2 years later
...
Ibrahim,

I've been thinking a lot about the day I first met you.

It was a warm Autumn morning of our final year in York. It was your first day at school.

You were standing in front of a classroom, with Dahlia by your side. There were a lot of speculation going on about the two of you. People were staring, whispering, pointing and wondering where you two came from.

But neither of you were aware, or even cared. You were laughing at something Dahlia said, oblivious to ugly the world, as usual, waiting for the impending bell to announce our next class.

Farrah pointed you out to us. But I had my eyes on you before she even noticed you. You were wearing that hideous navy blue uniform and your hair was shorter than it is now. That was the very first time I ran my eyes over you, memorizing your eyes, nose and smile, the features that would come to give me joy in the future and haunt me at the same time.

Call me crazy, but a little part of me believes I've been in love with you since the very first time I laid my eyes on you.

...

Rose Ahmad's Mehendi Night colored the warm summer evening with joy.

The Ahmad residents were crawling with guests. The evening air was perfumed by the different kinds of fresh flowers adorned in the wrists of the women. The length of the street had been illuminated by the soft glow of the hundreds of fairy lights wrapped around the building.

On one end of the room sat the bride, dressed in gleaming clothes and jewels. She had her hands spread out as two girls applied henna on them, making intricate designs. Several henna artists were spread throughout the room as the guests had it done on their hands as well.

The ladies were laughing and chatting. The men weren't permitted beyond the food hall, but the contagious excitement spread to them as well. There were rows of multicolored candles decorated by the window sills. A few girls were assigned the task to light them one by one.

A little girl ran to one of the ladies. She was lighting the wickers of the colorful candles with the white thin one in her hand. The little girl put a hand on her shoulder and she turned around.

"You're the most beautiful girl I have ever seen," the little girl told her with amazement.

Malika Bashir's lips graced her with a smile. "Then you've probably never looked into a mirror," her soft voice spoke. "Because you're the most beautiful girl I have ever seen."

The little girl beamed with happiness, a rush of color flooding her cheeks. She bashfully twirled on her feet and ran back towards the direction she came from.

Malika finished lighting the candles and made her way through the crowd of well-dressed women in search of her friends. She found the girls close to the snacks table without surprise. Layla was stuffing her face with mini samosas, attempting to fit in two at once. She could never understand how the girl ate like a whale and maintained her lean physique. Malika inhaled fried food and gained a couple pounds.

She flitted her eyes to the girl next to her to find Farrah scrutinizing something at a distance, displaying respect-worthy self control, as always, as she only had a couple pieces of the healthier dhoklas on her plate.

In true Farrah fashion, Malika found her draped in a simple cotton saree with minimal jewelry. Her clothes might have paled in comparison to the glitz and glam of the party, but the elegance she held herself with stood her out.

In fact, Malika herself was draped in a cotton saree with minimal thread work that once belonged to her grandmother - inspired by Farrah.

When it came to clothes, Malika usually went for the flashiest and the trendiest. However, when it came to choosing a saree, she usually went for the antiques - a consequence of her years of friendship with the girl. Farrah taught her that the older the saree, the classier it was.

Malika also felt that the more worn a saree was, the more loved it was. That was, for sure, the influence of her friendship with Dahlia. Spending years with the youngest Ahmad sibling had turned her into a sentimental fool.

Malika shook her thoughts off and eyed her oldest friend closely. They thought Farrah was just moving away from home so that she could be closer to her University. But since moving, they had become more distant than Malika had anticipated.

In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had seen the girl. Farrah's arms and waist looked slimmer, even her jaw looko sharper. The hours at the gym were paying off.

"What?" Farrah finally asked, snapping out of her thoughts.

Malika smiled and shook her head. "Nothing," she responded. "Just surprised to see you. Wasn't sure if you'd actually show up."

"What took you so long?" Layla piped in before Farrah could respond. "We have been waiting for you. I was starting to get bored."

Malika raised a brow. "Even with all those samosas?"

"You know I binge eat when I'm bored," she replied. Malika rolled her eyes.

Her eyes skimmed the crowd in search of Dahlia. The party was still going on in full swing. The smell of fresh henna still perfumed the air. The hijabi was nowhere in sight, however, another familiar face caught her eyes and her heart did a little flip flop.

Standing next to her brother Salman was Ibrahim. The tall guy towered over most of the guests, his broad frame leaving little space for anyone else in the hallway he was blocking. He was wearing a simple white panjabi, his grandfather's Rolex - which was his twentieth birthday gift - adorning his right wrist. The boyishness of his face had left with his teenage years. His features looked more mature and he had grown a thick beard. The warmth in his smile, though, was just the same; and it made Malika's heart just as restless.

She looked away, not before catching Layla looking her way. Malika tried to brush it off with a smile. How many times had she vowed she wasn't going to torture herself over him like that? She was annoyed, whether at him or herself, she didn't know.

She peered through her lashes again. Ibrahim was lost in the crowd. Salman, however, had left his station and was striding their way, his lips quirked up in a charming, lopsided smile.

"I see the band is back together." The voice caught the attention of all three girls. Salman stepped closer and the aura around the girls changed.

Layla went from bored to annoyed and Farrah visibly tensed.

"With the exception of one," Salman continued as he darted his eyes back and forth between the girls. "Where's Della-Delicious?"

"Do you really want to get murdered by Ibrahim?" Layla shot.

