Khadijah.

In every family, there exists a nagger, the one who has an uncanny ability to coax out their relatives' deepest, darkest secrets. In my family, I proudly claimed the title of the best nagger, adorned with a metaphorical bronze medal. However, in Tahir's family, that honor belonged to Noor—she possessed the diamond edition, a shining trophy that instantly elevated my own skills to mere mediocrity. My nagging talents suddenly paled in comparison the moment I was subjected to her relentless probing.

Noor was the most insistent person I had ever encountered in my life. Not even Amna could hold a candle to her.

Earlier in the day, I had changed into a stunning A-shaped ankara dress adorned with intricately designed beadings. The ideal veil to match the mint green outfit beckoned at me and I snatched it from the wardrobe, gleefully trying it on before dropping it on the bed.

As I admired my reflection, Noor dove in to assist with the bakhoor smoking process. She selected the perfect scents, expertly mix-matching them in the incense burner to create a masterpiece.

Once I was ready, we began to contemplate the headgear style I should wear. I wanted something simple yet elegant, but Noor had other plans; she was aiming for an extravagant look that was entirely overboard.

"Why don't we try that style on you, which, by the way, I don't see you wearing any scarf," I quipped, applying a delicate layer of lipstick as we awaited Tahir's call to leave the house.

Noor rolled her eyes with exaggerated flair, her lips pursing. "Anything over this?" she exclaimed, placing two fingers atop her uncovered hair, dramatically. "I loathe it! I hate the torture of having to wear a scarf all the time."

"But you're supposed to wear one when you go out, or all the time." I reminded her, raising an eyebrow in skepticism.

"I'm wearing one now," she sassed, deliberately avoiding my gaze as she casually traced whimsical designs on the mirror with the tip of her finger.

Our eyes met in the reflection, and I arched my brow, eagerly anticipating the continuation of the myth that was her invisible scarf.

"My headgear? At the moment, we must make do with the roof," she declared with an air of mock seriousness. "It's shielding my hair from the sun, so yeah, it totally counts as my scarf."

See that? The girl is a hundred and seventy percent unhinged, in bold.

Laughing boisterously at her absurd assertion, I wrapped my veil around my left shoulder, letting it glide down gracefully. Its size was two sizes larger than what I typically wore, which posed a potential problem for me and everyone around me.

What if it tangles up and sends me rolling onto the floor? We couldn't take any chances!

I immediately jotted down a note in my phone to remedy the situation. After all, the veil was Ya Aisha's size, and she was three times my weight and double my height. Without a doubt, that meant it was oversized for me.

My smile faltered as the object of my disdain joined us. A reflexive stormy expression settled on my features, harshly shoving aside the lightheartedness that had been generated by Noor's antics.

Tahir, paying zero heed to my mood switch, strolled deeper into the room with his usual cool-headedness. My eyes swept over his tall frame, taking in every detail before quickly averting my gaze. He didn't even look good enough to warrant a second glance. Noor, in her cheerful spirit, excitedly hopped out of the room, leaving me alone with her much older brother.

The man was as readable as a blank page. Yes, a blank page.

Earlier, I had been forced to wait until he left the room before I could indulge in my delicious masa. In truth, my mouth had begun to water the moment I realized that masa was on the menu for lunch. But I couldn't possibly give Tahir the pleasure of watching me smile, so I had resolved to stall, letting the seconds drag on and acting as though I wasn't impressed. However, the moment he had slipped past the doors, all restraint vanished, and I had hungrily devoured multiple pieces, savoring the rich taste of Ammi's sumptuous miyan taushe and the assorted meats that accompanied it, washing everything down with the refreshing pineapple juice she had graciously sent over. It undoubtedly made me start to see the bright side of married life. Or, of living here.

Ammi's cooking was undoubtedly top-notch—the absolute best. Honestly, I could move right into her house just for the food alone.

"Khadijah, is everything alright?"

My eyes widened. I had totally zoned out, lost in my thoughts. "Yes, why?"

A suspicious expression crossed Tahir's face for just a moment, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by genuine concern.

Like Ya Bashir, Tahir possessed beautiful, well-groomed brows that had an effortless way of framing his eyes. But not even that was enough to warrant him a second look from me.

"If you don't feel well enough to meet Ammi and Abba today, we can go there tomorrow," he suggested, his gaze briefly running up and then down my figure, repeating the movement before finally stopping at my face.

Yes, I followed his every movement closely, dissecting each micro-expression with a scrutinizing eye.

