Hey. Hi. Hello. Salaam. Bonjour. Salut. Ciao. Ahoj. Bog. Marhaba. Ola. 😀
Hope you guys are all well.
Apologies for the long wait. This will be the last post of 2017 as I will be on holiday and unable to post. Insha Allah will be back around mid-Jan. Until then, take care and have an awesome holiday! Stay safe, stay cool!
Troubled Illusioner. ❤
*1 week later
As narrated by Zee:
“ZEEEYYOOO, GET UUUUUP!!”
I groan, covering my face with the duvet.
“5 minutes, pleeeaaase!” I grumble.
Much to my surprise, Muaaz exits the room, closing the door behind him.
Sighing contentedly, I bury my face deep into my pillow and doze off again.
But not for long.
“Ziyaad, come, you need to get up,” says Mummy, coming into the room and lifting the blinds.
“Ziyaad,” Mummy says again, when I don’t respond.
“What’s the time?” I ask, sleepily.
“It’s already 7:30, come on!” replies Mummy.
“7:30?!” I cry out. “It’s so early!”
And then I hear Muaaz’s voice from somewhere in the house.
“HUMAIRAH AND HANZALAH SITTING ON A TREE…. K-I-S-S-I-N-G….”
“Oh my gosh!” I gasp as realization dawns.
“IT’S HUMI’S WEDDING DAY,” I yell, flinging back my duvet (and my sleepiness!).
Mummy shoots me a bemused look, shaking her head.
“Yes it is,” she says. “And there’s things to do, so hurry up and get done!”
“Jee Mummy,” I say, saluting, not bothering to hide my grin.
Shaking her head, Mummy walks out and I head to the bathroom to wash and brush.
Couple minutes later, I dry my hands and face before making my way to the kitchen.
“You have to eat something, Humairah!” I hear mummy say as I walk in.
“I can’t, mummy!” replies Humairah, her head in her hands.
“Uh oh, is the bride getting cold feet?” I ask, walking up behind Humairah and pressing her shoulders.
“We can just call Hanzalah to feed you,” says Muaaz, smirking.
Humairah shoots him daggers, turning a deep shade of red.
Cackling, he scurries out of the kitchen.
“What’s up?” I ask Humairah once he’s gone.
“I can’t do this!” she says, shaking her head, her eyes wide.
“Why not?” I ask, sitting down next to her.
“What if they don’t like me? What if I burn the food? Or my baking flops? What if I do something stupid? And what if they have issues and dark pasts? Oh god,” she gasps in horror, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Hey, hey, listen to me,” I say. “Calm down. Take a deep breath.”
“The only reason it’s your wedding day today is because they must have seen something good in you. If they didn’t like you, would it make sense for them to take things this far? No, it wouldn’t! Obviously they like you, and if they don’t, they will grow to because you are amazing and sincere and very much likeable! About the food, you probably will end up burning the food some days and your baking will flop, but that’s not a problem because it’s normal. It happens to everyone! Your mother-in-law’s food will probably burn sometimes too, trust me! And everyone has issues, you just have to accept them with theirs how they’re accepting you with yours,” I say comfortingly.
“Oh gosh, I needed to hear that,” she sighs. “I’m just so worried, urgh!”
“Ziyaad, did you get married and not invite me?” comes Mummy’s voice from behind us.
We spin around, surprised.
“Huh?” I say in confusion.
“That was very good advice there,” explains mummy.
“Ohhh,” I grin.
“Learnt from my mother, what can I say?” I add a second later.
“Charmer! You just do it for nice food!” mutters Humairah, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t get jealous!” I say, smirking at her.
“Pfft, please! Mummy is serving me a 7 course breakfast here!” she huffs, indicating to the bowl of cereal, mug of tea, and toast and cake on a plate in front of her.
“Well you’re getting married in…” I glance at my watch. “…about 5 hours, so you better eat up!”
“Zeeee!” she groans. “Stop reminding me!”
“Whyyy?? Aren’t you suppose to be all happy and giddy and love struck?” I question, trying to hide my grin.
Humairah flushes furiously and mummy laughs.
“Oooh, seems like you are love struck!” I tease, scooting away from her hand that flies out to hit my leg.
“Now eat your breakfast! You’re gonna need the energy,” I add, winking at her mischievously.
She looks at me incredulously, turning bright red again.
Laughing, I exit the kitchen in search of dad to get my Wedding Day To-Do List..
My cheeks ache from grinning, and a warm feeling of happiness spreads from my heart.
Humairah is married!
After greeting lots of people and trying to smile less, so that my cheeks would stop aching, I jump into the passenger seat of dad’s car.
