"And they plan, but Allah is the best of planners." -
Surah Al-Anfal (8:30)
Asma,
The night air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers and the distant murmur of guests inside the house. The soft glow of fairy lights cast shadows across the courtyard, but everything around me felt dim. Lifeless.
Ahmed stood a few steps away, his posture tense, his gaze fixed on the ground. i could barely process the words that had just left his month.
"I can't marry you, Asma."
My fingers trembled as they clutched the embroidered edges of my wedding dress. A chill ran down my spine, but it had nothing to do with the night breeze.
I swallowed hard. "What.... what do you mean?" My voice came out barely above a whisper.
He finally looked up at me, but his eyes held no warmth. No hesitation. Just finality. "I thought I could go through with it, but I can't". His grip tightened around his car keys. "I'm sorry".
Sorry? My chest ached as if something had cracked open inside me. The laughter and music from inside the house felt like an insult to the pain swelling in my throat.
"Ahmed," I stepped closer, my heart racing, "the guests are inside. Our families - my father-".
"I know." He exhaled sharply, his eyes flickering with something- guilt? Fear? "But I can't do this. I won't."
I reached for his hand, desperate for him to see reason, for him to remember every promise he made to me. "Why? Did i do something wrong?"
He pulled back, shaking his head. "Its not you, Asma. It's just.... I can't marry you. You're not-" He clenched his jaw, cutting himself off.
Not what?
The question burned in my throat, but before I could force the words out, he turned away and strode towards his car.
Panic gripped me as I watched him unlock the door. "Ahmed, wait!".
He didn't. Without another glance, he got in, started the engine, and before I could reach him- before I could reach him- before I could plead, beg, understand - he drove away.
My knees wobbled, and I clutched my stomach as if that would somehow hold me together. A sob escaped my lips, and I bit down hard, willing myself not to break, not here, not now.
But the tears came anyway.
And in the glow of the wedding lights, standing alone in my dress meant for a future that no longer existed, i realized----
Ahmed was gone.
And he wasn't coming back.
------------------
"Asma".
I barely registered the voice calling my name. My body felt frozen in place, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as if that would somehow hold me together. My wedding dress felt heavier than ever, the fabric soaked with cold air and silent sorrow.
A warm hand touched my shoulder, pulling me back to the present. I looked up, my vision blurred with tears, and met my cousin, Abdulrahman's steady gaze.
He frowned, glancing toward the direction Ahmed had disappeared. "Where is he?"
I tried to speak, but my throat closed up. I could only shake my head as fresh tears slipped down my cheeks.
"He--" My voice broke. "He left me."
Abdulrahman's expression didn't change. No shock, no visible anger. Just quiet understanding.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then, without hesitation, he reached for my hand. His grip was firm, grounding, like an anchor in the middle of a storm. "Come on."
I didn't ask where we were going. I let him lead me, my feet moving on instinct, my mind too numb to process anything beyond the ache in my chest.
We stepped into the main hall, the laughter and chatter of guests still filling the space. It felt like a cruel contrast to the emptiness inside me.
Baba, my father stood near the high table, speaking with some elders. As soon as Abdulrahman approached, his sharp gaze shifted to us. And in that moment, something in his eyes darkened.
"Asma, what happened?" His voice was firm but laced with concern.
Abdulrahman was the one who answered. "Ahmed is gone".
The hall suddenly felt smaller, the walls pressing in. A few nearby relatives overheard, their conversation faltering. Baba's expression remained unreadable, but the weight of his silence sent a chill through me.
He looked at me, then at Abdulrahman, as if putting together a piece of a puzzle he already knew the answer to. Finally, he inhaled deeply. "Come with me."
We followed him into a smaller, more private room away from the guests. My stepmother was already there, her face tight with barely concealed satisfaction.
Baba took a seat, his gaze fixed on me. "Ahmed left?"
I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. "He--- he doesn't want to marry me."
A long silence followed. Then, finally, Baba exhaled. "There will be no rumors about this. Ahmed left, but this marriage will not be shamed."
I swallowed, unsure of what he meant.
His next words sent a jolt through me.
"You will marry Abdulrahman".
My heart stopped. My eyes darted at Abdulrahman, who remained still, his face unreadable.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
Baba continued. "Abdulrahman is family. He has lived with us since he was twelve. He is a man of dignity and respect, and I trust him more than anyone. This is the best decision".
I barely heard anything after that. My mind spun, my breath shallow. I had spent months preparing to marry Ahmed, and now, in the space of a single night, everything had changed.
Abdulrahman finally spoke, his voice low but steady. "If this is what you want, Baba. I will not refuse.
He didn't sound excited or hesitant--- just accepting. Respectfully.
I turned to him, searching for something--- anything----in his expression. But he remained calm, as he always was.
"Asma", Baba's voice softened, pulling me back. "You must forget Ahmed. This is for the best".
Forget Ahmed.
As if it were that easy.
I glanced at Abdulrahman again. He was different. Quieter. Reserved. A man i had grown up with but never truly known.
And now, he was to be my husband.
I took a shaky breath.
"Okay."
The decision was made.
"It may be that you like dislike a thing while it is good for you, and it may be that you like a thing while it is bad for you. Allah knows, while you do not know"
-Surah Al-Baqarah (2:216)