After a long day, the entire family gathered around the dining table.
Father sat at the head of the table, a newspaper spread open in his hands as he quietly skimmed through the headlines.
Mother and Joyah busied themselves setting down the final dishes, while my older brother looked exhausted after returning from university.
I quietly arranged the cutlery before taking my seat.
Once everyone had settled and the meal began, Mother broke the comfortable silence.
"Dear, did you know a new family has moved into our neighbourhood?"
She asked casually between bites.
Father lowered his newspaper.
"Is that's so?"
"They came from the eastern region," Mother continued. "They're a well-respected family. I spoke with them earlier today."
Father swallowed his food before asking in his usual aloof manner,
"What's their family name?"
"The Muazzin family."
She smiled faintly.
"They have a son and a daughter."
Instantly-
A chill coursed through my body.
My fingers froze around the spoon.
Muazzin.
Ariya Muazzin.
Without saying a word, every ounce of my attention shifted toward Mother.
"The eastern region is prosperous."
Father's tone remained as calm as ever.
"Why move all the way here?"
Mother sighed softly.
"Their daughter had been receiving far too many marriage proposals."
She paused for a moment before continuing.
"The family felt pressured to marry her off, so they decided to relocate to protect her."
A sympathetic smile crossed her face.
"Poor girl...she's only two years younger than our Haider."
The words settled heavily in my chest.
My grip around the spoon tightened ever so slightly.
A strange ache spread through my heart.
Of course...
It shouldn't have surprised me.
Someone as graceful as her would naturally have been noticed by many long before I ever knew her name.
Compared to them...
I suddenly felt painfully small.
Before I could even ask for her hand...
She might already belong to someone else.
My expression darkened.
Joyah seemed to notice.
"What is it?"
I glanced at her before quietly shaking my head.
She returned to her meal without another question.
The conversation refused to leave my mind.
Anxiety slowly tightened around my chest.
This wouldn't do.
I had to finish my studies, establish myself, and become a man worthy of seeking her hand before someone else reached her first.
If my Lord willed it...
Then my efforts would never be in vain.
My throat felt dry.
Summoning my courage, I finally spoke.
"Father."
The table fell silent.
Everyone turned to look at me.
I met Father's eyes with quiet determination while clenching my fists beneath the table.
"I would like to complete my boards this year."
A look of surprise spread across their faces.
My brother frowned immediately.
"You still have another year."
He stared at me in disbelief.
"Why are you rushing?"
I lowered my gaze to my untouched food.
My lips pressed into a thin line.
"...I'm falling behind."
Silence settled over the dining table.
After what felt like an eternity, Father slowly folded his newspaper.
His sharp gaze settled upon me.
It wasn't anger.
It was expectation.
"Do as you wish."
His voice remained calm.
"But I expect you to prove yourself."
Mother looked ready to object.
Before she could speak, Father gently raised a hand, stopping her.
I seized the opportunity.
"I won't disappoint you."
My words were steady.
They weren't merely a promise to Father.
They were a promise to myself.
...
Year 2026
The Karim Household
Mother asked me to sit beside her in the living room.
Worry clouded her face, and concern lingered in her eyes.
Father was there as well.
Though his expression remained composed, I could tell something weighed on his mind.
Mother gently took my hand into hers.
Her eyes shimmered, as though tears warned to spill.
"My son..."
"When do you intend to get married?"
"You're already of age."
So that was what this was about.
The answer had never changed.
I was simply waiting.
Waiting until she had reached the point in life where she felt fulfilled in her education and was ready for marriage.
By the will of Allah, the years had been kind to me.
I had built a life of my own.
The apartment I purchased...
Every room had been planned with her comfort in mind.
Every piece of furniture had been chosen while wondering whether she would like it.
The reputation I worked tirelessly to earn...
I had hoped one day it would make me worthy of standing before her family.
It had been a long time since I had last seen her.
The last glimpse I caught of her was after Jumu'ah prayer at our local mosque, quietly walking beside her brother.
The tiny seed that had once been planted within my heart...
Had long since grown into a mighty tree.
The love I carried for her had never once withered.
Nor had my resolve.
If Allah granted her to me...
I wanted to give her every comfort I could provide.
To cherish her.
To honour her.
To spend my life caring for her with sincerity and devotion.
She was the woman with whom I wished to share both this worldly life and, by Allah's mercy, the Hereafter.
To me...
No one else had ever occupied the place she held within my heart.
Every time Mother mentioned her name...
Or spoke of another one of her achievements...
A quiet smile would find its way to my lips.
Her happiness had somehow become a source of my own.