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)
Sağol (thanks)
Teyze( Aunt)
Teşekkürler (thank you)
Güzel (beautiful)

MR MOH'S AESTHETIC 🖤

🌻🌻🌻

I had just sunk into the deepest part of my sleep when I was jolted awake by the sound of my name being called.

"Leyla!" Mammy's voice echoed from downstairs, carrying with it that familiar blend of affection and authority.

I groaned, wishing I could ignore her summons and slip back into the comfort of my bed. But Mammy, with her sharp sense of responsibility, would never let that happen. With a sigh, I reluctantly pulled the soft fabric of my long hijab over my head and forced myself to leave the warmth of my bed.

"Uyanmayacak mısın?" (Aren't you going to wake up?) she called, a familiar tone of impatience creeping into her words. As is often the case in our house, Mammy had no tolerance for laziness. Being Turkish, Mammy frequently spoke to us in her native language, a language she held dear and wanted us to learn so we could appreciate her culture more fully. She insisted we speak to her in Turkish at all times, no matter how much we resisted.

What does she want this early in the morning? I thought, already feeling irritated at the disruption of my peaceful slumber. Mammy and her never-ending wahala.

I made my way to her room, still half-dazed from sleep.

"Günaydın Annecim." (Good morning, Mom) I greeted her, trying to mask my frustration with a smile.

"How are you?" she asked, her voice soft but searching, as if she could see the exhaustion in my eyes. Mammy always had a way of reading me, even when I didn't want to be read.

"I'm fine, but you, my dear Mammy, just interrupted my beauty sleep." I said, half-joking, half-complaining. As expected, Mammy wasn't fazed. She simply looked at me, her face softening in that typical way of hers, and went on with her morning routine as if I hadn't spoken.

Today marked exactly two weeks since Muhammad's family had come to our house for the gaisuwa—the traditional visit to ask for my hand in marriage. Since then, everything in my life seemed to shift in subtle but undeniable ways. The thought of marrying Muhammad was still a blur to me, one I had not fully come to terms with. But today, it seemed Mammy had already made up her mind about the future. There was no turning back now.

"You're escorting me somewhere today," Mammy announced, as if she were giving me an order, and I was too tired to protest.

"Neresi?" (Where to?) I asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"To the tailor and to my friend's house. And wear something nice, please." she added, her voice firm but gentle.

"Tamam." (Alright) I mumbled, unable to muster more energy than that as I trudged back to my room.

I closed the door behind me, finally allowing myself a moment of quiet. The weight of the morning's events started to press in on me, and I briefly considered how I felt about the marriage. Would I be ready? Was I truly okay with all of this? I pushed the thoughts aside and focused instead on getting dressed for the day ahead.

I removed my hijab and straightened up my bed before stepping into the bathroom to take a long, much-needed shower. The warm water hit my skin, waking me up fully as I lathered up with my favorite Victoria's Secret Lemon shower gel. The scent of the lemon soap was invigorating, a pleasant and calming contrast to the chaotic thoughts running through my mind. I closed my eyes for a moment, lost in the smell, before stepping out and wrapping myself in a towel.

After the shower, I stared at my closet, scanning the racks for something that felt both comfortable and appropriate for today's errands. My gaze settled on a beautiful blue voile dress I had bought recently. It was light and airy, the kind of dress that made me feel both relaxed and put-together. I paired it with a matching veil, my brown Michael Kors handbag, and a pair of brown Aldo slippers that completed the look. As I finished getting ready, I sprayed myself with a hint of perfume, the soft floral scent adding an extra layer of confidence.

I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and made my way downstairs, my stomach a little flutter at the thought of what lay ahead. Mammy was already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, but I simply took a seat, eating quietly as I scrolled through my phone. I didn't want to think too much about the engagement or the future—at least not yet. But my mind wandered back to Muhammad, to the thoughts of the gaisuwa visit two weeks ago, and I found myself distracted.

Soon, Mammy joined me, dressed in one of her usual elegant outfits. We headed outside and climbed into her Range Rover. The drive to the tailor's in Gwarinpa was uneventful, but each passing second felt weighted, heavy with anticipation. We then drove to Maitama, where we arrived at an imposing mansion, guarded by several security officers stationed at the gates.

"Anne, Neredeyiz?" Where are we? I asked, peering through the tinted windows of the car, my curiosity piqued by the sight of the mansion.