Since I couldn't give him the satisfaction of guessing my true feelings, an honest fact, I shrugged dismissively. "I'm perfectly fine. Noor's accompanying me."

"Noor's accompanying us," he corrected, his tone firm. "I'm taking you to them, she's not."

Beneath my breath, I muttered sarcastically, "Competitive much?"

He scoffed in response, clearly not amused.

Oops.

He wasn't supposed to hear that.

...

Side by side, with Noor leading the way, Tahir and I walked towards his parents' side of the house, stopping at various points to respond to warm greetings from the guests who hadn't left yet.

Along the way, Noor got distracted by Haifa, who sweetly approached us with a bright smile, wishing us well. Sa'eedah, Muna, and his other siblings were nowhere to be found—but that quickly changed the moment we rounded the corner that, according to Tahir, would take us to his father's lair, where Ammi and Abba awaited our arrival.

Sa'eedah greeted her brother with a cheerful side hug, claiming she missed him, before warmly pulling me into her arms. Tahir's sisters were quite tall, with the exception of Sa'eedah, who was the striking image of their mother—fair, chubby, and a bit shorter than myself. Haifa and Haira were tall and slim, possessing model-like features complemented by their rich chocolate complexions, while Muna was tall and chubby, radiating a different kind of beauty. Noor, however, was still in the process of growing up, but she inclined towards the tall and lean side.

The only siblings I had yet to meet were Shukrah, Tahir's immediate younger sister, and Al-Amin, dan autan Ammi.

"Adda Khadijah, we'll catch up later!" Sa'eedah promised, blowing me a kiss before sauntering away with a lively bounce in her step.

"You've met them before, haven't you?" Tahir asked, striking up a conversation to ease what he presumed were my nerves.

I wasn't nervous; I was actually quite accustomed to meeting my in-laws. Have I ever been married before? No.

I was truly shivering on the inside, sarcasm be damned.

"I've met Ammi, but not Abba," I replied matter-of-factly.

"You're good to go then. They can't wait to meet you," he reassured me, guiding me by the arm towards the entrance of the building, his touch surprisingly comforting.

I bit my lip as Tahir gently rapped his knuckles against the door. Not long after, we were greeted with an invitation to enter. As he pushed the door open, I stepped inside, feeling an exhilarating mix of anticipation and anxiety washing over me, while Tahir followed right behind me.

My eyes roamed around the room once before settling on a neutral spot. His father was casually seated on a one-sitter sofa, looking relaxed and approachable, while Ammi reclined on a chaise longue, her smile bright and welcoming, instantly making me feel a little bit at ease.

Tahir led me farther into the room until our feet pressed into the plush carpet. We both lowered ourselves into a crouching position, respecting the traditions of greeting them. Tahir let me say my greetings first, my gaze trained on the beautiful pattern of the carpet, its intricate designs drawing me in before he spoke.

"Mashaa Allah, Alhamdulillah, Khadijah how are you? We didn't get to meet yesterday during the budan kai."

Now that she had mentioned it, the time frame felt too long. Between yesterday and today, an overwhelming number of events had transpired, making it feel like more than mere hours had passed; it felt like an eternity.

I responded to her words with a smile, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.

Sensing my nervousness, Ammi turned to her husband. "Abba, let me borrow Khadijah for a minute. I promise to return her very, very soon."

Abba nodded, a smile playing on his lips as his eyes shifted from me to his wife. "Permission granted."

"Come with me, my dear." Without stealing a glance at the man seated beside me, I gracefully got up from the floor and followed Ammi in silence as she led me to another room, this time a bedchamber.

"Feel free with me, kinji. Take me as your mom, just as you would your mother in Sharada." Sharada was my parent's neighborhood.

I nodded, unable to voice a single word in response.

"I hope you've eaten? Noor mentioned masa was your favorite meal, and it's mine too; we have that in common," she continued, her voice cheerful and gentle.

Ammi was a cheerful woman—vibrant and full of life—unlike my mom, who could come off as slightly strict, in her own way.

She was also the chatty type, and it made sense now where Sa'eedah inherited her voice, speech pace, and lively attitude. Their mother embodied a free-spirited persona, someone you obviously couldn't help but feel comfortable and open around.

Ammi guided me to a cozy couch, commenting on how pretty I looked. A rush of shyness swept over me, yet I tried hard not to let it show, forcing a grateful smile on my face in response.

