AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE
In the depths of tradition and societal expectations, a young woman named Layla finds herself caught in an arranged marriage to Muhammad, the son of her father's close friend. At just 19 years old, Layla embarks on a journey th...
Assalamu Alaikum. Hey guys! This is my first book on wattpad. I need your love and support on this! I can't do it without you, ya know? I hope you'll enjoy the book.
Here are some words that I'll be using in the book!
Gelin (bride) Kız (girl) Anne (mom) Evet (yes) Hayır (no) Abla (sister) Ağabey (elder brother) Bacım (sister) Canım (my dear) Nolur/ lütfen (please) Kuzum (my little lamb or my dear) Aşkım (my love) Damat (groom) Sağol (thanks) Teşekkürler (thank you) Güzel (beautiful)
MISS LAYLA'S AESTHETIC ✨
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Thankyouu 💕💕
I was sitting by the window, sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting soft shadows across my room. My favorite spot. Wrapped in the warm cocoon of my blanket, I was lost in the pages of a novel, the words carrying me far away from the reality of my life. Every so often, I'd glance up at the world outside—a world that seemed so far removed from the complexities of my own.
But then, my peace was shattered.
"Leyla! Anne is calling you!" Norah, my pesky younger sister, shouted through the door, her voice high-pitched and full of urgency.
I groaned, rolling my eyes. Peace, disrupted.
"I'm coming!" I called back, but I could feel the irritation rising within me. Why did they always call me at the most inconvenient moments? I had been reading a particularly thrilling part of the book, and now it was lost to me.
With a dramatic sigh, I pushed the covers off and swung my legs out of bed. I grabbed my hijab from the ottoman and trudged downstairs, dreading the interruption. If there was one thing I hated more than being disturbed during my personal time, it was my mother's relentless questions.
"Anne ben buradayım, I am here." I greeted as I entered the living room, sitting next to her on the two-seater couch.
Her eyes, dark with concern and irritation, looked me over, shaking her head slowly. "Yanzu, Ke Layla, har three kina bacci?" she asked, her Hausa a little very rough around the edges but clear enough for me to understand. "Are you still sleeping at three in the afternoon?"
I stiffened, my guilt crawling up my spine like an unwelcome guest. She was disappointed, and I hated that feeling more than anything.
I mumbled something incoherent, my eyes darting to the floor, avoiding her gaze. I knew she'd already scolded me countless times for my late nights and lazy mornings. But at nineteen, who was really ready to be tied down by the responsibilities of adulthood?
Norah, ever the cheerful little devil, popped into the room with a plate in her hand, dropping it on the coffee table as she left. "Anne, allow her," she called out to Anne, her voice mocking but sweet. "Let's see how she'll handle herself when she gets married."