Salman's eyes twinkled as a mischievous smile curved up one end of his lips. "I always thought that hoodlum belongs behind bars. If I have to sacrifice myself to get it done, so be it."

She scoffed. "Very funny, Salman."

Layla sauntered away as Salman watched her with amusement in his eyes. "The Fayyads have the worst manners."

"Her brother is literally your best friend," Malika stated.

"That's why I can say that with confidence! Don't you agree, Fari?" While saying that, his eyes landed on the girl.

The always-composed Farrah was caught off guard by his sudden shift of attention towards her. A beat passed and she evened out her breathing. She was starting to look a little flustered.

Salman was still looking at her. Farrah swiftly broke the eye contact and forced out a snort. "Grow up, Salman." And with that, she walked away.

The years of mocking that Salman and his friends put the girls through had clearly left a permanent mark. It was his friends who had coined the terms 'Layla Kali' and 'Fat Farrah' back in high school.

"I'll never understand these girls."

Malika shot him a look. "Leave them alone."

She patted her brother on the back, partially with affection and partly as a warning to behave, knowing he would never do the latter. Then Malika followed her friends' footsteps.

Dahlia Ahmad was sore, that's all she could focus on the entire evening.

Dahlia loved weddings and she would have been enjoying it if her legs didn't feel like they were being pricked by a thousand needles. The day before she visited the gym with Farrah. It was more like she was forced to accompany her.

Dahlia hadn't seen the girl in so long, she just wanted to spend some time with her friend. As they ran on the treadmills and Dahlia started panting for air, Farrah kept shouting, "you can do this, Dels, just keep going!" Forty five minutes later, Dahlia escaped for her dear life.

It didn't help that Dahlia was walking on heels. Whoever said heels were a male invention made to make a woman's life more difficult was a person filled with wisdom. She couldn't imagine a woman choosing to willingly introduce high heels to the world.

Dahlia shot her hundredth fake smile for the night, fake not only because she was in pain, but also because she didn't care anymore about greeting the guests. The party was becoming slow. The night was deepening. People were starting to tire of the same food and gossip as Dahlia was of socializing.

Her eyes skimmed the crowd for a familiar face. Her gaze landed on her sisters huddled in a corner. A smile graced her lips as she saw their heads covered in scarves. Gratitude overflowed in her heart, the kind you can only feel when you see your prayers coming to life. Over the years, the rift between them had slowly dissipated. Her actions in high school which her family labelled as 'extreme' were not only accepted by them now, but also embraced.

Dahlia didn't know when or how, but by the grace of her Lord things changed over the years. One day, discussing her Faith was no longer taboo in her home. She felt like she was a part of her family again.

"Wow, so being patient with people actually works," she said to Malika one day.

Somehow, over the years, she had learned to embrace her hijab as well. Covering herself, distancing herself from what was considered mainstream beauty and singling herself out as a muslimah might have felt like the end of the world once, but that was no longer the case. She believed her purpose in life was greater than these silly things.

It was late into the event. Friends, relatives and neighbors - the faces were all starting to blend into one another after a while. The bright, embellished clothes were starting to thin.

Layla clutched her by the arm and dragged her to a secluded corner before she could protest.

"What's going on?" Dahlia cried as she could barely keep her balance.

"I did something stupid. Actually, it was mega stupid. Ultra stupid..."

"Layla!" Dahlia tried to stop her friend's blabbering. They had stopped moving. Layla looked at her with eyes full of guilt.

"It was a mistake, Dels. I should never, ever be allowed to make these decisions by myself!"

"What are you talking about?" Dahlia cried.

Layla let out a sigh. She stopped fidgeting and looked up to meet her friend's eyes for the first time. Dahlia noticed strands of wispy curls snagged into the choker she was wearing which she couldn't be bothered to fix.

What was more unusual was the look on her face. Layla was distressed. She was never distressed, the girl was the epitome of the word chill.

"Last week, I watched a movie. It was a remake of that stupid Jane Austen novel where the girl tries to play a matchmaker," she began. "I may have gotten a little carried away and tried to play one too." Layla shot her a sheepish smile. "Malika has been writing these letters to a boy for years. I accidentally came across them a year back during a sleepover. She made me promise never to tell anyone."

"Wait, what?" Dahlia blinked, trying to comprehend the pile of information dumped on her.

"Malika started writing them right after graduation! I tried to convince her several times to show them to him, or at least confess her feelings. It was painful watching her pine. But she wouldn't budge! She never meant for them to get out. They were like a personal journal for her."

There was a pause. Dahlia still looked slightly flabbergasted. She stared at Layla with apprehension, almost afraid of where this was heading.

"And I was the only one who knew about it, so I felt obligated to act. I took the letters and left them in the guy's room a couple hours ago."

Dahlia's jaw dropped to the floor. "Layla..."

""I know! You don't have to tell me." Layla said exasperatedly. "It broke my heart when I realized the person she meant them for would never see them. I gave it to him on impulse but now I realize it was a mistake."

"This is insane!"

"I genuinely thought I was doing a good thing." Layla tried to justify.

Dahlia took a moment to process. Layla saw her go through numerous feelings before the girl landed on curiosity. She met her eyes again. "Who is he?"

This time, Layla let out a nervous laugh. "Well, at least you know him well."

Dahlia widened her eyes in surprise.

"She wrote the letters to your brother."

Dahlia stared at her for one clueless minute.

"Oh, God." She let out a labored breath. "Layla, what did you do?"