His Runaway Bride

|6|- six

Nakil

I stood in front of the full length mirror, adjusting the buttons on the sleeves of the grey shirt my mother had gotten for me to wear just for the party. My dyed brown hair had been jelled back, exposing a broad forehead that had a black lining in the middle from where it touched the ground several times.

Stormy grey eyes peered back at me, the hallow look in them taking me back. Today was supposed to be the day I met the woman I was getting married to, but I couldn't help but feel guilty. I hadn't slept a wink the other night because my mind had been crowded with thoughts of the woman in the garden.

Her dark eyes which were thoroughly beautiful. Her voice which was silky and soft, liable to bring the dead back to the world if the Lord allowed it. Her fingers were long and delicate, raising a certain burning sensation in the pit of my stomach when I remembered the henna painted fingernails.

She was ethereal. And the white gown she had on only confirmed that fact.

The tears on her face had glistened under the sun like they were glittering diamonds and I had been overcome with the urge to wipe those tears with my hands and wound them all into a diamond necklace just for her.

If she looked so beautiful while sad, then I could only wonder how she'd look when she was happy. Would her eyes squint a bit when she smiled? Or would she bare her teeth in merriment when she laughed? She was a piece of code I wanted to decipher. A mystery I was yet to solve.

Ya Allah, let me meet that woman just one more time...

"Brother?" Jamal called as he walked into my room. His long hair was packed into a loose ponytail and he was dressed in a black power suit and matching trousers. The suit molded his broad shoulders perfectly, as expected, because Jamal was more of a gym animal. Nuhr was hitched high on his hip, dressed in a similar outfit as his father. "The party is in full swing already. Everyone's expecting you already."

"Really?" I said, my eyes widening as I checked the wristwatch on my wrist. It spelt 8:30PM. The dinner party had long begun since evening and I never realized I took such a long time to get ready. The woman on my mind was the reason for that. "Is my fiancée here yet?"

Nuhr leaned away from his father so he could grab a lock of my hair. I leaned back instinctively away from his grasp because if my nephew got a hold of something, it was quite hard to get him to unclench his fists. He frowned in annoyance as he kept reaching, his blonde head bobbing. At that moment, he looked more like his mother.

"She is, actually. She's been interacting with everyone all this while." Jamal answered. Nuhr had stilled in his efforts and was now playing with his dad's suit button, his chubby fists attempting to detach the object. "One problem though, she is using some kind of niqab to cover her face."

Niqab? No one had told me my future wife was intending to cover her face. Not that I was against it but it just felt a little strange that she had to begin wearing it, especially on this night.

"Is anything the matter?" I asked.

Jamal scratched his head, grinning. "Apparently, it's typical woman trouble. Mother asked her why and she replied that a zit suddenly appeared on her face last night and she couldn't bear you seeing her that way."

"I don't care about the zit," I muttered and I meant it. Facial looks were often superficial and a little thing such as pimples wasn't enough reason for me to call off the marriage. "She sounds like an extremely self conscious woman."

"Trust me brother, self conscious women are the best." Jamal said, patting my uninjured shoulder in assurance. "I can't count how many times Surah didn't wear a dress anymore just because I didn't compliment her when she wore it. Hayat sounds like that."