Mansha’s POV:
Khizer didn’t speak to me the rest of the night, pretending to be occupied talking to guests, friends and family. Mostly he was just hanging around with that friend of his. I wouldn’t have minded if he wasn’t refusing to even look at me.
I don’t push either. I don’t have friends, but I have enough cousins to keep myself busy. Then there are pictures. Everyone wanted to take one with me, even if they disapproved of my wedding gown.
Father brought a tray of salad when we went back to the stage after Ahmed left. Khizer excused himself and went to the toilet, and I took two bites. The mixture of vegetables and spicy sauce fell on my tongue like paper. I didn’t take more bites.
Around midnight, the guests finally start to leave, and everyone begins to wrap up. Khizer’s female cousins crowd around me, taking pictures, kissing my cheek, teasing Khizer. My family packs up the hoard of gifts I got tonight, before mom comes over to me sitting quitely on the stage, pretending to be interested in my black roses and wraps me in a long white shawl.
“My daughter is finally going to her real home.” She says, all teary eyed.
“Mom, are you seriously crying?” Maha comes over, laughing. “I thought they were done with that trend.”
“It’s not a trend. Aren’t you sad your sisters leaving?”
“Not really, no. She’s barely ever home anyway.” I glare at my ungrateful sister, but she ignores me, instead turning to Khizer, sitting besides me.
“If you get up and become curious about where the heck your car keys went, just know that I’ve hidden them.”
Khizer’s eyes widen. “Hidden them? You witch, how am I supposed to take my wife home?”
Everyone laughs, and my heart clenches. Wife. Such a complex and stupid word.
“By paying me to give it back.” This is a classic Pakistani trend. The brides sisters and cousins hide her husbands shoes or anything of importance, then ask him to give them a lot of money to give it back. I hadn’t realized Maha was planning to follow up with it.
Everyone hoots, coaxing Khizer, egging Maha on. Khizer’s friend is telling Maha to loot his best friend and leave nothing behind. Maha laughs and says she wasn’t planning to.
Everyone is laughing and talking at the same time and when Khizer doesn’t take out his wallet Maha puts her foot down.
“Spend one more minute contemplating and I’ll increase the price.” His friend howls and Khizer laughs and everyone else cheers on, telling Khizer to turn out his pockets.
He does. He takes out his wallet and pulls out four notes, each a five thousand. “That’s all I have right now ma’am, now please give me my keys.”
Maha grabs the money. “How much more do you owe me?”
Mama tells her he’s given her quite a lot already, and to leave the poor boy alone, but Khizer hums thoughtfully. “How about thirty thousand more?”
My sisters face splits into a wide grin. “Deal.”
Mother gasps, everyone else cheers and Khizer shakes his head sadly, taking the car keys from Maha. “It’s like buying my car all over again.”
Everyone laughs.
By the time we’re at the exit, Maha is crying. “I didn’t expect you to.” I nudge her in the ribs.
“I’m crying for Khizer, not for you. How will he survive with your stubborn ass?” Neither me nor Khizer comment on that, and my sister doesn’t wait for one. She wraps me in a hug, now sniveling.
I awkwardly hug her back, telling her to stop. I don’t feel sad like her though. I love my sister and my parents, but that doesn’t mean I have to bawl my eyes out just because I’m changing homes.
Mom hugs me next, then my aunts and cousins, and finally, father. He whispers in my ear to take care of myself and my husband, keep him happy and be grateful for everything.
“You’re going into a new house Mansha.” He says, looking into my eyes. “You’ll have to make your own place there. Take care of its residents, feel at home, because now that is your home. That’s your real home. Love us, miss us, but put them before us. How you behave there reflects on your parents you know that don’t you?” He puts a hand on my head, wishing me the blessings of the world. “And please, do as Khizer says. He’s your husband, make him feel so. I know you don’t like that, but that’s how it is.”
I don’t reply, resorting to simply nodding like I have all night. I’ve lost count of how many of my relatives have told me this. “May God bless you two with all the happiness in the world.” He kisses my forehead.
I don’t feel anything when I get into the car and watch my family from the window. No final sense of emotional breakdown. In truth, I expected to at least feel sad because of father, maybe scared, or even regretful. But I just feel empty.
Or I want to. I don’t care for the family I’m leaving behind right now. I’m literally just going to live an hours car ride away from them. I’m worried about the man besides me. The distance tonight has created between us cannot be filled by a car ride and I am no expert at filling it any other way. Usually, I just leave it be and allow it to grow.
After an hour of driving, we finally arrive. We both get out silently, followed by Khizer’s closest relatives and grandmother. They’re all laughing and doting over Khizer, and some of them help me into the house. Not that I needed it.
The house is, if put neatly, huge. Like very. It’s wide and gaping, filled with pastel colored couches, lamps, tables and vases of vast dried flowers. We walk across a corridor that splits in three directions at it’s end. One led straight into some closed room, the one on my right leading to the sitting area, and on the left were the stairs. His cousins guide me through those, up and into another corridor littered with beautiful glass vases and cute, weirdly shaped light bulbs. It was all very simple and sophisticated at the same time.
“Khizer designed this house himself.” The cousin on my right says proudly. I’m not surprised. “And he got it built by his own company as well. All this is beautiful, but you just wait for what’s above.”
I nod, looking at the other set of stairs curving up to another floor. “Khizer’ll probably take you soon. Oh gosh it’ll be so romantic.” Another says.
The two girls take me into a room which is apparently Khizer’s, and my heart clenches when I see the huge, single bed. How in the hell will we both sleep in the same bed?
I’m too worried to take in the rest of the gorgeous room, and let the girls help me sit on the bed with grace, a black veil covering my face, and the hem of my gown spread all around me. They tell me Khizer will take the veil off.
After a few more minutes of small talk, they leave, giggling. I don’t have to wait long before noises come from across the closed door. Khizer and his granny.
I take in a deep breath. It’s finally happening. I’m finally married. It’s stupid and silly and scary at the same time. I have to remind myself it’s no ordinary marriage, so I have nothing to be worried about. Except the fact that, well, I fucked up whatever it actually was.
Minutes pass, then the door opens and through the thin veil, I watch Khizer come in, face expressionless. The lock clicks into place behind him.
I take off my veil and get up. The room is deadly silent, and Khizer’s footsteps are more like hammers on the marble floor. With nothing else to do, I pick up my small handbag and take out my phone, even though I don’t know what to do with it.
“It was the third condition.” My blood runs cold with surprise when he finally speaks. “I checked that contract you so eagerly made.”
I don’t say anything, because there is nothing to say.
“Why did you do it Mansha?” His tone is harsh, and I don’t tell him to check it. I deserve it honestly. I would’ve done worse then using a harsh tone if he had done something like this. Mansha Haseeb can be very shitty sometimes.
“Let me guess. You were curious? Forget the contract, forget my boundaries, you just wanted to know everything didn’t you? Minding your own business wasn’t good enough for you.”
I scowl, finally looking at him since he entered the room. He’s just as gorgeous as he was at the beginning of it all. In truth, he looks sexy when angry. “Knowing that my client is my relative is actually my business.”
“Not if I’ve broken all ties with him.” He shoots back. “And do I have to tell you it’s none of your business to ask why?”
The most professional way to deal with this is to accept my mistake. Because it is my fault. I broke a condition of the contract and invaded his privacy.
“I recognize my mistake.” I finally say. Even as I say it, I flinch at how silly and stupid it sounds. But I don’t apologize. I don’t know how to.