Our Worlds

Married

Hajara

The alarm clock buzzed like it was personally offended I was still alive. 7:30 a.m.

I blinked up at the ceiling.

Today is Monday.

Just another school day. Algebra. Cafeteria smells. Hannah's passive-aggressive tutoring.

Then it hit me.

I'm married.

I sat up like a zombie waking from a dramatic nap. Two days ago, I had a nikah. As in, legally bonded to a boy, correction: an existing cousin, I had no clue about. Now I had to survive school — as a married woman — with eyeliner smudges and opinions flying at me like dodgeballs. Well, that is if they found out about my situation! 

I dragged myself across the hall and pounded on Sarah's door like I was the police.

"SARAH, WAKE UP. I SWEAR ON LAST NIGHT'S PASTA IF YOU MAKE US LATE—"

"I'm up, I'm up!" she shouted back like she was fending off a bear.

Back in my room, I threw on my trusty blue abaya and tied my scarf like I was wrapping a burrito in a rush — not perfectly neat, but it got the job done. My reflection looked like someone who hadn't emotionally recovered from a wedding. Accurate.

Downstairs, the smell of coffee slapped me in the face.

"Breakfast is ready," Mama said, already placing two foil-wrapped lunch parcels on the table. No speeches. No wedding advice. Just food. The truest form of love.

Then she paused.

Noticed me for a second.

That mom stare. The "I have fifty things I want to say but I'm pretending to be chill" stare.

"Eat something before you go."

"Thanks, Mama," I mumbled, sitting down like I hadn't just entered the first episode of my Married at Seventeen spin-off.

Sarah stumbled down looking like she had gotten into a fight with her hairbrush and lost.

"The boys are picking us up?" she asked, chewing toast like it personally wronged her.

"What?" I choked, mid-bite.

"Apparently," Mama said casually. "Your aunt called. Her boys will be driving you. She says it's good bonding time. I say it's a miracle they know where the brake pedal is."

I stared at my plate like it held the answers to life. It did not.

The doorbell rang like a thunderclap.

Sarah nearly fell off her chair.

"Already?!"

Mama sprinted to the door and flung it open, and there they were — Yusuf and Benyamin. Our charming chauffeurs.

"Wa alaikum assalam, boys!" she sang. "Come in! Want some eggs? Tea? A sermon about marriage?"

"No, thank you. We already ate and rehearsed our excuse for being late," Yusuf replied, looking like the only adult in a room full of cartoon characters.

Benyamin winked at Sarah so hard I thought his eyeball might fall out.

"You ladies ready to be chauffeured in style? Or in my car, whichever comes first."

Sarah rolled her eyes and bolted upstairs to get her shoes.

I slowly got up, pretending I had my life together. Spoilers: I did not.