The moist hair of hits me as soon as I step out of Muscat International Airport.

People are moving frantically around, searching for a taxi and directions to wherever they're headed, but despite the fact that we've got all services provided for us, it doesn't stop my cousins from behaving like ungrateful monkeys.

"I'm going to die!" Zahir complains, fanning himself with a paper as the driver sent to get us load his laguages in the back.

"Who choses Oman to get married?" Zeeshan, his younger brother joins in.

"People with a good choice." I state. 

The problem with being from such a big family, is that wherever you go, your family members follow and the problem with being Asian is that no matter how well organized and expensive your wedding is, there will always someone to complain.

"Nila, did you put our passports in your bag?" Dad asks.

"Yes." I say, patting my bag. "All safe."

When the last of bags are loaded, we slip inside and drive away from the airport.

The drive is another two hours of listening to my cousins complain, my parents having a mini fight over which gift to give to whom and me trying my best to tune out. Allah was merciful enough from enabling my aunty and uncle from coming, or this ride would have ended in me jumping out of the car.

The torture eventually ends when we arrive.

Despite having seen it on tv and on my computer, Anantara Al Jabal Al Akhdar resort is even more breathtaking in real life than ever before. The sunset behind us means that the twinkling fairy lights on the front have been switched, making the whole venue magical.

Even Zahir and Zeeshan have stopped talking.

One staff begins to load our bags off, whilst another leads us to the dining area. I walk slowly to admire the beautiful interior, golden walls, hanging lamps and intricate patterns.

Although I found my cousin Saba a bit too extragavant, I admired her choice.

"You're here!" Saba squaled as we entered.

The guests sat on the table are a various range of family and friends from both the groom and bride side. Sat at the head of the table is Saba, one her right Bilal, her soon-to-be-husband. After the initial hugging and greetings, I sit on the empty seat to her left.

"Oh, let me introduce you to everyone whilst the food get ready. Hope you don't mind we ordered?" Saba doesn't wait for an aswer as she begins to name everyone around us. "The man sat two seats from Bilal is Amjad, the best man, and beside him is his brother, Mikhail."

I drop the fork I was playing with.

Oh, Allah.

I slowly look in the direction Saba's finger points to, praying that it isn't who I think it is. My eyes unfortunately settle on a familiar black head, who laughs at something the person across from him said. His face hasn't changed a bit from last week, or two years ago really.

I mean to drop my gaze, but I know I'm too late when his eyes shift for a moment and end up looking in my direction.

Recognition clear in his brown orbs.

"Did you know he went to Bromleigh Hill like you?" Saba blabs on. "You even live in the same town. Small world eh?"

Oh, small world indeed.

The food is served, but I've lost my appetite. I play around with rice after having only a few spoonful and pretend to have any interest in whatever Bilal is saying to me.

Memories from two years flood in again, just like they did at Tesco. His lips on my neck, his hands on my hips and my ragged breathing. Images I'd long tried to wipe out are so clear in my head, so clear that I wished I was blind.

My hands begin shake and I now that if I sit here any longer, I'd loose it.

"Listen, Saba, I'm a bit tired. I'm going to sleep." I tell her, getting up.

"Oh, that's fine. But could you meet tomorrow at nine. I've got some things I want to talk to you about." Saba says.

"Sure." I say, desperate to get out.