Bookworms | ✔

fifty-nine

Dreams were once an alternate universe that Nicholas ceased to believe in. Dreams whisked into an eternal darkness like fleeting thoughts of hope. Just the thought used to torment his sanity when his heart was his only living organ. The rest of his body was as dead as his mind in those days, and they weren't that long ago. 

Yet today he was in the middle of marrying the one woman that changed his course of life, intertwined her destiny with his, and steered him back onto a righteous path. 

The imam's voice drowned in his ears as his thoughts overwhelmed him, anxiety rising like a turbulent gust threatening to knock his breath away. It was tradition for the bride's family to plan the Nikkah while he would plan for their Walima. His parents' perfect image flew into his mind, but he quickly suppressed the ache in his chest. 

It was his wedding day. He could worry about them later. 

They all sat in a masjid, men on one side and women on the other, all dressed in bright festive colors, eyes glittering in anticipation and wondrous glances searching for the hidden bride. When their eyes landed on Nicholas dressed in his silver tuxedo, vest and white dress shirt tucked, and a lavender tie tightened at his neck, he was every bit the epitome of an American male in his twenties. 

He squirmed under the scrutinizing gaze of judgement and perception. He knew the stereotypes all too well, and he knew the stereotypes of being a converted Muslim rather than a born one. Although there should never be any hostility towards new Muslims, the eyes were the windows to the soul, and many in the crowd did not seem convinced of Nicholas yet. 

They saw a white man thirsting after an innocent, pure young woman, one whose chastity mirrored those of legends, whose reputation in the Muslim community and an aspiring journalist spoke in volumes, and whose beauty allured people into the comforting grasps of her rationality. Although Nicholas was an heir to a wealthy inheritance, he was a mere pauper in comparison to Dina. 

Their eyes narrowed, and Nicholas drew a sharp breath. 

A light clap on his shoulder diverted his attention away, and his hardened blue eyes like steel met familiar dark brown ones, warm with a smile. He saw his reflection in Humaid, saw the silent encouragement to ignore those who judged him unfairly. No words were exchanged as Nicholas understood his friend's silent plea to relax, exhaling slowly when tension coiled his shoulder blades. 

"I'm fine," whispered Nicholas. 

"You best be. You're marrying my sister. I can't have the groom fainting on me now," Humaid lightly joked under his breath.

His comment brought a smile to Nicholas's lips. The previous discomfort vanished while his earlier excitement bubbled within at his growing anticipation. In a couple hours, he would be bound to her in the eyes of Allah, and he would be free from the chains of restraints that clanked against him every time he tried to hold her.

They would be free of restrictions, free to love wherever they went. At that moment, he didn't care about the harsh gazes of some guests. He finally had his someday with a woman he sacrificed his heart to on a silver platter. Interracial couples were an abnormality to some, but it didn't matter to Allah or to Dina.

They were flawless in their differences. 

The crowd hushed as Dina entered the room, voices gasping in awe and surprise as her lehenga (traditional Bengali dress) scintillated in the dimmed lights, dots shining against the silver contrast of her gown, a blend of silky lavender like a clematis bloom and the gems of stars overlapping in spirits of mystical ripples over the layers of her gown. Her hijab and veil emulated the softness of a flower, hues of lavender engulfed her, yet her crescent eyes remained hidden, an enigma to their guests.