The Unwanted Marriage

Chapter 45

Amina's POV

I was sitting at the edge of Zayd's bed, wrapped in a soft haze of joy, my heart fluttering with emotions I could barely contain. I was married. To him. The words felt surreal, like poetry whispered by the wind. My hands trembled slightly in my lap as my mind replayed the wedding—each moment blooming in my memory like fresh roses in spring.

I giggled softly, cheeks heating as I remembered the shy way I had whispered "Qubool hai" beneath the canopy of flowers. That sacred moment, that soft surrender... and then—he appeared.

Zayd had walked through the curtain of flowers like a dream carved in light, his pastel sherwani glowing under the soft golden lamps. My breath caught. He looked... breathtaking. Handsome didn't even begin to describe it. I couldn't take my eyes off him.

Without a word, he strode toward me, his eyes never leaving mine. And then—suddenly—he scooped me up in his arms.

"Z-Zayd!" I gasped, startled, holding onto him tightly.

He twirled me around with a laugh, his voice husky as he murmured, "Alhamdulillah."

Laughter and cheers filled the room, but in that moment, all I felt was him. I buried my face in his shoulder, shy, my heart pounding. When he finally set me down, he hugged me so tightly, I felt like I'd melt into him.

"I can't believe I get to live with you forever," He whispered in my ear.

His shoulders shook slightly. I blinked, only to realize—he was crying.

Ya Allah...

Emotion gripped my chest. I gently pulled back, only for him to whisper against my ear, "I love you."

My eyes filled. "I love you too," I replied, brushing the tears from his cheeks. He smiled, then kissed my forehead gently.

Everyone clapped and cheered, laughter echoing around us—but we were in our own little world, tucked in between du'as and dreams.

A soft knock on the door pulled me back from the memory.

I was now sitting on the middle of the bed, my bridal veil—my ghunghat—draped over my face, heart racing wildly. The room was lit dimly, petals scattered across the sheets. I could hear the door creak open, then footsteps approaching slowly.

It was him.

I clutched the sides of my dress nervously, palms cold, breath caught in my chest. The bed dipped beside me.

"As-salamu alaikum," he whispered, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine.

"Wa-alaikum assalam," I whispered back, barely audible.

Then, gently, he began to lift the veil. My hands clenched as I held my breath. Slowly, reverently, he pulled it back fully, revealing my face to him for the first time tonight.

I kept my eyes down, cheeks burning under his intense gaze. 

He reached out and lifted my chin softly, making me look at him.

"MashaAllah..." he breathed. "Breathe, meri jaan."

Only then did I realize I'd been holding my breath.

I exhaled shakily, and slowly, I lifted my hand, placing my cold palm on his warm cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into my touch like he'd been waiting for it forever.

Then, shyly, I leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, Zayd," I whispered, my eyes blurring.