Completing half of my deen [a Muslim love story]

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎- 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚒𝚔𝚊𝚑

♡

I twitched my eyes causing my clogged mascara to irritate the bottom of my eyelid. Batting my lashes a few more times, I was able to get the clogged piece off. My sight was filled with vivid colours moving around the hall. Women were dressed in beautiful garments, matching headgear and clinking jewellery. From time to time my nostrils were engorged with the aroma of several delicacies, causing my appetite to escalate. I could smell the familiar basbousa, kanafeh, baklava and rice puddings. Instead, I straightened my posture allowing my wedding gown to fall elegantly against my body.  I could not properly comprehend this moment. A day I had fantasized about since I was merely fourteen. I rubbed my lips together and smiled.

" My darling Asma, the guests are all wanting to greet you,'' my mother appeared, panting before me. The wings of her pink dress lifted as she gestured me to the tables. 

" I'm shy.." I hesitated.

" Shy from who? We are all here to see you, to celebrate this great day. Today you are the centre of attention. The bride is the main focus of a wedding. Come on" she reassured me, while gently pulling onto my forearm. 

I bit my lip and looked into her eyes. She was so excited, so proud, so happy for me. Why was I being shy?  

"Alright" I carefully say getting up from my seat. " If these people want a show, I'm going to give it to them". 

My mother laughed. She knew that I was an introvert. 

I felt flustered as my mother took my hand and helped me off the stage. In my peripheral vision, I could see people looking at me. I gulped as I thought about greeting everyone and having small talk. 

As I walked I could feel my feet beginning to hurt. The heels were high and I was certain that I would have blisters by tonight. I pushed the thought out of my mind. I could not believe that I was a bride. Everything happened so quickly and gradually at the same time. If you know anything about Arab weddings, you would know that they are big and crazy. Go big or go home. The hall was luxuriously decorated with every kind of sparkle and shimmer that you could imagine. There was a dance floor, an indoor DJ, a kid's play area. Even a bar. Mocktails, anyone? 

If I could have my way I would jump on the table that had a chocolate fountain and open my mouth wide enough to take in as much chocolate as I could. I would stuff my mouth with desserts and drink down mocktails with mint and strawberries. I would run to every table and rate each person's outfit. I laughed to myself as I walked with my mom down the aisle. I felt the intrusive thoughts leave my mind as I wiped sweat from my upper lip. It was hot in here. 

By this time, people were slowly filling their seats and helping themselves to the savouries and refreshments on the table. People looked up from their plates and smiled at me. I sheepishly grinned as I thought about how many people I did not know. Arab weddings.  

"Do we really have to greet everyone seated here? " I say with slight apprehension in my tone.

"One who doesn't thank the people, cannot possibly thank Allah" my mother calmly says.

I remained silent. I guess I was just going to smile and wave. Just smile and wave.

We stop at a table in a corner. 

" Yahya! " I shriek.

" Little one," he says. " Mabrook! Alf Mabrook!" he gets up from his seat to hug me. I am careful not to get any makeup on his suit.

" But how? How? We spoke on the phone last night. I thought you were still in Sydney. I thought you couldn't make it - what? " I ecstatically say. 

Yahya punches his fist in the air. " Surprise! I could never miss my best friend's wedding. Never. Plus, free food. I see it as a win " he wiggles his eyebrows.