Wanting to keep things as simple as possible, Humairah had requested to have an at home wedding – men in the garden, ladies in the house.
Only immediate family were invited for the 2 course meal, followed by tea and a variety of baking.
The day passed by in a beautiful blur and by the end of it, I was exhausted.
“About time you left, so I can go to sleep!” I say to Humairah when it’s time for her to leave.
She sticks out her tongue and I gasp.
“You’re a married woman!” I hiss. “Behave like one!”
I pull her into a hug, the bead work on her dress forcing me to let go after a couple of seconds.
“Mabrook again,” I say, smiling at her happily. “May Allah bless your marriage and keep you and Hanzalah happy together forever.”
“Aameen,” she says, her eyes shining with tears. “I’ll miss you, idiot.”
“You’re going to stay in Joburg! What do you mean you’ll miss him? You’ll see him the most!” grumbles Muaaz, joining us.
Humairah pulls him into a tight hug.
“I’ll miss you more,” she whispers to him, the tears finally escaping her eyes.
After she greets everyone, we walk her and Hanzalah to their car.
“I still can’t believe you’re married,” I muse out aloud, for the umpteenth time that day.
“Oh don’t worry, soon I’ll be saying the same to you,” she replies, wiping her tears.
I gasp, my eyes widening.
“Oh my gosh, you’ll should have seen the way Aunty Faiza was going on with him -” starts Muaaz, a grin spreading on his face.
Aunty Faiza was the neighbour from down the road – the one who even if you don’t invite, will still pitch up on your wedding day.
In her late fifties, she was that aunty – the one you try to avoid at all costs.
The one I, somehow, unfortunately, seemed to never be able to avoid.
“Don’t you dare!” I warn, glaring at Muaaz.
“Ziyaad?! Is that you, ma?” gasps Muaaz, imitating Aunty Faiza’s reaction when she spotted me.
Oh well, let’s give him a feel of what a whacked family he’s gotten married into.
“Jee,” I say meekly, as I had done on failing to escape Aunty Faiza. “Assalaamualaikum, Aunty Faiza.”
“Allaaah Paaak!” gasps Muaaz. “Every time I see you, you just looking more and more Masha Allah!”
As Muaaz imitates Aunty Faiza’s words, I once again wonder which “Masha Allah” she had meant!
I make a weird expression, as Muaaz pulls me into a tight hug and smacks a sloppy kiss on my cheek.
Every one is laughing by now, and I struggle to keep up my act without grinning too.
“Jee Aunty Faiza, you know, there’s lot Masha Allah girls back in Joburg – have to maintain my image,” I say.
“What you mean lot girls, tsk tsk?!” Muaaz looks at me with wide eyes. “What happen to that white white one?”
“Such lovely eyes she had. Shame, but she was too short for you, huh?” asks Muaaz, looking at me sadly.
That’s when it had clicked.
“Ohhh, Deeyanah?” I say, a small smile once again making its way on my face, thinking of her. “We’re just friends.”
““Just friends?!”” Muaaz scoffs, just as Aunty Faiza had. “You carry on saying “just friends”, one nother lucky boy will take her away. You better pull some moves quick quick, you hear?”
“You need any help, you just call me,” adds Muaaz, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Jee, JazakAllah, but my pickup lines are very good, Aunty Faiza,” I say, smiling politely.
“Pickup lines?! Now you’ll need lines to pick up girls, huh?” asks Muaaz, frowning. “Just buy her shoes, I’m telling you. Loutibuns for this one, because she short.”
“Loutibuns? Do you mean Louboutins, Aunty Faiza?” I ask, struggling to hide my grin.
Humairah is cry-laughing by now.
“Ya, ya, that ones,” she had said dismissively. “Don’t worry about lines and all. Lines is where she must hang your washing, ma.”
“Jee, Aunty Faiza,” I reply.
I grin, remembering how I had almost laughed right then when she had said that.
“Next time you come Durban you must come have supper. Buy her shoes, then you bring your Deeyanah and come also. Then you tell me about your pokeup lines, right?”
“Pickup lines, Aunty Faiza. Jee, Insha Allah,” I reply.
Muaaz comes forward to hug and kiss me again, as Aunty Faiza had, but I hurry out of reach.
“I think we’ll stop there,” I say to him.
Muaaz and I grin as we look at our now laughing family.
“Welcome to the family, again,” I say, grinning at Hanzalah. “Here the only competition we have is who can be the craziest.”
He grins back at me, but doesn’t say anything.
A short round of greetings happen again before we find ourselves waving as Humairah and Hanzalah drive off.
I swallow a yawn and head to my room, more than ready to hit the sack.