The room smelled like coconut oil and freshly fried puff-puff.
Amina sat cross-legged on Zainab's bedroom floor, her back resting against the edge of the bed, her henna-darkened fingers tracing invisible patterns on her notebook. Wedding invitation samples were scattered around them like colorful confetti.
Zainab lay on her stomach, chin in her hands, staring at Amina with a mischievous smile.
"Three weeks," she said dramatically. "Three weeks and you'll be somebody's wife."
Amina tried to hide her smile, but it bloomed anyway.
"Stop," she murmured.
"No, I won't stop. Three years together and now finally Mrs. Yusuf."
Amina's cheeks warmed. Even hearing his name felt different now. He wasn't just Yusuf anymore. He was her future.
"It still feels unreal," Amina admitted softly.
Zainab rolled onto her back. "You two have been inseparable since second year. Honestly, if you didn't marry him, I would have lost faith in love."
Amina laughed quietly. But deep inside, she understood what her friend meant.
Three years was not small.
Three years of shared lecture notes.
Three years of long conversations about life, faith, and ambition.
Three years of growing from teenagers into adults — together.
They had met in university during a campus Islamic seminar. Amina had been in her first year studying English literature while Yusuf was in his third year studying Engineering , shy but observant. Yusuf had been volunteering at the event. He spoke gently, confidently, and when he asked her opinion about a discussion topic, he actually listened.
That was what she remembered most.
He listened.
From that day, they built something careful. Respectful. Intentional. They kept their boundaries, involved their families when things became serious, and never rushed what felt steady.
Amina had always been devoted to her faith. She prayed on time. She attended Qur'an circles. She fasted beyond Ramadan when she could. Her relationship had never felt like rebellion. It felt like preparation.
Preparation for something halal. Something lasting.
Her phone buzzed beside her.
Zainab gasped dramatically. "Speak of the groom."
Amina picked up her phone, smiling before she even read the message.
I'm outside. Take your time.
Her heart did that familiar soft movement in her chest — the one it had been doing for three years.
"I'll be back before Maghrib," she said, standing and adjusting her hijab in the mirror.
Zainab followed her to the door. "Don't come back engaged again before the wedding," she teased.
Amina shook her head, laughing. "You're impossible."
Outside, the late afternoon sun painted the street gold. Yusuf's car was parked under the neem tree across the road. He leaned casually against it, scrolling on his phone.
When he saw her, he straightened.
And smiled.
It was a simple smile. Familiar. Comfortable.
He opened the passenger door for her without speaking. He always did that.
"Salam," he said softly once she settled inside.
"Wa alaykum salam."
The drive was easy. Windows slightly open. The breeze lifting the edge of her scarf.
"How was Zainab?" he asked.
"She's more excited about the wedding than I am."
He chuckled. "That's because she doesn't have to stand in front of hundreds of people."
Amina turned to look at him. "Are you nervous?"
He hesitated for a second — just long enough to notice.
"A little," he admitted. "It's a big step."
She nodded. "It is."
Silence settled between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It never was.
"Do you ever think about how strange it is?" she asked quietly. "That we met randomly… and now we're here?"
He glanced at her briefly before looking back at the road. "I don't think it was random."
She smiled at that.
They talked about small things after that — catering arrangements, guest lists, how his younger cousin was already planning to embarrass him during the ceremony.
Nothing heavy.
Nothing alarming.
Just two people on their way to forever.
When he dropped her off at her family home, he didn't leave immediately. He stayed parked outside a moment longer.
"Amina," he said.
She looked at him.
"You know I care about you, right?"
Her brows lifted slightly. "Of course."
He nodded slowly. "Good."
It was such a small moment. Such a simple exchange.
She didn't know it would echo later.
That night, after Isha prayer, Amina sat on her prayer mat longer than usual.
She always spoke to Allah in quiet conversations after her du'a. Tonight, her heart felt full.
"Ya Allah," she whispered, "place barakah in what is coming. If this is good for me, make it easy. And if it is not… guide me gently."
She didn't know why she added that last part.
If it is not… guide me gently.
She folded her prayer mat and went to bed with peace resting lightly on her chest.
Outside, the world was preparing for celebration.
Inside, her life was standing on the edge of something she could not yet see.