Chapter 5, Two stories
Anaya had never truly understood what it meant to be a good wife—not until tonight, when she sat through endless words of advice from elders before being taken to her new home.
Oh Lord, I hope I haven't made a mistake by accepting Father's condition, she thought, her heart heavy with doubt.
She had never even spoken to Zayd properly. What was he like behind the calm, composed demeanor they always said he carried? Would he expect her to immediately play the role of a perfect wife? Or—was he as unwilling as she was?
Dressed in a breathtaking light blue bridal outfit, a delicate veil cascading over her face, Anaya was every bit the picture of elegance. It was a gown her father had chosen especially for her, sparing no expense. Guests had stared at her in awe, whispering about her beauty, yet none of it mattered to her.
Now, in her new bedroom, Anaya sat stiffly on the bed, surrounded by her friends. Their laughter and chatter filled the air, but she barely heard them.
Everything about this—this wedding, this tradition—felt foreign. The unfamiliarity of it all made her uneasy.
First, she was forced to stay at the family house with her so called husband Zayd. Now, she was here, in a room that didn't feel like hers, dressed as a bride she never truly imagined herself becoming.
Her fingers twisted in her lap as her few friends and cousins continued their cheerful conversation, oblivious to the storm raging inside her.
Then, the inevitable moment arrived.
The door creaked open.
Zayd walked into the room with his friends, his steps measured, his presence unfamiliar. Anaya sat still, her heart hammering beneath the layers of fabric that covered her. She hadn't even had the chance to see him properly—her face remained veiled, keeping him a stranger even in marriage.
Soft prayers filled the air as their friends surrounded them, their voices blending in quiet supplication. It was a tradition, a moment of solemnity, but Anaya barely processed it.
And then, they all left.
She was alone.
Anaya sat alone, her thoughts inevitably drifting back to Zayd. The mere thought of him sent a shiver down her spine.
What if he expects something from me tonight?
Even though she had agreed to be a good wife, she wasn't ready for that.
She needed to do something—anything—to keep her mind from spiraling.
Did I make a mistake by accepting my father's offer? The thought nagged at her, refusing to let go.
Minutes passed. Maybe half an hour. She couldn't tell anymore.
Then, the door creaked open.
Zayd had returned, carrying tray with a plate of food and a cup of milk in his hands.
His movements halted when he saw her—standing on the bed, stretching up with something in her hands.
His brows furrowed. "Anaya... what are you doing?"
He quickly set the tray down.
She didn't answer.
She was too focused on tying the sheer netting to the ceiling, attempting to create a barrier between them.
Zayd's frown deepened. "Anaya." His voice was firmer now. "Be careful. You'll fall."
But she didn't stop.
She tugged at the fabric, trying to secure it higher when—her foot slipped.
A startled gasp left her lips as gravity pulled her down.
Before she could hit the ground, strong arms caught her, pulling her against a solid chest.
Zayd.
Anaya froze.
She was pressed against him, her hands clutching his shirt, his steady grip securing her effortlessly.
For the first time that night, their eyes met.
Zayd hadn't really looked at her before—not properly. But now, as his gaze settled on her, he found himself staring. She was undeniably beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. The soft glow of the lanterns cast a delicate light on her features, highlighting her delicate features.
Her heart pounded wildly.
"Oh my Lord..." she breathed.
Realizing their closeness, Anaya's breath hitched, and she quickly tried to pull away, her face flushing with embarrassment.
Zayd let her go, his hands lingering just a second longer to ensure she was steady before she stumbled back. Wrapping her arms around herself, she sat on the bed, curling into a small ball, hugging her knees tightly.
"Anaya," Zayd said softly. His voice was gentle but firm. "Calm down. You don't need this ."
She hesitated, her wide eyes flickering with uncertainty as they searched his face.
"You don't have to do this," he continued, nodding toward the net still clutched in her trembling hands. "I'm not expecting anything from you."
Her grip loosened slightly. She had been bracing herself for something inevitable, for a night she wasn't ready for. But his words caught her off guard, unraveling the knot of fear tightening inside her.
She didn't respond.
A lump formed in her throat—a mixture of relief, confusion, and something she couldn't quite name.
A few seconds passed in silence before Anaya finally calmed down.
"But I do want you to do something for me," Zayd added, breaking the silence.
She stiffened again, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. "What?"
He stood up, reaching for the tray and setting it beside her. "First, eat. You haven't had anything all day."
Wait… how did he know that? Anaya wondered, but she didn't ask.
She hesitated, glancing at the food but making no move toward it.
Her aunt and father have already told him about the scene she has created.
"And after that," he said, his voice quieter this time, "go freshen up, take ablution. We'll pray together."
A slow exhale escaped her lips. The tension in her shoulders eased, but only slightly.
Be a good wife she thought
She knew she had no reason to refuse.
Just like Zayd had requested, Anaya ate her food and went to freshen up. She changed into her favorite pink trouser and shirt nightdress—the one her mother had bought for her.
