My hand slowly slipped away from my brother's arm. He took a few steps back, never taking his eyes off me. Father and mother stood beside his parents, both families filled with polarising emotions.
A daughter would leave one house, and the other would be promised a daughter.
They grinned with happy smiles, nudging some relatives's arms and pointing at their perfect son.
My eyes yet again couldn't find a place to settle. No matter what, they wouldn't dare to rest on him. As always, my gaze stuck to the floor, only noticing his black suit and trousers, looking sharp and charming.
A designer watch rested on his wrist, his hands free at his sides, almost like a relaxed man.
The Imam stood beside him; some had told me they had been acquaintances for a long time.
The hall fell silent once the Imam cleared his throat and began reciting for the Nikah. The quiet murmurs faded in an instant, leaving only the soft sound of fabric shifting.
Oh…is it really happening?
There were days when I would laugh with my friends and swear that we would never get married.
Yet here I was - being promised to another, given responsibilities, and finally being treated like an adult.
I clutched my hands tightly before forcing my gaze to rise from the polished floor to him.
I gulped hard, my eyes trembling slightly.
He was looking my way as well.
His demeanour remained unchanged from our previous meetings, yet today, I could sense a hint of other lingering emotions flickering behind that ice-cold stare.
I was interrupted before I could read any further. The Imam spoke loudly and directed his question at me first, taking a long breath.
"Do you, Miss Ariya Muazzin, daughter of Imran Muazzin and Sophia Muazzin, accept Ahmed bin Haider, son of Abdul Karim and Nur Ayesha, as your husband?"
Suddenly, the world fell into shambles. My heart raced, and my lungs desperately called for more air. My hands trembled to the point of nearly giving out, and my lips dried despite the soft pink lipstick.
How could I get married?
My eyes wandered in panic, the fear clear on my face. My voice refused to come out, and I kept gulping to prevent my tears from falling.
I couldn't explain what I was feeling - not even to myself. My body felt chained, and I searched for voices that could pull me back again.
However, this time, nothing came.
No one dared to speak or oppose, nor did I. They had to save their faces, and I had to save mine. My long silence became a disaster for my parents. I could sense my mother tearing up behind me.
My silence filled the hall with whispers. My legs were on the verge of giving out, and the buzzing in my head didn't make anything better.
"Bismillah (in the name of Allah, the Most Merciful, the Most Gracious)."
He suddenly pronounced the words, and my eyes shot up to his. This time, his lips were slightly parted from speaking, his eyes showing a hint of concern - not enough for the others to notice. He nodded slightly, and I could feel my heart finally giving in.
"I… accept."
My ears caught the many relieved sighs, especially from my mother, before her tears started to fall. My brother looked away in silence, filled with surreal emotions, and my father could only hold himself together before breaking down emotionally.
My friend had less control over her emotions than my family did. Her sniffs could be heard even from the corner of the hall.
I shut my eyes tightly, feeling the blessed joy of wrapping it up successfully. When I opened them again with a proud face, I saw him preparing himself for his turn.
Composed, he simply cleared his throat quietly so his voice wouldn't crack. To think his biggest concern was that his voice might break was mildly daunting.
He said his words quicker than the ones before. The Imam smiled warmly before announcing that the marriage had been accepted and witnessed.
The crowd whispered "MashaAllah" and "Allahu Akbar."
I waited for him to say something.
He was quiet for a while, then spared me a glance before smiling slightly and uttering softly under his breath,
"Alhamdulilah."
My mother held her mouth, trying to hold herself back, and my brother wiped the corner of his eyes in secret.
Oh...there was no going back?
I would refer to him as my husband if asked and call myself his wife when introducing myself. I would need to wake up and prepare his breakfast every morning, even though I'm not a morning person.
I would need to think about what I should gift him on his birthday or on our anniversary. I would need to call his parents my own.
I would be held accountable if I refused to fulfill my duties. I would need to be his comfort, his sole support, and his loving wife. He might mold me into the best woman I could become, or leave me to find my own way.
Whatever it would be, I would accept it - as Father has always taught.
"Marriage and death are written above your head by your Lord. It is fate, and it is always correct."