Chapter 4, Two stories
"You make a stunning bride, Zeenat," Amira said, her voice filled with admiration trying to lighten up zeenat mood.
Among all four pairs, none had an easy journey to marriage. Yet, Zayd and Zeenat seemed to be handling it better than the rest, or atleast for now.
By 1 PM, the marriage of Rayyan Abbas Ahmed to Zeenat Muhammad and Zayd Muhammad to Anaya Abbas Ahmed had already concluded hours ago at the mosque. Family and friends had offered their prayers and well-wishes. There was no grand reception—just a quiet, modest gathering.
But even without the usual festivities, the weight of the event pressed heavily on both sides. Food was served, drinks were shared, and words of advice were given.
After Asr, the only thing left was to take Zeenat to her marital home.
Dressed in a white and ash-colored wedding attire, her makeup minimal, a delicate net veil flowing to the floor, Zeenat looked breathtaking.
Her room was now filled with friends, their laughter and chatter filling the air.
Seated closest to her was Amira, her cousin. Unlike the others, Amira knew the truth. She alone could see through Zeenat's nervousness, hidden behind her poised expression.
"We can't wait to see your groom, Zeenat!" Fadila, one of her friends, teased from across the room.
"What's there to see?" Sadiyya, her stepmother's youngest sister, scoffed. "I heard he didn't even attend the mosque marriage Fatiha." Her tone dripped with disdain, but no one paid her much attention.
She was just like her sister—bitter and resentful. When Zayd informed their stepmother about the marriage, her reaction had been exactly as expected—yelling, screaming, and endless complaints throughout the past few days of wedding preparations. She was furious that Zeenat hadn't married Haider, the man she had chosen for her.
The tantrums had continued all morning, but Zayd and Zeenat ignored her. Unfortunately, Sadiyya was here to help carry on the bitterness in her place.
"Zeenat, my dear," came a soft, familiar voice. Her Aunt Khadija, Amira's mom entered the room, smiling gently. "They're waiting for you."
Aunt Khadija was the only maternal figure Zeenat had ever trusted. She was the one who had helped her and Zayd with the wedding preparations from the start.
The weight of Aunt Khadija's words hit Zeenat with full force. The wedding was over. Signed and stamped, She was married. The responsibility that came with it settled heavily on her chest. Her vision blurred as tears spilled down her cheeks.
Before now, she hadn't cried. Not when she acceped the marriage. Not when the wedding took place at the mosque earlier that afternoon. But now, the reality of her new life crashed into her like a tidal wave.
The room fell silent as she wept, shoulders shaking under her intricately embroidered veil.
And now, as Zeenat's sobs filled the room, the significance of what had transpired truly sank in.
She was no longer just Zeenat Muhammad. She was now someone's wife.
"Oh, dear Zeenat, please stop this," Aunt Khadija pleaded, her voice laced with concern as she rubbed Zeenat's back.
But Zeenat couldn't stop. She refused to leave her room. Tears streamed down her face as she sat frozen, her heart weighed down by an overwhelming mix of emotions. Most brides cried when leaving their childhood home, but for her, it wasn't the house or the family she was attached to. It was Zayd—the only person who had ever truly been there for her.
The memories of their life together flashed before her eyes, the laughter, the struggles, the unwavering support. And now, she was stepping into the unknown, bound to a man she barely knew. The reality of it all settled on her chest like a heavy stone, making it impossible to move.
No amount of coaxing from her aunt or her friends could get her to stand.
Then the door opened.
"Zeenat..."
At the sound of Zayd's voice, she looked up, and the moment she saw him, she sprang to her feet and ran into his arms.
She clung to him desperately, gripping the fabric of his shirt.
Zayd held her close, his hand cradling the back of her head. "Shhh… It's okay," he whispered, though his voice carried a tremor. "Everything will be fine."
She didn't respond, only sobbing harder into his chest.
"Come on, Zeenat," he murmured after a long moment. "It's getting late. Everyone is waiting." He gestured toward Aunt Khadija and her friends, their eyes filled with sympathy as they watched the emotional scene. "Let's not keep them any longer."
