Gelin (bride)
Kız (girl)
Abla (sister)
Ağabey (elder brother)
Bacım (sister)
Canım (my dear)
Nolur/ lütfen (please)
Kuzum (my little lamb or my dear)
Aşkım (my love)
Damat (groom)
Noldu (what happened)
Sağol (thanks)
Teşekkürler (thank you)
Güzel (beautiful)
Teyze (Aunt)
Hala (Aunt)
Amca (uncle)
Emmi (uncle)

🌼🌼🌼

Whoever says wedding preparations—or being a bride—is easy is either lying or has never done it. It's exhausting, overwhelming, and honestly, emotionally draining. Today is no different.

It's barely noon, and I've been out since 9 a.m. with Ya Meena and Ibty, running from one appointment to the next. Food tastings, meetings with vendors, and errands I can't even keep track of anymore—it's endless. On top of that, my beautician is arriving today from Maiduguri, adding another layer of responsibility to my already full plate. Mammy, who usually handles these things effortlessly, isn't around. She's in Kano for a family friend's wedding but should be back later tonight, insha'Allah.

"Ya Meena, I think Nasreen is hungry," Ibty said, bouncing the crying toddler gently on her lap.

We were in the waiting room of Kathy Anthony's studio, and her words jolted me back to reality. We hadn't eaten all day, and the hunger was gnawing at all of us. I rubbed my temples, fatigue washing over me.

"Here's her milk, please feed her," Ya Meena said, handing Ibty a bottle from Nasreen's bag.

I slumped into my chair beside them, trying to muster some energy as my phone buzzed in my hand. My mind was clouded with too many thoughts, but the sound of Ibty's voice broke through.

"I see you really like him now," she teased, her tone light but prying as she fed Nasreen.

"Ummm... maybe," I replied hesitantly, pretending to focus on my phone.

"Maybe?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow before giving my arm a playful smack. "It's either yes or no, Layla! No in-betweens."

"Urgh, I don't know!" I groaned, burying my face in my palms. My voice was muffled, but my frustration was clear.

The truth was, I didn't know how I felt. It was confusing—new, exciting, and terrifying all at once. But saying it out loud felt like opening a door I wasn't sure I was ready to walk through.

Before she could probe further, Kathy walked in, her cheerful smile a welcome distraction. "I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, ladies. Let's get started."

We exchanged polite smiles and followed her into the fitting room, where the measurements and adjustments felt like a blur. All I could think about was how much I wanted to collapse into bed and forget the world, even if just for a little while.

We arrived home just as the clock struck 6 p.m. Exhaustion seeped into every part of me, but at least the day's errands were done. Ibty had decided to sleep over, and I couldn't be more grateful for her company—it made the chaos a little less overwhelming. Muhammad had also texted earlier, saying he would stop by tonight, which added a small flutter of excitement to my evening.

As I entered my room, I turned to Ibty, who was stretching out on the bed. "Have you talked to Ni'imah today?" I asked, setting my bag on the chair.

"Yeah," she replied, adjusting Nasreen's blanket. "Mun yi magana jiya. They're super busy with wedding preparations too. She mentioned she might come by later."

I nodded, smiling at the thought of seeing her. It had been a while since we'd all been in the same space without the whirlwind of wedding chaos pulling us in different directions.

After praying Maghrib, we headed downstairs to the living room, where we found Nabeel sprawled on the couch, fully engrossed in a football match. I dropped into the seat beside him.

"Hey, brother," I greeted.

He glanced at me with a teasing smirk. "Hey, gelin," he said, emphasizing the Turkish word for bride.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress a small laugh. Typical Nabeel.

I hadn't seen Norah all day. She had mentioned having a paper earlier, so I figured she must be home by now. "Nabeel, where's Norah?" I asked, curious.

"Umm... I don't know," he said, barely tearing his eyes away from the screen. "She was here, like, 30 minutes ago."

"Okay, let me call her." Picking up my phone, I dialed her number.

The line barely rang before she picked up. "Kız, where are you?" I asked, my tone a mix of concern and curiosity.

"Odamda. In my room," she replied groggily, her voice thick with sleep.

"Tamam," I said, shaking my head as I ended the call.

I glanced at Nabeel, who was now flipping through the channels. "O uyuyor. She's sleeping," I informed him.

He nodded absentmindedly. "Ibty nerede?" he asked, finally peeling his eyes away from the TV.

"I think she's in the kitchen or my room," I replied absentmindedly, scrolling through my phone to check my messages. The room was quiet except for the faint sound of the football match in the background.

A few moments later, Ya Meena joined us in the living room, bringing Norah along with her. But Ibty was still nowhere to be found. Feeling a bit uneasy, I stood up and made my way to my room.

Pushing the door open, I was greeted by the sight of Ibty curled up on my bed, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed quietly. My heart sank.

