3 years ago The day began wrapped in a promise. Promise of union,promise of covenant, of love and of a spiritual bond, promises of tomorrow's and the days after that and the days after them.
I remember the smell of henna before I remember the vows. It lingered in the air- earthy, warm, grounding like something so old and virtuous blessing something new. A beginning of something that will last for ages to come.
My hands were stained with it, beautifully carved floral drawings from my shoulders to my palms in black and red stains marked by hope and tradition by the quiet belief that maybe this time, life was choosing me too.
The house glowed that day, strings of light curved along the walls flickering softly, turning familiar rooms into a sacred space. It almost felt like an Indian home during Diwali- celebratory, alive bursting with anticipation. Every Conner shimmered with intention. Laughter floated from every room, plates clinked, voices of guests and family overlapped, for a moment everything was full.
I was marrying an honorable gentleman. A man who looked at my past and did not flinch, A man who accepted me and the child I carried into this union not as a baggage but as a blessing. In a world that had already practiced abandoning me, his acceptance felt like delivery, like relief like maybe I could finally exhale.
That day I believed love could be gentle. I believed commitment could heal. I believed that choosing each other was enough.
I didn't know then how fragile joy can be when it isn't protected and how love immediately stales if not nurtured. I didn't know that some memories age quickly losing their warmth becoming sharp around the edges.
What once felt like celebration would later return as something else entirely. A memory revisited with disbelief, moments replayed with questions.
The lights that once made the house glow would dim in my mind, the henna stains would fade and that day so carefully prepared, so deeply hoped for, would become a memory I would learn to place down gently, like something too heavy to carry for long.
Who would've known that what felt like a beginning would one day feel like a discard worthy memory.
Still remembered it clearly because even discarded memories deserve acknowledgment, they remind us that we once believed and hoped that we once stood under bright lights unaware of the shadows awaiting beyond them.
The green and gold two piece dress fitted perfectly as it accentuated my warm medium shade of brown skin tone. My make up was light a mixture of bold and simplicity, covered up with a long floor length green veil pinned in place on my deep champagne hijab scarf.
"You look so beautiful dear, barakallahu fiki"
My mom and Aunts taking turns saying the same statement. Which I returned with a sweet smile and the word that suites every blessing or prayer "Ameen"
After the Nikkah at the masjid finally the moment everyone has been waiting, the reveal. The groom walked in the living room escorted by my aunts and cousins. I was seated on a couch fully covered with a veil.
I felt a masculine hand on my head as this is the least but not the last ritual of the night.
He recited the mas-ha and then sat down next to me and reached for my hand which he grabbed gently with tenderness as he whispered to my ear, something that built a home and stayed in my heart.
"You're finally mine, Alhamdulillah"