Izzat An-Nisa (Pakistani Short Stories)

Naz Part 2 🌹

Rukhma sniffed, holding a tissue to her eyes, her frustration only increasing due to the heavy dupatta over her face that her hand kept coming in contact with as she tried to keep from messing up her makeup. She couldn't believe she was married, the nikkah having taken place in a matter of minutes.

And it was nothing like her dream nikkah.

She sat with the women of her family in her elaborate dressing room, her brother, uncle and father around her as she consented to her marriage thrice and then signed the papers. No veil lifted between her and her husband, no forehead kiss. She didn't even get to hear him say "qubool hai."

Well, it's not like she heard him talk all that much since he resigned from his position and then the dry text conversations they'd had. He was the type to keep contact at minimum before their wedding. And she had agreed.

His resignation had come as a shock and he hadn't said much when she had asked him of it. She felt guilty for weeks throughout their two months long engagement, but today she had said no to any sort of negativity.

Nirmal gushed and kissed the top of her head. "Haye, kya hi haseen lag rahi ho. Green pehen k surprise hi kardiya tumne toh."

"Tang na karo, mujhe rona araha hai." Rukhma sniffled again.

Nirmal bent down and hugged her, her gigantic earrings clanging slightly. "Fikar na karo, Zarrar bhai aaj raat kuch nahi kare gain agar tumhari marzi na ho toh."

Rukhma shrieked. "Badtameez, dafa hojao!"

Nirmal snickered as she prepared for the bride's entrance. The ladies were chittering about, making sure everything would be perfect. They had rented out a venue that had a gigantic old-fashioned haveli and while it was entirely renovated, it had the old charm that Rukhma loved. They were getting ready to take Rukhma downstairs for her first look with her husband.

Rukhma stood and the ladies all assembled themselves, her mother and Tayi ami on either side with her grandmothers and Nirmal all behind, their dresses perfectly coordinated with colors of white and pistachio green. The women had tried dastardly hard to make sure the pictures would be the perfect aesthetic.

Rukhma was trying to hard to feel the music that was playing, and not tumble down the stairs. Her green lehenga in her hands, her mom holding her arm. And when they reached the bottom she raised her eyes behind the veil just slightly and saw Zarrar, his white sherwani blurring him from view alongside her dupatta.

God, she needed to get this away from her face.

Her heart beat erratically as she took the last two steps forward and placed her mehndi covered hand in Zarrar's outstretched one, her bangled twinkling.

She could see him better now, the voices and cheers drowned out in that entryway. His beautiful dark hair was styled as always, his eyes dark with something akin to desire, his gaze shameless. He smirked, his single dimple deepening and then he spoke lowly. "Parda hata doon? Ijazaat hai kya?"

She breathlessly replied. "Yes, please."

Zarrar chuckled, letting go of her hand and then grabbing her dupatta with both hands and lifting it, his breath hitching as he caught sight of her.

Rukhma looked up to meet his eyes as he placed the dupatta where it should be, covering her head and shyly smiled.

Zarrar could finally see his dulhan, her doe-like eyes laden with dark eye makeup, her lips painted a light pink. Her cheeks were pink and he just wanted to lean in and kiss them.

"MashAllah." He whispered.

Rukhma averted her gaze as the cheers got louder. She doesn't know when his hand found hers, holding it in his firm grip and squeezing it reassuringly, but she's glad it did. When she looked up, he was looking away, smiling. He had grounded her.