A Match Made In Jannah

Chapter 21

Husna's POV

After the guests had left, I silently began to assist my mother to clear away the dishes and neaten up the house. She didn't say anything to me, and I didn't feel the need to fill the silence with words. It gave me time to think about what had just happened. I wasn't sure about my decision, but unlike what I had assumed before Nabeel had arrived, the answer wasn't a clear 'no'. I had quite a bit of thinking to do and had to give my final answer soon.

I ran upstairs as soon as the work was completed and instead of pulling out my psychology textbook like I usually would, I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.

My mind wandered back to the conversation Nabeel and I had had, and I remembered his cheeky, sweet grin and smiling eyes. The dazzle of his pupils was an image embedded in my mind. I recalled his slight dimples when he smiled and his curved, thick beard. He was everything I could dream of and more.

Yet, I knew I shouldn't be thinking of him, much less dreaming of him, because I loved Zaid. Regardless of what happened in my life, it was always the moon's whispering of "Zaid, Zaid, Zaid" at night that lulled me to sleep.

And it was then that my decision became clear
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The next morning I rushed downstairs at seven o' clock in the morning, tied on my apron and began to work on something. To be quite honest, I had no idea what I was going to make, but I felt the need to make anything, just anything.  I pulled open the wooden cupboard door and flipped open my recipe book and ran my finger down the index page. It was my own recipes that I had collected over the years, but being the neat-freak that I was, I had left the first two pages blank to list all the recipes as I wrote them, accompanied with their page numbers that I had written at the bottom of each page.

Scones!

While these might seem traditional and plain, the latter was untrue. Traditional, yes, but quite tasty and light for a snack in the afternoon. Besides, scones were my granny's speciality, and being the sentimental person that I am, I loved to preserve my history.

At the end of the hour that I had spent baking, my face was smeared with butter and my clothes were caked with flour, not to mention the bits of dough that had found its way into my hair. I ripped off the apron, ran upstairs and took a long, luxurious shower. I pulled out the soaps and lathering bath products that I had previously stashed away at the back of my cupboard, and treated myself to bliss after a long time.

Then, I pulled on a bathrobe and began to clean my room. My cupboards were stripped bare, the carpets vacuumed and the windows scrubbed till they were spotless. I pulled out a few shoe boxes, my bottles of paint and a stencil, and began to paint the boxes in pastel blues and pinks, and then used the circle stencils to paint gold polka dots. Then, I labelled each box with a gold marker, and neatly arranged all the junk I had in them. Some were marked "Hair Accessories," others "Art Supplies" and so on. Being the hoarder I am, I couldn't throw away all the useless items in my drawers, so I made 3 labels with "junk", "junkier junk" and "incredibly junky". I laughed at my humour.

Once my cupboards were sorted out, my room dusted, my cabinets rearranged and the carpets spotless, I ran downstairs and set the breakfast table. Sunday was the breakfast highlight of the week, and today I had prepared the food before my mother could come down. The eggs were ready to be made, the biscuits laid out neatly on a platter, bedha roti and dhodhi were put into cute serving bowls and the smell of sizzling steak, sausages and kebaabs wafted upstairs.

My mother walked into the kitchen and looked at me suspiciously. There was no way HER lazy daughter had done this. Still, she kept quiet because she knew I had a short fuse and if she blew it, the moment would be over.

My father clambered down the stairs and when he saw the table laid out so beautifully, he kissed my mother on the cheek and told her that she had really outdone herself. My mother shook her head and told him that his daughter had for once made herself useful.

He laughed and told me that I was finally becoming my mother's daughter. Then he said, "Husna, it's like you're so well prepared to be a housewife. I didn't know you could do this. The last time you made me toast it was burnt, and don't get me started on the tea."

I hid a small smile because to be quite honest, I still didn't know how to make tea.

"Actually Abba, that's what I need to tell you about."

I paused. "Breathe, Husna," I told myself. In, out, in, out. I could do this.

"I'm... I'm... I'm... Going to say yes to Nabeel."