Good? Great.

Im such an idiot

I finished sewing the last piece of fabric together and went to get another needle as mine decided to break. It was a simple design that I was working on but the touch fabric was too much on the small needle of mine, Just as I as about to put it in my mother called up to my room, "Romaisa, uh let's talk," I sighed knowing what this was going to be about.

My parents had given me the marriage talk a year ago, the talk every Muslim girl gets at some point in her life. It was beneficial but all of it just made no sense at the time. A year later and I realized why they had given it so early.

The last man that came to ask for my hand in marriage. From the the tiny peaks I took to look at him, he was cute, but not handsome. His personality was trash but this was the third one that had come so I couldn't blow it. His mother loved me, with how she kept smiling at me to the way she complimented everything I did.

That is until the part where my mother took her to the kitchen to tell tell her about my uniqueness.

That's when she looked at what was hiding under my white maxi skirt, and that's also when the son got confused, it was also when they left. Throwing a quick 'we'll call you' over the shoulder that is.

"Yes mama?" I ask my gorgeous hazel eyed mother. She looks at me with a sad smile and says, "my dear....I'm sorry but they said no..I don't know why, youre so beautiful and modest mashAlla. Apparently the son was okay with it but the mother wasn't..."

I went over and hugged my mother, "it's okay mum, I'm used to it, it wasn't made to work out, Allah is the best of planners remember. Now let's put all this stupid marriage talk put away, come look at the design I'm working on!"

My mom let's go of me but holds onto my face, "oh Romaisa you're so strong, oh and before I forget, Shiza called, she wanted you to come over later, something about a wedding..."

I clap my hands excitedly and grin, "really?! Shiza mentioned something like that but I never took notice of it, oh can I please go to the wedding please!"

My mother laughed whole heartedly, "calm down there, you don't even know who's wedding this is! But let me look at your design first then you can go to her house okay?" I nod happily leading her to my room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

After my mother praised me some more for what I made for the Muslim woman fashion show, I went to get ready. Putting on black jeans which took a while, and a purple laced shirt that came up to my knees, I put my hair in a bun. I decided to wear a black hijab with it and put a purple flower pin onto the side. I applied lip balm, and one swift of mascara.

I glance at my reflection through my greenish bluish eyes that I inherited from my father and smile, looking down at my outfit I notice a bulk in the jeans. With a sigh I bend down and lift up my pants, fixing up my 'leg' I say alhamdullilah because I know I could've had worse. Other people have worse.

I wasn't born with my leg from the knee down missing, it was an accident. I was about 7 and at the time my family and I were in Lebanon visiting relatives. I wanted to go on my uncles motorcycles really bad and begged and begged so he finally gave in. He kept telling me to hold on tight and keep my legs in over and over and over. I didn't listen which resulted in my foot getting stuck and me falling and rolling onto the ground. I had fainted immediately. Now I have the most advanced version of a prosthetic leg. My family could afford it, alhamdulillah. Quickly removing the memory from my mind I put on my boots and make my way downstairs.

Saying Salam to my mom I head out to my car and gently get in. Adjusting the foot pedal I back out of the drive way and head out to my best friends house. Aside from the wedding that I don't know of Shiza mentioned a surprise. I wonder what that will be.