Zeenat hesitated, but when she pulled back slightly, she saw the glisten in her brother's eyes—the silent battle he was fighting to hold himself together. That sight shattered her even more.
Yet, even after countless pleas, she refused to let go.
Zayd sighed, then forced a small smile. "Should I take you there myself?"
She nodded immediately, gripping his hand.
Without another word, Zayd intertwined his fingers with hers and led her out of the room. The women stepped aside, watching with quiet admiration as the siblings walked past.
Outside, the cool evening air was filled with the hum of distant wedding celebrations. The convoy of cars waiting to escort Zeenat was now packed with family and friends. As they began to move, the night stretched ahead, uncertain and daunting.
But among all the people, one person was missing.
Rayyan.
Her husband was nowhere to be found.
___
Back at Mr. Abbas's mansion, the atmosphere was thick with tension—heavier than even Zeenat's farewell.
Anaya and Rayyan had locked themselves in their rooms immediately after the wedding, refusing to face anyone.
Outside Anaya's door, Aunt Salima knocked persistently. "Anaya, please open the door," she pleaded.
"Anaya, don't do this," her friend Halima urged. "At least talk to us."
But Anaya remained silent.
Upstairs, Mr. Abbas sat in the living room, his expression a mixture of disappointment and exhaustion. His children's actions had not only saddened him but left him deeply embarrassed in front of the entire family.
With a sharp exhale, he turned to a housekeeper. "Bring me Anaya and Rayyan's room keys."
A few minutes later, their doors were unlocked, but getting them to leave their rooms wasn't easy. It took a great deal of convincing before both Anaya and Rayyan finally, albeit reluctantly, agreed to go to their father's room.
They saw him seated in his armchair, his expression unreadable, his fingers interlocked on his lap.
Anaya and Rayyan stood near the door, hesitant, unwilling to step further into the room. Their father's silence was more daunting than any reprimand he had ever given them.
Rayyan clenched his jaw, shoving his hands into his pockets. Anaya, still in her simple dress, looked fragile—like she was holding back another wave of tears.
"You've both embarrassed me today," Mr. Abbas finally spoke, his voice low but firm. "In front of our family. In front of people who respect me."
Rayyan scoffed, his hands forming fists. "And what about us, Dad? You forced us into something we didn't want! Did you expect us to smile and pretend to be happy?"
Mr. Abbas's sharp gaze flickered toward his son. "Don't get me started, Rayyan," he warned. "I expected you to be mature enough to handle this situation with dignity."
Rayyan looked away. Anaya lowered her gaze.
"I don't want us to go back and forth about this," Mr. Abbas continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Take a seat." He gestured toward the couch near him.
After exchanging a brief glance, Anaya and Rayyan reluctantly obeyed, settling onto the couch.
For a moment, silence filled the room. Mr. Abbas studied both his children before exhaling deeply.
"Anaya, you've always wanted to lead a major project in my company. Rayyan, you've always wanted to take charge of the business," he began.
Both their heads snapped up at once.
"I wanted you to start from the ground up, to prove yourselves capable," he continued. "But now… I'm willing to give you both what you want—if it means you will accept this marriage."
Anaya and Rayyan exchanged glances, both trying to gauge the other's reaction.
"Really, Dad?" Anaya asked hesitantly, her voice carrying a mix of hope and doubt.
"Yes," Mr. Abbas confirmed. "But only if you fulfill your responsibilities as a good wife."
Anaya hesitated. The weight of his words settled heavily on her chest. She wasn't sure how to respond. After a brief pause, she finally muttered, "Okay… I'll try."
"Good," Mr. Abbas said with a nod. "Now, go and get ready to leave for your husband's house."
Before she left, he offered her some words of advice—reminders of patience, compromise, and the importance of making the marriage work.
Anaya listened quietly, then stood and exited the room without another word.
Mr. Abbas watched her go, a flicker of pity crossing his features. He had known she was reluctant about this marriage, but he hadn't expected her to accept it so easily—just because of a project. The thought unsettled him, even though he was relieved that she had finally agreed.
Turning his gaze back to Rayyan, who still sat stiffly on the couch, Mr. Abbas let out a tired sigh.
"Anaya is younger than you," he said firmly. "I will not plead with you again to accept this marriage."