Dawud.

Chapter 28: Saying Bye to Mom

  بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful  

Jannah's P.O.V

I sat on my mother's bed and rubbed her back as she wept. Her cheeks grew pink and her trembling hands slid into mine, intertwining our fingers. I looked at the difference and was astonished to see that we had the same hands. My eyes trailed up to her arms and I observed the brown skin color and semi-hairy arms we shared. Once I set my eyes on my mother's neck, I could see where I got my long neck and deep collar bones from. I was a reproduction of my mother.

Her sobbing interrupted my sudden moment of deep insight.

"Stop crying, mom." Mariam groaned, kneeling down to catch my mother's line of vision. Mariam and I shared the same amused face.

"I haven't seen you cry like this since I graduated high school." I teased. My mother chuckled before returning back to her wailing.

"Why are you crying?" Mariam questioned. I stifled back a laugh.

My mother rarely ever cried. She was tough, passive-aggressive and adored confrontation. Seeing her like this made me happy. We were finally getting emotion out of her. "I'm crying because," she rambled on, "my beautiful, smart and devoted daughter is leaving me! Who will I stay with?"

Mariam and I erupted with laughter, filling the whole room with wild cackles. "So this is about you?" My sister asked, grabbing my knee for support as she hurled over in hysterical tears.

My mother frowned, fighting the corners of her mouth as they threatened to pull upwards. "I have to get ready." She announced, suddenly embarrassed. Her wet cheeks made her look silly.

"You're not going to give me any advice?" I pouted, fiddling with the crystals on my white dress.

Mariam felt the change in atmosphere and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

"Men." My mother proclaimed in her favorite diplomatic voice. "Men are interestingly simple. Very simple. Very easy to handle."

I laughed, not at my mother, but shocked at the fact that she was completely serious right now.

"All you have to do is be kind. That's something I failed to do when I married your father. Be kind, compassionate, loving, sincere, understanding, polite and respectful. Of course, he needs to be these things as well but it's very different for women. We need to be these things because men come home to us seeking these things. Whether it be food, comfort, company, love or support, we're their anchor. Men don't need another mother to order them around. Rather, they need a partner equal to them. From what I've seen, Dawud will take good care of you, Insha'Allah."

I listened carefully. My mother never opened up and spoke to me like this.

"But I also want you to remember that men are nothing without women." She concluded. I sighed a breath of relief. My mom was back to normal.

She unraveled her short hair from the damp towel around her head and grabbed a comb off of her bed. She combed and combed and combed through her hair, removing all the knots. "Are you nervous?" She asked me after some time. 

"Yeah. I'm getting married at the age of nineteen." I said in disbelief.

"Dawud's a good guy. He'll take care of you, Insha'Allah." My mother replied simply. She braided her hair in rows against her scalp, tying the tips with black elastics. She then slipped on the beige gown I had bought her and asked me to grab her the heels next to my bare feet. I brought them to her and watched admiringly as she slipped on a hijab. We stood side by side in the mirror, adjusting minor details like our sleeves and our belts. I froze. My mother froze. We stared at each other's reflection in disbelief. My mother covered her mouth and shook her head. "You're getting married." She repeated. I stared at my own reflection in disbelief.

I wore a long and loose dress with crystals and diamonds embedded into the seams. It was held together by a gold belt, tied around my waist. On my head was a white hijab paired with a gold chain of oval-shaped lilac colored jewels that were hung around my head. The crystals bounced on the skin just above my eyebrows each time I darted my head left and right. I felt like a princess.

I think that it's hard for certain individuals to understand the seriousness of marriage. For me, I was getting married to Dawud because he was pious and God-conscious. Apart from his looks, his personality was beautiful. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him and five months ago, if you told me I was getting married, I would laugh at you. Given the disdain I felt for men due to the issues I had with my father, I thought well-mannered and respectable men were a thing of the past. And the crazy thing is, all I had to do was walk into a bookstore for my perspective to change. All thanks and gratitude goes to Allah.

A few hours later, I slipped into the limousine that my sister rented for the trip to the Masjid. My dress was being held upwards by Muna and Warsan, who slipped in next to me. When I sat against the cold leather seat of the vehicle, I lifted the white fabric of my gown and placed it on my lap. I didn't want it to get dirty.

Muna took my shaky hand and Warsan took hers. We stayed like this for a while. My father and Abdallah were hauling suitcases filled with my belongings into the trunk of the limousine and my mother and sister were gathering the last of their needs. My best friends and I sat quietly in the vehicle.

"Today is the day we've been dreaming of." I told them. Muna tightened her grasp around my hand and I leaned my head over her left shoulder. Warsan leaned her head over Muna's right shoulder and we stayed like this silently.

There was so much to be said. We had so much history—the three of us—and my story ended here. I wanted to cry and I knew they wanted to cry as well but we stayed in silence. It was as though the air was bursting with so many thoughts and memories. It was pointless to talk when all that played in our minds were flashbacks from the old days.

When Warsan started crying, I cried too. Silent whimpers of nostalgia of the past and anticipation for the future filled the car. Muna shook silently, causing her shoulders to bounce up and down. This went on for what felt like forever.

My father opened the limousine door to find us crying over one another. "What in the world is going on here?" He asked in shock.

My sister peeped over his shoulder and smiled sadly. I watched through blurry and red eyes as her bottom lip started to tremble. "They're giving her away to Dawud. It's a sad moment for all of us."

Chapter Twenty-Nine ->