His Runaway Bride

|7|- seven

Hayat

I sat numbly in front of the dressing mirror that stood in the midst of my room. My hands were decorated with various kinds of henna and my hair was styled in a braided ponytail, underneath the gorgeous golden coloured headscarf I had on. My mother-in-law, who had insisted that I call her ummi had specifically ordered it from a world famous designer brand as a gift.

Today was my wedding day.

My eyes were dark, the rims decorated with kohl that was as dark as night. My face was highlighted and contoured with the best make-up kit in town and done by a popular make-up artist my husband's family had hired. Black lipstick coated my lips, emphasizing their fullness.

I had insisted on having my lips painted black, although the make-up artist had disagreed vehemently. In the end and with an heavy sigh, she concurred with my decision. Black was what I felt right now. It was the colour of my heart.

I had tried my very best to stop this wedding from happening. Everyday, counting from the day my uncle had dropped the bombshell, I pleaded with him with him to change his mind. He shunned me and pretended like I didn't exist.

I took Firdaus' advice to try and repulse my newly wedded husband by swearing loudly and stuffing my clothing with an horrid mixture I and my friends had spent the night concocting with a bit of Hassan's help, releasing it the exact moment he walked in.

I even pretended to have something on my face so whenever he met me, he wouldn't insist on the Nikkah because of my looks. Not that I thought I was exceptionally beautiful but Firdaus hadn't been convinced otherwise. Despite all of that, he still decided to go on with the wedding.

My heart was filled with loathing for this man who, working hand in hand with uncle Fuad was determined to shatter my dreams. I didn't know what kind of man he was and whether he would encourage me finding a job and publishing my novel. My uncle could have the heavy sums the Shams family would pay for the mahr but I would have none of their money.

I did not even know how he looked. At the balcony, where we met last week during the dinner, his face had been cloaked by the night. The only thing I was aware of was his towering height. My heart beat hard throughout the time I was rambling about the origination of dust bunnies, all because this tall, brooding man scared me. He spoke very little and although I had expected him to react out of revulsion because of the horrid smell, he only remained silent.

I hadn't expected that he'd continue the wedding. The news had shattered my spirit. I fainted immediately, only to find myself in my room when I was revived. My uncle had come to renew his threats, choking me harder this time. I couldn't tell my siblings, who kept questioning me about my rapid decision to marry.

They knew I was keeping a secret from them and it hurt to know that I didn't want to share it. Kayra had stopped talking to me, only replying in one word syllables. While Khalid only sneaked a few furtive looks at me. We were drifting apart, yet I didn't have the heart to tell them. I was the sacrificial lamb, so my siblings could be saved.

Be strong.

I muttered to myself. It was the one mantra I had kept repeating to myself since my world came crashing down. When random women had rushed into my room early in the morning, Aunt Mariam among them, to design my hands with henna, it was what I uttered to keep my sanity. When I stood in the middle of the sitting room, my uncle's heavy gaze on me as I uttered the words that sealed my fate 'I accept', my heart was murmuring these very words.

Here I sat, alone on my insistence, waiting for my new husband to arrive back from the Masjid so he could take me to his apartment. Aunt Mariam had filled my ears with news of his family's wealth, how he was famous for some kind of occupation that I didn't listen to because I had tuned out and how he was extremely handsome.