His Sabah

V

Three hours later, the party was still in full swing. The dancing, though, had dwindled halfway through the night—much to Sabah’s relief. Rumi and Hidaayat had forced her to stand awkwardly with them for close to five songs, clapping, smiling, and nodding her head to the beat as they danced around her. However, after a horrible remix of one of Sabah’s most favorite classical songs had come on, she had insisted that they let her stop which, thankfully, they had.

Now, the three girls and all their other friends were sitting in a large circle on the floor, eating the remains of the mithai that had been brought to the occasion, applying mehndi, and talking over the music that continued to play in the background. Sabah, who Ami Jaan had insisted be the first to get her henna done professionally considering she was the guest of honor, was sitting at the head of the group on her knees, her arms out in front of her, giving the designs the artist had made across her palms and inner arms a chance to dry.

She looked down at the swirling patterns and intricate details, unable to help but smile in admiration at them. The woman who had been called to the party to apply the strong yet lovely smelling paste had taken all but fifteen short minutes to complete both her hands. Sabah had hardly been able to believe it as she watched her work, her head bowed in concentration and her fingers quick and agile as she held the cone, letting the henna inside glide effortlessly out onto her skin.

She had said after she had finished that it would take approximately thirty to forty-five minutes for it to dry completely. And even though it had only been twenty or so since she had left, Sabah still couldn’t keep from reaching out to touch the still slightly wet paste. Frowning when she realized it would still take a while for it to harden, she looked away from the mehndi and turned to her friends, hoping to keep herself busy with them until it was safe to wash it off.

“Oh my goodness, you guys!” a voice squealed all of sudden. Sabah and the rest of the girls turned their faces in the direction from which the sound had come to find one of their fellow friends standing in the doorway of the room, a look of complete excitement and delight on her face.

“What is it, Zunaira?” Rumi asked, shifting her body to face her, a curious look on her face.

“I just overheard Hafsa Auntie on the phone with someone and I’m, like, 110% sure it was Salim,” she cried excitedly, jumping up and down and laughing. At the mention of the groom, the rest of the girls in the room also immediately erupted into giggles, squeals, and the typical “oohing” and “aahing.”

Rumi and Hidaayat turned to Sabah and grinned teasingly. “Salim,” Rumi said in a sing-song voice, wiggling her eyebrows at her friend.

“Sh-shut up,” Sabah sputtered, blushing. “Zunaira must have heard wrong. Ami Jaan was probably talking to someone else.” Yet, even as she said this, she hoped that maybe her friend had heard right, and that, maybe she was the one who was wrong. But, still, another part of her hoped Zunaira had simply been mistaken after all. Because, if her heart began racing at simply imagining him walking through the door of the house, then what would she do when she actually saw him.

“Uh, no,” Zunaira stated suddenly, pulling Sabah out of her thoughts as she came over to her and sat down. “I distinctly heard her say “Salim, beta.”

The “oohing” started up once more, making Sabah blush again, even harder this time. “Stop it,” she whined, bringing her hands up to cover her burning face as her friends nudged and poked her playfully. At the last moment, though, she remembered that she had henna on and was able to stop herself from completely ruining not only the beautiful designs, but also her face.

“Why are you so nervous, Sabi?” Rumi asked, frowning at her in confusion. “I mean, I know you’re shy and everything but, it’s not like you’ve never talked to him before.”