"Ibty, noldu? Why are you crying?" I asked gently, sitting beside her.

She wiped at her face, but her tears wouldn't stop. "Layla, he's cheating on me," she choked out, her voice trembling.

I felt a pang in my chest. "I don't understand, Ibty. Just calm down and tell me what's wrong," I urged, my tone soft but concerned. Deep down, I knew this had to be about Mukhtar.

"Layla," she said through sobs, "he's having an affair with someone."

I froze. Mukhtar. Of course, it had to be Mukhtar. My suspicions about him were finally being confirmed, but hearing it still hurt because of how much it was tearing Ibty apart. And with Ummita Adamu, of all people? The thought made my blood boil. Ummita was someone we knew from secondary school—a girl infamous for her lack of boundaries, always chasing after trouble.

"Ibty, calm down," I said firmly, pulling her into a hug. "Allah ne yayi hakan. This is His plan, and you will surely find someone better, InshaAllah. But for now, stop crying. Let me get you some food and aspirin. I know you must have a pounding headache."

She nodded slightly, leaning into my shoulder as she began to calm down. I stayed with her for a few minutes, holding her until her tears subsided.

Leaving her in the room, I headed to the kitchen. With a deep breath, I busied myself serving her a plate of fried rice and roasted chicken, pairing it with a glass of apple juice. I hated seeing her like that, but I knew a good meal and a little care would help her feel better.

Before heading back, I stopped by Anne's room to grab some aspirin. When I returned, I found Ibty sitting on the bed, staring at her nails, her face red and puffy from crying.

"Here, eat this," I said softly, placing the tray in front of her.

She gave me a faint smile. "Thank you, Layla," she whispered.

I checked the time. It was 8:30 p.m. My heart skipped a beat—it wouldn't be long before Muhammad arrived.

I entered the bathroom, letting the warm water wash away the fatigue of the day. It felt soothing, like a reset I desperately needed. Afterward, I wrapped myself in a towel, walked to my closet, and scanned through my collection. I settled on a simple black abaya adorned with delicate stones, pairing it with a matching veil. It was understated yet elegant, just what I needed.

After slipping into the abaya, I dabbed on some lip gloss and lightly lined my eyes with an eye pencil, just enough to add a touch of definition. As I adjusted my veil in front of the mirror, my phone beeped. Right on cue.

Mr. Moh: Hey, I'm here.

Layla: I'll be there in a jiffy.

I glanced at my reflection one last time, ensuring everything was in place, then walked over to where Ibty lay curled up on my bed. "Muhammad is here," I whispered, but she was already fast asleep. Poor thing—this day had drained her completely.

Making my way downstairs, I found Nabeel and Norah lounging in the living room. The teasing started almost instantly.

"Is he here?" Nabeel grinned mischievously, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Tell him to come in," Norah added, her voice teasingly sweet.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring their playful jabs as I slipped out the door.

There he was, standing beside his car, dressed in a pristine white kaftan with a matching cap. His back was to me, and he was focused on his phone, unaware of my approach. The sight of him made my heart flutter—it was surreal knowing he would soon be my husband.

"Hey," I called softly as I got closer.

He turned, his face lighting up with that warm, dimpled smile I adored. "Hello, beautiful," he replied, his voice smooth and full of charm.

I smiled shyly, ushering him inside and leading him to Daddy's living room. I signaled for the maid to bring refreshments before sitting down across from him. For a moment, there was silence—comfortable, yet charged with unspoken thoughts.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, breaking the quiet.

I sighed heavily. "I'm so tired, wallahi. I never knew being a bride was this hard," I confessed, leaning back against the plush cushions.

His expression softened. "Don't worry, it'll all be over soon. Just three more weeks, InshaAllah," he said, his voice steady and reassuring.

I nodded, repeating his words. "Three weeks." It felt surreal every time I said it aloud. Three weeks until my entire life changed.

"And you?" I asked. "How are you feeling about the wedding?"

He took a sip of the cranberry juice the maid had brought, pausing thoughtfully. "Normal, I guess. Just making sure the house is ready—everything has to be perfect," he replied, his tone calm, as always.

We chatted for a while longer, our conversation easy and familiar. He always had a way of putting me at ease, even when I was on the verge of exhaustion. Eventually, he stood to leave.

"I should get going," he said, and we walked together to his car in the driveway.

As he opened the door, he reached inside and pulled out a small, elegant bag with the unmistakable Harry Winston logo.

He handed it to me with a smile. "Don't thank me," he said quickly, cutting me off before I could speak. "I hope you'll like it," he added, winking as he got into the car.

"Goodnight," I murmured, waving as he started the engine and drove off.

Back in my room, I found Ibty still fast asleep, her breathing soft and steady. Poor baby, I thought again. She deserved rest after the emotional toll of the day.

