"You give me the kind of feeling people write novels about." __ novelistsoul❣
"Mujhse kaha gaya mehnat (محنت) karna,
Maine nukta palat kar mohabbat (محبت) karli. ➳❥
•••••••
Ishq-e-laa Mahdud (Infinite love)🦋✨
➤ Qarar-E-Ishq (Firmness of love)
Rumaa...
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"The best of you are those who are best to their wives." — Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ)
•••••••
The qazi recited the nikkah, the words sealing them into a halal relationship. Halal on paper, at least. But was it truly halal when their hearts weren’t in it? Then again, they had agreed — if you could call Inaya’s quick surrender "agreement."
The villagers offered their congratulations like it was any ordinary wedding, as if they hadn’t just dragged two unwilling people into marriage after midnight, with complete strangers as their witnesses, proudly calling it their way of delivering insaf.
Yeah, right.
Azlan, however, wasn’t half as furious at the villagers as he was at Inaya. This girl — this utterly reckless girl — had jumped in with "I’m ready" as though she had handed him the best possible option. And even now, with the dust barely settled, she had the nerve to ignore his glare.
Some humans never learn, and Azlan, well… he was a living example of that. Not that it was fair to judge him solely by his past mistakes — but right now, the man was a volcano holding back an eruption.
Inaya sat there stiffly, uncertain what to do. The village elders were huddled together, murmuring about something she couldn’t hear. She didn’t dare glance at Azlan; she didn’t need to. She could feel the weight of his stare boring into her from the side.
But what choice did she have? Then again, like he had one either…
Forty minutes after the so-called nikkah, Azlan’s assistant finally pulled up at the entrance of the masjid. Azlan had contacted him the second the Qazi finished the last word, and now, the "newly married" couple found themselves in the car — groom at the wheel, bride in the passenger seat.
Azlan drove like it was their last ride on Earth. His jaw was clenched, veins standing out on his forearms, knuckles white from the death grip on the steering wheel. The engine hummed, but the air inside was thick enough to choke on.
Inaya, on the other hand, had switched to her own survival mode — quietly reciting Quranic verses under her breath. Not because she doubted Allah’s mercy, but because, well… if she was going to die tonight, she’d rather her next stop be heaven.
Her hands gripped the seatbelt like it was a lifeline, nails pressing into the fabric.
And her mind? Utter chaos.
Should she cry because she’d just married the man she loved, yet knew he didn’t deserve her? Should she smile because, despite everything, she was now his wife and not married off to some random villager from her worst nightmares?