"Khadijah, if there's anything you need, you can call me or any of the girls, and we'll get it right away, In shaa Allah. Don't hesitate," she said, wrapping her hands around my wrist, her touch both reassuring and maternal.

I felt a knot form in my throat, and I forced my response out. "In Shaa Allah, Ammi." I managed to reply, feeling a sense of support and belonging blossoming within me.

"You know, I've always dreamed of this—Muhammad getting married, especially to a girl like you. It's an honor to be associated with your family in this way, and I feel so proud as his mother and now yours too," she continued, her eyes glinting with heartfelt admiration. "I am sorry about the circumstances surrounding your marriage, and In shaa Allah, everything will fall into place perfectly." Her words were like a soothing source of relief for my anxious heart. "You and Muhammad, I'm proud of the respect and obedience you've shown us. Soon, you'll both look back on this and be glad, too. Bi iznillahi ta'aala."

I instinctively lowered my eyes, my gaze falling on our hands—her fair skin contrasting with my slightly darker complexion.

"Let me tell you a story," she continued, her voice carrying a poignant tone. "I and his dad didn't marry for love; we were cousins, and our grandpa paired us together. I used to despise him because his face was always stoic, never smiling or joining in our fun because of the age gap between us. Yet deep down, I always longed for his attention since we were kids." Her words painted vivid images in my mind, and I pictured Sa'eedah as a younger version of Ammi, which made my lips curve into a smile.

"Things changed when we moved out of our family house, and he went to school in the UK. It was after his return that Grandpa decided we should marry; he was the first male grandchild, and I was his favorite. By then, our relationship had grown even more distant than it had been prior to him moving out of the country. We got married a month after the decision was made. I can remember pushing my lips together, feeling frustrated that I wasn't given a choice in whom to marry; I felt like I was only being paired with the aloof older cousin who couldn't find a wife on his own." She chuckled lightly, and I couldn't help but follow suit, intrigued by her story.

"I can't even tell you when exactly I fell in love with him, but all I know is that we had a great understanding and respect for each other, before falling head over heels within a short period of time." Her expression shifted, nostalgia lacing her voice. "Just like your mom and dad—our families have always been close—but your parents married after us."

As she spoke, a glimmer of pain flickered across her face, "We tried—oh, how we tried—to have children, but it was to no avail. Yet we never lost hope. Then your mother gave birth to Aisha, a year after their marriage, which means two years after ours. After your mom got pregnant with Mukhtar, Allah blessed us with Muhammad Tahir, and we poured all our love into him, eventually giving birth to six more beautiful girls and one boy," she said, her voice heavy with emotion as tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

Their love story was captivating, filling me with warmth and wonder.

"I'm telling you this because I want you to understand that surely, with hardship comes ease, some situations might start out not the way you planned, but end up beyond your fantasies because we plan, and Allah plans. Allah's plans are always the best. Sometimes our desires are mere grains, while Allah's plans for us surpass our levels of comprehension, and we receive gardens instead."

"When something disturbs you, pray hard over it, and In shaa Allah, it will fade away. Follow your heart and mind simultaneously. If something becomes too hard for you to handle, seek Allah's help and come to me. I will do my best to help you find a solution," she continued earnestly, her sincerity evident in her eyes. "I want you to live as though you were raised here—freely, without feeling apprehensive about anything, but sometimes, it is allowed to be a little bit shy." She joked, eliciting laughter from the both of us as she concluded her statement.

"May Allah bless your home and may you be the coolness of each other's eyes," she added warmly. "I bet his dad will want to talk to you two together, so let's go," she smiled, and together, we left the room, my heart brimming with newfound comfort.

I was in awe of their love story; after all, I was a sucker for romance. The littlest things could make me shed tears of joy, and I found myself holding back the urge to do just that while listening to her share her cherished memories.

About an hour later, we walked to his... I mean our section together. My phone had been on silent the whole time, so I quickly turned the volume back up. I settled down on a plush sofa in the main parlor and checked for notifications, my heart warm from everything Abba had said when he was addressing us. They made me feel at home, and I wanted nothing more than to stay within their own house.

As I turned my data on, my phone buzzed with a flood of notifications. There were so many congratulatory messages I hadn't responded to, and I felt a bit overwhelmed, uncertain of where to start. I used the time to take care of that, scrolling through the kind words, wondering what I was expected to do before nighttime.

Unlike last night, I had no plans of spending the night anywhere but in my own bedroom, fear be damned.

...