LOVE WITHOUT DESTINY

part 8

The sun had risen over Syed Imran's home, casting a warm glow that heralded a day of joy and solemnity. The house buzzed with activity, adorned with white flowers, golden drapes, and flickering candles that created a serene and elegant atmosphere. Guests arrived in their finest attire, and waiters moved gracefully, serving refreshments as the stage was set for Dua's nikkah.

Inside her room, Dua sat in quiet anticipation, her heart beating faster with each passing moment. Dressed in a stunning ivory and gold bridal outfit, she was a vision of grace. Her henna-adorned hands rested delicately in her lap, the name "Ayaan" hidden artfully in the intricate designs, a small secret of love that would soon be blessed.

The groom's family entered with dignified simplicity. Ayaan, dressed in a regal sherwani, was led to his seat near the Qazi Sahab. His calm demeanor reflected his understanding of the significance of this day.

As the Qur'an was recited, the room fell silent, the words resonating deeply with everyone present. The Qazi Sahab praised the union of two noble families, emphasizing the sanctity of the bond being formed.

The haq mehr was then discussed and agreed upon-a sum of 2 cr rupees along with a piece of heirloom jewelry, symbolizing both families' respect for the bride and their desire for her happiness.

Finally, the Qazi turned to Dua, who sat behind a delicate silk screen for privacy, and asked:

"Dua bint Syed Imran, do you accept Ayaan bin Mirza Farhan as your husband, with the agreed haq mehr of 2 cr rupees and gold, according to the laws of Islam?"

Her soft yet steady voice replied, "Qubool hai."

The question was asked two more times, and each time, Dua's voice grew stronger, her certainty shining through: "Qubool hai. Qubool hai."

The Qazi then turned to Ayaan. His answer came without hesitation, his voice firm and confident: "Qubool hai."

This was repeated twice more, and each time, his tone carried the same unwavering conviction: "Qubool hai. Qubool hai."

The Qazi raised his hands in prayer, asking Allah for blessings, love, and happiness in their new life together. The room echoed with ameen, marking the conclusion of the nikkah.

Amid the joyous atmosphere, Zain stood at the back, his presence subdued. His mind wandered to the past few days, to the pain he had tried and failed to suppress.
Two nights ago, during the mehndi ceremony, his world had tilted when he saw Amal's hands. Her mehndi was intricate and beautiful, but his eyes had frozen on one detail-the name Sam written boldly amidst the patterns. It was a name he hadn't expected. It was a name that confirmed the love she held for someone else.

The realization had been unbearable. That night, in a moment of anguish and helplessness, Zain had cut his hand, unable to find another way to release the turmoil inside him.
Now, as he stood in the nikkah ceremony, his hand throbbed faintly under the bandage. The wound had barely healed, but the pain of his heart felt far deeper.

His mother noticed the bandage and approached him with concern.

"Zain," she said softly, taking his arm. "What happened to your hand?"

He stiffened at her question, his thoughts racing. He couldn't tell her the truth-that he had hurt himself because of Amal. That he had been unable to bear the sight of her love for someone else.

"It's nothing, mom," he said, forcing a small smile. "Just an accident."

Her brows knitted in worry as she gently took his hand. "This doesn't look like a small accident," she said, examining the faint bloodstains on the bandage.