Preamble:
One thing I had not planned while picking out my wedding attire was the fact that I was going to run away during my nuptials. Yes, right off the altar, and the fact that I was going to run straight up to a silver BMW with my driver being none other than- I think it’s best if I cut off my fantasy right there.
None of that happened. At all three of my wedding events I sat adorned in Paki/Indian outfits and heavy jewelry. My makeup applied to perfection, and my hands resting on my lap. It seemed to me like everyone but I was having the time of their lives. While I daintily sat, keeping my comments to myself.
The worst part was the fact that I had traveled from America straight to Pakistan to get married to someone I did not even know. I was also forced to socialize with the millions of cousins and family members I did not even know existed.
I had spent my whole life abroad in America. Soon after I had gotten my bachelors degree in business, my father decided it was time for me to marry.
I hadn’t seen my husband yet, not until my Nikkah, when we were told to sign our names on a parchment, forever binding our heart, soul, and body to one another’s.
-----------------------Comment if you think I should continue------------------------------