I placed the bag carefully on my desk, curiosity bubbling inside me. What could it be? Gently, I opened it, and my breath caught.

Inside was a Harry Winston ring—a breathtaking piece that sparkled under the light. My heart skipped a beat as I admired its beauty. A smile spread across my face, and I couldn't help but pick up my phone to text him.

Layla: Hey, I love the ring! It's so pretty. Thank you!

With that, I set my phone down and glanced at Ibty one last time. She looked peaceful, and I hoped tomorrow would be kinder to her.

After performing wudu, I prayed Isha'i and recited my adhkar, my heart feeling lighter. As I slipped into bed, I couldn't help but think about how surreal everything felt—the ring, the wedding, the future.

Three weeks. SubhanAllah, time really flies.

After concluding my duas, I decided to head downstairs for a bit. I entered the parlor, where only Mammy and Ya Meena were sitting. Mammy was relaxing on the couch, and Ya Meena was busy scrolling through her phone. I sat down beside Mammy, leaning into her warmth.

"Where's Nasreen?" I asked Ya Meena, curious about her toddler.

"O uyuyor (she's sleeping)," she replied in Turkish, and I nodded.

Mammy gave me a soft, bittersweet smile. "3 hafta sonra evleneceğine inanamıyorum (I cannot believe you are getting married in 3 weeks)."

"Doğruyu biliyorum, oof, benim Leyla'm (I know, my Layla)." Ya Meena added with a playful sigh.

We were still chatting when Nabeel walked in, greeting us with a warm salam. He dropped onto the single couch next to Ya Meena with a mischievous grin.

"Abla'm, why are you glowing these days? Gebe misin? (Are you pregnant?)" He winked teasingly at Ya Meena.

Her response was instant—a firm smack to his arm. "Mara kunya kawai (Shameless boy)!"

Mammy and I burst into laughter at their playful exchange. It's always like this with Nabeel, teasing and lightening the mood.

"Nabeel, nereden geliyorsun? (Where are you coming from?)" Mammy asked curiously.

"Najib Remawa's house," he replied, his attention half on his phone.

Mammy raised her brows. "Annesi ve bacıları nasıl? (How are his mom and sisters?)"

He looked up briefly. "Hepsi iyiler, elhamdulillah. (They're all fine, Alhamdulillah)."

Turning his attention to me, he asked, "Hafsatu, how's the wedding preparation?"

I sighed deeply. "Hectic, man, wallahi. I am so tired. I can't wait for this to be over."

"Ayya, sannu (Aw, sorry)." He sympathized, his tone warm, and I managed a small smile.

I suddenly remembered something. "Ya Meena, is the beautician here?" I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose. Exhaustion was clearly taking over.

"Oh yes," she replied, glancing at me. "She's in the guest chalet. You'll meet her tomorrow, inshallah. Ayrıca yarın da başlayacaksın (And you'll start tomorrow, too)."

I nodded, trying to mentally prepare myself for another long day.

Our family dynamic always made me feel grateful. My brothers were so protective of us, and Nabeel, in particular, always stood up for me. I still remembered the time he beat up a boy in secondary school just because he said he liked me.

"When is Ya Muhammad coming back from Lagos?" I asked absentmindedly.

"I think he's coming back tomorrow," Ya Meena replied.

Mammy and Ya Meena continued discussing the wedding while Nabeel and I tuned in to watch the latest episode of The Originals, season 5. As much as I loved spending time with them, fatigue won. I glanced at the clock—it was already 11 p.m.

"Goodnight," I mumbled, standing and stretching.

I headed upstairs to find Ibty still fast asleep. She must have been utterly drained. I slipped into my pajamas, checked my phone, and noticed new messages from Ni'imah, Muhammad, and Ya Muhammad.

I opened Muhammad's chat first.

Mr. Moh: It's not as pretty as you are. I'm glad you liked it.

Layla: Here comes the flirting again...

Mr. Moh: What? Can't I flirt with my soon-to-be wifey?

We chatted for about 20 minutes before I yawned mid-text, signaling how tired I was.

"Alright, I'm sleepy," I told him.

Mr. Moh: Goodnight, L... Make sure you dream of me.

Layla: Lmaoooo, you wish... But I know you'll definitely dream of me. Bye, canım.

With a smile, I plugged my phone into the charger and turned to lie down beside Ibty. She looked so peaceful, her breathing soft and even.

I recited my night duas, turned off the bedside lamp, and closed my eyes, whispering a final prayer for ease and blessings. Sleep came quickly, wrapping me in it's comforting embrace. Three weeks. Just three weeks.

Hey loves, i know you are mad at me but i am sorry for not updating early.

Now who's excited for the up-coming wedding? cause i am..... it is in 3 week yaaay!

don't forget to

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And definitely show some loooove🖤💗💗 i love you all💘💘

Deeda 💝