Three

My sister is marrying the love of her life after 14 years of unbreakable love. They actually made it to becoming life partners. Sometimes I really admire that couple. In my darkest fears about marriage, their love for each other makes me believe that maybe there is a chance to be happy after marrying someone. It's not as terrible as I think, Meherjan?. They are so cute and funny, with so much love in their eyes for each other. It fills my eyes with tears of joy seeing them that happy. I pray to God that their love and attraction for each other never fade away.

It really makes me feel that it's not too bad to trust someone, to rest yourself on someone, to believe in someone even when the whole world makes you feel small, and you're drowning in something you can't breathe in. Then someone truly comes along and takes away all your fears, holding onto you. Isn't it really beautiful to have someone like that? Someone who understands you without you even having to speak.

Our house is in a mess, and everyone is stressed. Haahh, my sister is getting married, and of course, I have to look beautiful because I'm her only sister. We're rushing to get everything done, and time seems to be slipping away, as if it's not in our control.

A week before the main event, all the family members gathered at our house for the sangeet—a traditional event here in Pakistan and in some other countries too. They danced and sang old songs from the '90s, creating a continuous rhythm. The women in the family drummed their fingers on a tabla-like drum, adding to the festive atmosphere. We don't have many relatives, just my dad's side of the family here. My mom's side lives in Kashmir. So, it's just Muazam's family, my aunt, grandma, and our family gathering daily at night for a week.

Now I see him almost daily, but we don't have any real conversations, and neither of us sits in the same place. Just small talk, barely. We avoid it because we don't want to spark new rumors about us, especially in front of his sister—she's the root of all the conspiracies. So, we've chosen to act like we don't know each other during these daily gatherings. Finally, the main event has arrived, and it's time to say goodbye to my sister.

Everything went perfectly fine, though there was some chaos from the stress and anxiety in the air, but it has passed now.

I've been wearing a hijab since I was in 9th grade, and by now, it's become a part of me—I never forget to wear it. This is my first big event wearing a hijab in front of so many people, both those who know me and those who don't.

I got ready at the same beauty salon as my sister, of course, since I'm her only sister. My two aunts and Muazam's sister were there with us as well. Each of us was taken care of by a staff member, and for my sister, they had an expert artist since she's the bride of the day. All the makeup artists were eager to work their magic on our faces. I put on lenses, and the hands of my makeup artist were so gentle and soft. I had a good feeling that I would be beautiful tonight.

We got ready by 8 PM, and the event was scheduled to start by 9 PM. We would be late if we didn't leave soon, as it would take time to get to the banquet hall. Everyone was ready, and we were just giving our dresses the final touches.

Three staff members from the salon were fussing over my sister, the bride. One was adjusting her lehenga—a stunning cherry red dress with golden embroidery. She looked absolutely gorgeous and perfect. Her lipstick was applied flawlessly, the garnet red color accentuating the shape of her lips beautifully. The other two staff members were fixing Baby's Breath flowers into her hairstyle and setting her jewelry in place.

I'm in the dressing room, just fixing my hijab. I put on my hijab cap first and then draped a gray silk crinkle hijab over it. I'm wearing a simple outfit—a jade green shirt that falls just above my knees, paired with silver baggy trousers. I have a long dupatta draped over my shoulder as well. I didn't wear much jewelry, just a tikka placed on my forehead underneath my hijab.

After finishing dressing up, I went to the salon's waiting room to find her. My eyes searched around the room and finally landed on her. She looked absolutely stunning in her wedding dress, a vision of elegance and grace. Her beauty shone even brighter today—her pure white skin and naturally green eyes were perfectly complemented by the makeup, dress, hairstyle, and jewelry. Everything was perfect; she was ready to steal the show.

I knelt down in front of my sister to help her put on her heels. My eyes filled with tears as I looked at her in her wedding dress. Soon, she would leave us to start a new life with the love of her life.

My elder brothers came to pick us up outside the salon, and we quickly rushed out. I insisted on sitting in the same car as my sister, but one of my aunts also wanted to sit with her. I stubbornly insisted on sitting beside my sister, and she eventually assured me that I could. However, that aunt still managed to squeeze in too. She's so annoying, like most of my relatives—I don't really like any of them.

We made it to the banquet hall, though it took us an hour and we were almost late. The groom was already on the stage, and all the guests and relatives were waiting for the bride's entrance. My parents and other close family members were there, greeting guests and trying to buy us some time.

Finally, it was time for the bride to make her entrance, and we planned it in a traditional desi way. I have four brothers—six of us in total. My sister is the eldest, followed by two older brothers, then me, and finally, two younger brothers. My brothers held the four corners of a long red dupatta with golden embroidery over our heads—me, my bride sister, and that annoying aunt were all under it.