"Maryama Yerima'nın evi," (Maryama Yerima's house) Mammy replied without even glancing at me, as if she were discussing an everyday occurrence.

The name struck me, and I couldn't help but ask, "Annecim, you mean Muhammad's house?" My voice betrayed my surprise, and I felt my heart rate quicken as I wondered what I was walking into.

"Evet kızım, şimdi sessiz ol." (Yes, daughter, now keep quiet.) she said, her voice carrying the kind of finality that meant I had no choice but to follow along.

I couldn't help but groan inwardly. "Oof, Anne, oof!" I muttered under my breath. What was going on? Why did it feel like we were stepping into a new chapter of my life without me even realizing it?

We parked in a spacious driveway, surrounded by lush gardens. The house was grand, and I could feel the presence of wealth and power. Mammy knocked at the imposing wooden door, which opened almost immediately. Standing there was a girl about my age, her face lighting up in recognition as she saw Mammy.

"Aunty, ina wuni?" She greeted Mammy with a bright smile.

"Lafiya Ni'imah, yakike?" (I'm fine, Ni'imah, how are you?) Mammy asked, her tone sweet as she greeted the girl.

Ni'imah, who had always been the talkative one in school, turned to me with a wide grin and squealed, "Layla!" She immediately pulled me into a tight hug, as if we were long-lost sisters.

"Ni'imah..." I said, laughing as I returned the hug. I hadn't seen her in years, and it felt so good to reconnect with an old friend.

"Oh my gosh, you've changed!" she exclaimed, pulling back to examine me, her gaze traveling over my dress, my hijab, my hair, everything.

Typical Ni'imah. Always the lively one, always with a smile on her face. She hadn't changed a bit. She was still as pretty as I remembered, Mashallah, and her bubbly personality hadn't dulled in the slightest.

We walked into the house, which was as impressive as the outside suggested. The living room was beautifully furnished with plush furniture, and everything in the house screamed wealth and sophistication. We sat down, chatting about everything and nothing at all, when a few minutes later, Muhammad's mother, Aunty Maryama, walked in.

I greeted her politely, but Ni'imah quickly pulled me away, eager to show me her room.

"I can't believe you're marrying ya Muhammad." Ni'imah said excitedly, her voice high with enthusiasm.

"I can't believe it either," I replied, my face flushing slightly as I offered her a shy smile. Honestly, I couldn't believe it either. How had I gotten to this point?

"Wallah, I can't wait for the wedding and your babies," Ni'imah continued, her voice full of excitement.

Innailaihi wa inna ilayhi raji'un, (Indeed, to God we belong and to Him we return), I thought to myself. Babies? Already? I wasn't ready for that kind of talk.

I glanced down at my phone, desperate to escape the conversation. My finger swiped across the screen, and I found myself chatting with Ibty, telling her I was at Muhammad's house. Just as I was about to send her a message, I heard the sound of a door opening.

A familiar voice called out: "Wa Alaikumsalam."

I turned instinctively and saw him. Muhammad. My heart skipped a beat. I had been so preoccupied that I hadn't noticed his presence until now. Ni'imah must have gone to fetch him.

"I didn't know you were coming," he said, his voice smooth and calm.

"Yeah, I didn't know that either," I replied, finally looking up from my phone. Our eyes met, and I couldn't help but notice how effortlessly handsome he looked in a black shirt and gray sweatpants. Why does he always look so good?

We stood there in an awkward silence for what felt like forever before Ni'imah walked back in, disrupting the moment.

"Oh sorry, am I interrupting something?" she teased, her grin wide and mischievous.

I shook my head. "No, nothing."

"Yes, you are," Muhammad said, his voice suddenly bold.

I glanced at him, taken aback by his bluntness. The tension between us was palpable, and I wasn't sure what to do with it. My heart raced in a strange mix of excitement and anxiety.

Finally, Mammy's voice called from downstairs, and the tension broke. It was time to leave. I couldn't have been more relieved. What was happening between Muhammad and me? I still didn't know. But one thing was certain: my life was changing, and I wasn't sure I was ready for it.

With a sigh, I followed Mammy out, feeling the weight of the day's events settling heavily on my shoulders. It was time to go home.

Hey guyss❤hope you like this chapter?😊😊 vote please😉 thankyouu😘

✨Deedah✨