Tainted Ties

4. Lights of Change

Suhaira's point of view :

Weddings have always carried an undertone of melancholy for me. They're beautiful, yes, but they leave you with questions that linger long after the lights dim and the music fades.

Watching someone get married makes you wonder-will you ever find someone who feels like home? Someone who becomes your best friend, your anchor, your partner in every sense of the word? Or will you spend your life bending to the will of someone who doesn't see you as an equal?

For a girl especially, a wedding often marks a bittersweet farewell to everything she's ever known. It's not just leaving a house; it's leaving behind the comfort of familiarity, of being surrounded by people who've known you your entire life.

You're expected to embrace a new home, a new family, and a new set of unspoken rules. It's like walking into an unknown chapter, hoping it turns into the story you've dreamed of.

But for Amal, I wasn't worried. Shahmeer adored her in a way that left no room for doubt. It was in the little things he did-the way he always carried something sweet in his bag because he knew Amal had an insatiable craving for candy at the most random times. The way he'd offer her his umbrella on a rainy day, even if it meant he'd get drenched himself. The way he'd sit in the library for hours, carefully writing notes for her, ensuring every word was legible and every point covered.

But what made them perfect wasn't just Shahmeer's devotion; it was the way Amal loved him back. She always remembered the smallest details about him, like how he preferred his coffee black but added a pinch of sugar when he was stressed. She'd surprise him with his favourite books or cook his favourite meals just to make him smile after a rough week. And when he was lost in his thoughts, worrying about his next assignment or exam, she had a way of grounding him-placing her hand gently over his and reminding him to breathe.

They weren't just in love; they were each other's person. They had found a balance, a partnership built on care, patience, and understanding.

Watching them, I couldn't help but feel a bittersweet ache, a longing for something as certain and unshakable as the bond they shared.

Clearing my head of those lingering thoughts, I turned to the floor-length mirror for one final look at myself.

I was dressed in one of Mama's dresses from the 90s. A rich, dark green lehenga with its intricate silver embroidery shimmering softly under the warm light of my room. The fabric clung to me with elegance, as if it was sewn for me. Its traditional design exudes timeless grace. My chiffon dupatta, bordered with delicate silver lace, draped effortlessly over my shoulders. Jasmine flowers adorned my loosely braided hair, and their gentle fragrance was adding a touch of nostalgia to the air.

I'd kept my makeup minimal-a soft blush, a hint of kajal framing my eyes, and a light gloss on my lips. Heavy makeup never suited me anyway.

The door burst open, and Mahrukh, already dressed to perfection, strode in with a theatrical gasp. Her outfit-a deep maroon ensemble with golden embroidery-made her look regal.

"Apiya, how long are you going to-oh ho! MashAllah!" She clasped her hands together dramatically, her hazel eyes twinkling with mischief. "Aaj toh koi be-intiha khubsoorat lag raha hai!"

I rolled my eyes at her antics, trying to suppress a smile.

"Have you gotten ready for someone special, hmm?" she teased, leaning against the dresser with a grin that practically screamed trouble.

"Special? Amal ki Mehndi pe konsa hero milega mujhe? It's just family and close friends," I replied nonchalantly, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear to keep her from further mischief.