Thinking about it now, she missed her mother. Even though she knew her mother cared little for her, a pang of longing settled in her chest. When she had told her about her father's decision to marry her off to Zayd, her mother had simply said she would "get back to her"—but never did.
Pushing the thoughts aside, she wear her hijab and stepped onto the prayer mat, behind Zayd. He led the prayer, his voice steady and composed, while she followed in silence.
When they finished, just as she was about to step away, Zayd placed his hand gently on her forehead and whispered a prayer for her.
Without another word, he took a pillow and settled into the chair while she climbed into bed.
The room was quiet, the tension from earlier slowly dissolving into the stillness of the night.
Zayd shifted slightly, glancing at Anaya. He needed to warn her about his stepmother and brother—she had to be careful around them.
"Anaya," he called softly, sitting up.
But when he looked at her, he realized she was already asleep.
He exhaled, Maybe it could wait until tomorrow.
____
At Zeenat place
This wasn't how she had imagined her first night as a bride.
The room was quiet, almost too quiet, with only the faint hum of the air conditioner filling the space.
After Isha prayer, Zeenat sat alone in her room, Her friends had left not long ago, their smiles and reassurances fading into the emptiness around her. She was alone now. Alone in a marriage she never wanted, waiting for a husband who had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her.
She was now dressed in a beautiful green gown, her head covered with a matching light veil.
The house belonged to Rayyan, designed to his taste—modern, elegant, and sophisticated. The bedroom she was seated now was spacious, with soft white walls and subtle ash-gray accents. A plush rug covered the cool marble floor, and the king-sized bed stood against a sleek tufted headboard, dressed in crisp sheets and neatly arranged pillows. A dim chandelier cast a soft glow, adding warmth to the otherwise cold atmosphere.
Yet, none of it eased the tension weighing on Zeenat's chest.
She was nervous and anxious, trapped in a marriage with a stranger.
Neither she nor Rayyan had wanted this, but he wasn't making things any easier. She hadn't seen him.
He hadn't attended the Fatiha. He hadn't come to pick her up. And just a few minutes ago, when her relatives and friends were leaving, it wasn't even him who saw them off—it was two of his friends.
Not him.
Zeenat didn't know what to do or how to feel. How were they supposed to live like this? How could a marriage start this way?
But no matter how many questions filled her mind, one fact remained—this marriage was already done. There was no turning back. No point dwelling on what-ifs.
She just had to survive it.
Time passed. Few hours later.
It was almost 11 p.m., and Zeenat still had no idea what to do. Rayyan hadn't come home yet, and she didn't even have his number to call him.
As the night dragged on, exhaustion began to weigh on her, her eyes growing heavy. Just as she was drifting off to sleep, the sound of the door opening jolted her awake. Sleep vanished instantly as she quickly sat up, her heart pounding.
It was him. Rayyan.
No Salam. No acknowledgment.
Through her veil, she watched as he walked straight to the wardrobe, pulling open a drawer and selecting some clothes. Without a single glance in her direction, he entered the bathroom. Moments later, he emerged, dressed in fresh attire.
Still, not a word. Not a single look.
He moved to the armchair in the corner of the room, sat down, and closed his eyes, as if she wasn't even there.
Zeenat hesitated, then took a deep breath. Enough.
"Rayyan," she called softly, rising to remove her veil before stepping toward him.
No response.
Gathering her courage, she walked closer, placing her delicate hand on his shoulder.
His reaction was instant. His eyes snapped open, sharp and furious, as he turned to her.
Zeenat's breath hitched as Rayyan's sharp gaze locked onto her. The intensity in his eyes made her instinctively take a step back, but she quickly steadied herself. She couldn't let his coldness intimidate her.
"What?" His voice was low, clipped, and laced with irritation.
Zeenat swallowed, her fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her gown. "I—" she hesitated, then forced herself to continue, "I just..."
Rayyan raised a hand, cutting her off before she could finish. His expression darkened with impatience.
"What?" he repeated, his tone sharper this time. "I already told you to leave me alone."
Zeenat inhaled deeply, gathering courage. Her heart pounded, but she refused to back down. "I just wanted to ask if you're okay," she said hesitantly. "It's my first night here... shouldn't we pray? Won't you at least pray for me?."
Rayyan hissed in frustration, stood up and storm out of the room, leaving Zeenat behind.
The sound of the door shutting felt like a final blow, making her heart sink. She stood there, staring at the empty space he left, shattered and broken.
She knew their marriage wasn't built on love or choice, but deep down, she had expected at least a little kindness from him. Had she been foolish to think that? Was it too much to hope for?
Overwhelmed by emotions, she swallowed the lump in her throat, refusing to let tears fall. Instead, she turned away, her steps heavy as she walked to the wardrobe. She changed into a more comfortable dress and hijab, her movements slow and drained. Then, she spread her prayer mat, seeking solace in the only place she could find peace—her Lord.
After offering her nafl prayer, she whispered a silent dua, asking for patience, strength, and maybe, just maybe, a softer heart in the man she now called her husband.
With that, she lay down, closing her eyes, letting exhaustion pull her into a restless sleep.