WOVEN ✓

C H A P T E R - 7

I am the one who has brought death a knocking

Then who is to blame when the murdered is the murderer?

- Arab poet (Don't Be Sad, p. 284)

CHAPTER SEVEN

The weekend before the nikah was a blur.

With two trips to the salon, hours shopping for the balloons and purple flowers, and testing out the menu for the nikah, the day arrived too soon for her to process.

She felt suffocated under her perfect exterior. Her newly manicured hands rested on the velvet of her dress, the heavy embroidery lay in uneven highs and lows under her palms. The clothes looked even better once she wore them; the color combination was perfect, the fitting of the dress was loose enough to serve as modest and tight enough to not look frumpy. Her fingers were embellished with gold and silver rings that had once belonged to her mother – now hers after being resized from a size seven to ten. Her hijab was elegantly wrapped around her head and tucked in from the side. The silver headpiece she wore with the matching heavy bangles on her arms were the ones Momin had dropped by Momin last week. Both of the pieces of jewelry had belonged to Momin's mother, and were now being gifted to her.

The makeup artist they had hired had done a great job of defining her almond eyes which looked back at her in horror now. The perfect shade of pink on her lips matched the redness of her freshly moist cheeks. Layers of makeup hid away her frenzied state, each passing second making it harder for her to breath.

She stood up, inching towards the window from where she could see half a dozen of black vest waiters and a couple of men in casual clothes setting up the tables and snacks in the backyard. The men along with her father were changing the table arrangements again and again to see which suited the rectangle yard, oblivious to what was happening only a few feet away from them.

She swiftly turned on her heel to stare back at her reflection. Her mother had left her in the room an hour ago, telling her to wait there until the guests started to arrive. She had been growing uneasy since then, each look in the mirror leaving her more uncomfortable than the last time.

How could she pretend to sit there calmly when numerous thoughts plagued her mind. She would be getting married in less than two hours. Two hours. Was she ready for such a commitment?

Fat, ugly, and dumb. The words echoed through her. Her breath caught in her throat. Memories of the past poured in, memories of an incident that would haunt her her whole life. She tried to push those memories away, but the recollection of those three words had already done their damage. No, not today. She refused to think about that day today.

She fell to her feet, an ache raked through her whole body, the pain coming instantly and without another warning. She wanted to resist it, but she knew that she couldn't. Everything of that day connected to this one.

Six years ago she had dared to dream about a man adored by the entire school, today she was marrying a man adored by countless others. She had allowed herself to go against the school hierarchy, today she was going against nature. Ugly people get ugly people, what were you thinking?

Hareem shrieked, pulling at the jewelry that was weighing her down. The solitaire studded headpiece wrapped around her hijab fell to the ground, a hijab pin clattering along. She removed her matching bangles, throwing them to the floor beside her. The glass bangles shattered, the metal and gold ones bobbing away.

A sob escaped her throat as she reached for the dressing table across her, her hands trembled, and her mind unwillingly recalled that day.

She was sixteen back then, naive and full of hope because she had lived in a blissful bubble till that day. She was to be taking part in her very first public presentation along with the group who were organizing the whole event. The group was going to present a play, an interactive session and a quick powerpoint presentation, which was solely made by and was going to be narrated by Hareem. The theme of the entire event was the importance of, success and significance of Pakistan's national poet, Allama M. Iqbal.