

The silence in the room was thick, and for the first time, Jahanara spoke. Her voice, though soft, was the most soothing sound any of them had ever heard. "Qubool Hai,"(yes) she said, repeating it three times, each utterance carrying weight in the air.

Sufiyaan, still watching her from behind the flower garlands, found himself momentarily transfixed. It was as though he had never really seen her before. She is beautiful, he thought. But before he could process it further, the Imam turned to him, his gaze expectant.

"Sufiyaan Baig, do you accept Jahanara Noor, daughter of Noor-e-Jahaan as your legal wife?" the Imam asked.

Sufiyaan's cold, deep voice answered, "Qubool Hai."(yes)

The words were final, and as the ceremony concluded, a silence fell over the room. A new chapter had begun for both of them, one forged by family and circumstance, not by love.

Everyone congratulated each other, but Sufiyaan's focus was entirely on his new wife. He approached Jahanara and, with a momentary glance at the veil covering her face, he reached forward to lift it. His breath caught in his throat as he saw her face for the first time fully.

She was even more beautiful than he had imagined—her features delicate, soft, and perfectly framed. She had a quiet grace about her that was impossible to ignore. He studied every inch of her face, from her high cheekbones to her full lips, and most of all, her long, dark hair that framed her face like a halo. But she refused to meet his eyes. Her gaze was fixed downward, her hands trembling ever so slightly.

Reyan, ever the energetic child, suddenly dashed forward and wrapped his arms around Jahanara. "Mama, I'm so happy you're here! You'll come home with us now, right?" His voice was filled with innocence, but Jahanara didn't respond. She kept her eyes lowered, her silence like a veil of her own.

Reyan, seeing her lack of response, felt a pang of disappointment. He stepped back, but before he could say more, Sufiyaan's temper flared. Anila, always perceptive, intervened. She quickly turned to Reyan, offering a comforting smile. "Reyan, look at your baby sister," she said gently. "Her name is Malika. You need to protect her, okay?"

Reyan looked down at the small bundle in Anila's lap and immediately brightened. "She's so cute! I will protect her and love her." He grinned as he picked her up carefully, cradling her with the tenderness that only a child could muster.

But then, Reyan, with a child's curiosity, asked, "Why doesn't she speak?"

Salma, smiled softly. "Jahanara is a quiet person, so Malika doesn't know how to speak so well. But you can teach her, you are her big brother now. She has beautiful gray eyes, just like yours."

Sufiyaan glanced at his daughter, his heart doing something strange. Why do I feel this connection to her already? He had always thought of himself as a man who didn't need to care for anyone but himself and his business, but as he looked at Malika, something inside him stirred—an impulse to protect her, to keep both her and Jahanara from harm. But at the same time, a darker thought nagged at him. He was going to make Jahanara life hell. He had promised himself that.

The farewell ceremony was a quiet affair. Salma hugged Jahanara tightly, tears streaming down her face, her arms full of warmth and affection. But Jahanara, though she understood the sentiment, did not return the embrace. She felt a deep sense of abandonment in that moment—by Salma, who had done the same thing her husband had. Salma had tied her fate without ever asking her opinion, made decisions for her without giving her a voice in the matter, and now, as her hands held Jahanara close, it only reminded her that her life had been dictated by the choices of others. She couldn't bring herself to feel the same affection for Salma anymore, not after what had been done. The guilt weighed heavily on Jahanara's chest. She knew Salma meant well, but it felt as though the woman had imposed her own will on Jahanara, much like Nawab had, as if she were a pawn in a game with no say in the rules. She felt trapped, like an unwilling passenger on a journey she had no control over, with no one asking if it was the path she wanted to take.

Nawab attempted to hug Jahanara, but she stepped back, her eyes distant. She didn't feel like he had the right to say goodbye, not after everything he had done to her. His approval, or lack thereof, no longer mattered.

The families departed for Sheesh Mahal, the silence between them all heavier than ever. Jahanara sat with Malika in her lap, Reyan nestled between her and Sufiyaan. Despite the proximity, Jahanara couldn't bring herself to look at her husband. No man in my life has ever given me anything, she thought bitterly. They've only ever taken.

As the car rolled down the road toward Sheesh Mahal, the weight of the day's events settled on her shoulders. She had been married to a man she barely knew, and the future felt more uncertain than ever.