As we walked through the entrance, the scent of fresh jasmine mixed with the rich aroma of incense filled the air. The sound of traditional wedding songs played softly in the background, almost drowned out by the hum of guests' chatter. My heart pounded in my chest as I focused on adjusting my sister's lehenga, the heavy fabric brushing against my hands with every step." and the entry was amazing.

Even though I was busy, my eyes searched for him. I wanted him to see me and gauge his reaction, as he never says that I look beautiful. I checked his facial expression to satisfy myself as we walked. The photographer captured pictures of my sister as she walked, and we finally reached the stage.

My brother-in-law extended his hand to my sister, guiding her onto the stage. They looked stunning together—a perfect couple, the stars of the night. They complemented each other perfectly as they stood side by side, and the night began.

We were all busy greeting guests and showing our hospitality while the bride and groom had their photos taken. My eyes met his from afar, and we exchanged glances. I admit I'm being clingy around my male cousins because I dislike being with the women in my family.

I walk toward him. He stands in the hallway of the banquet hall, surrounded by the chaos and busy guests. He's a man of average height with almond-toned skin, in his twenties. He's wearing a pure white kurta with a black waistcoat, and the suit fits him well. His hair is styled in a fade or buzz cut, and it looks good on him. As I approach, he remains a calm presence amidst the bustling crowd.

He looked me up and down. I had prepared myself to meet his preferences in a girl. He likes girls with natural-colored eyes, but unfortunately, I have dark brown eyes, so I wore hazel-colored contact lenses. He also prefers long painted nails, but since I don't have them naturally, I opted for fake nail extensions. He's not a fan of heavy makeup, so I kept it light. He likes henna on hands, so I applied it to make my hands look beautiful. I dressed up to match the type of girl he likes.

He never explicitly shared his preferences about girls, but I had observed how much he admired my sister. I asked him, "How do I look?" while striking a pose to appear more attractive. I knew he wasn't the type to say fancy words that would make me feel on top of the world, so when he simply nodded and said, "Yes," my excitement faded in an instant.

I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut in frustration. Are you serious? I thought. I dressed up, walked over to you, and even set aside my pride to ask for your opinion, and all you can manage is a simple nod? Are you really that clueless? Couldn't you at least say something nice to make me feel a little special? I must be stupid, standing here in front of you like this, hoping for a compliment.

Of course, I didn't say any of this out loud—it was just my inner thoughts. But for me, at least he said "yes," and I guess that would have to be enough.

The night was coming to an emotional close as my sister prepared to leave for her new home. Everyone was gathered around, wishing her well and giving their blessings. The atmosphere was thick with emotions; tears were shed as we said our goodbyes.

Afterward, we returned home, but the mess from the event was left for me to handle. Muazam's family came along with us since it was quite late.

"So, what do you all want to drink? Simple tea, green tea?" I asked as I stood in the lounge with our guests. Some requested simple tea, the elders preferred green tea, and the kids, as usual, wanted ice cream. I was in charge of everything.

Muazam was around, lingering close by. I wasn't sure why, but as I was rushing around trying to manage everything, I noticed him watching me. I hadn't even had the chance to freshen up or remove my makeup; I was too busy with hospitality and cleaning up the house.

My nails looked beautiful, and before they got ruined from all the work, I wanted to take a picture of them. But when I tried, the photos didn't turn out well. So, I asked him to take a picture for me.

I sat down in front of him, making eye contact. "Could you take a picture of my hands? I love my nails."

"Sure, let me do it," he said, taking the phone from my hands. First, I placed my hands on my lap, and he snapped a picture.

"Let me see," I asked, and the picture turned out good. But then, he looked at me and took my hand in his. What was this? Was he just making an excuse to touch my hand, or did he genuinely want to give me a better picture? Maybe he wasn't satisfied with the background or doubted his skills. "When Muazam took my hand, a jolt of warmth shot up my arm, spreading through my chest. I could feel my pulse quicken as his fingers gently brushed against mine, the softness of his touch both thrilling and terrifying. I tried to keep my breathing steady, not wanting him to see how much this simple gesture affected me."

He's always been a bit elusive, never giving in easily to anyone's desires, not unless they were on their last breath. As he carefully took my hand, he didn't grip it; instead, he held it gently in his open palm, as if handling something fragile. Then he snapped the picture, and I swear, it was stunning. I could tell he enjoyed the moment as much as I did, and that thought made me even happier.

When I'm with him, time seems to stand still. The rest of the world fades away, and all that matters is the two of us in that moment. Being with him feels like holding something precious, something I don't want to let go of. I just love us as we are—.

"But deep down, I know this won't work. We're too different—like fire and water, destined to extinguish each other. A part of me craves his warmth, his presence, but another part whispers that this will only end in heartache. I'm torn, caught between the desire to be with him and the fear of losing myself in the process. Yet, as I sit here, holding onto this fleeting moment, I can't help but wish we could stay like this forever—trapped in this delicate balance between what is and what could never be."