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OCTOBER

HANIA

It was finally the month of my graduation and rukhsati. I was excited but sad as well. Two of the most major events of my life were happening together and it was a little overwhelming. Luckily, Hamza was nothing but supportive, and I was glad that he was going to be my life partner when I stepped into the new chapter of my life.

I shivered as little as I stood outside the graduation hall, wearing my robe and the graduate hat, the tassel brushing against my face as I searched around for my husband. My parents and sister were already inside, but there was no sign of Hamza and the ceremony was about to commence. Dead leaves were being tossed around by the chilly autumn breeze, and a drop of rain landed on my nose, forcing me to glance up at the grey sky. I tried calling him again, but then I heard the announcement for graduates and their guests to go inside and take their seats. Annoyed, I headed inside. 

"Hamza, you better turn up to my graduation otherwise..." I began to mutter under my breath.

"Otherwise what?"

I stopped in my tracks as I heard his amused voice. Turning, I saw him walk towards me, grinning widely. "Hamza! Assalam Alaikum!"

"Walaikum Assalam." He pecked my lips. Dressed in a formal navy blue suit, he looked so handsome that I wanted the rukhsati to happen right away. "Congratulations, my beautiful graduate!" 

"Where were you?" I frowned at him, but the moment I took a clear look at his face, my angry frown turned into a worried one. "Hamza, what's wrong?"

He was smiling, but there was a strange sadness in his eyes, and the smile itself didn't quite reach his eyes. "Nothing, it's tiring making wedding arrangements even though the wedding is being held in Lahore. I've been constantly on the phone, or researching things." 

I kissed his cheek. "Let me know if I can help in any way." I looked over my shoulder. "Now, let's go before I'm banned from my own graduation!"

Hamza joined my parents, and I headed to the front where my fellow graduates were seated. I was nervous. I hated the thought of going up the stage and then walking across it in front of all those people watching. What if I trip? What if I even stumble? Mama is recording this, and Iman will never stop laughing at me!

After various speeches from various important people, they started announcing our names.

Ya Allah, please don't let me trip*.

*My own legit thought at my graduation, as I had chosen to wear heels. Fortunately, I survived. Alhumdulillah. :D

Underneath my robe, I was wearing formal trousers, and a white turtleneck, along with flat formal shoes. I chose not to wear heels, because that was not a good idea when I was nervous. I was already worried about how I was going to survive walking to the stage on my wedding day and Valima. I was definitely going to wear heels those days.

"Hania Fawad."

I actually heard Iman screaming as I made my way up to the stage, and I couldn't help smiling at my silly sister's behaviour. I walked onto the stage, shook the hand of the lady, who congratulated me, and then walked back off the stage from the other side. It happened quickly and almost in a blur, and my knees shook with relief once I was safely back down.

I was officially a graduate, Ma Sha Allah.

****

Fawad

"Why do important moments in our kids' lives remind us of the day they were born?" Mina whispered to me as we watched our firstborn walk off the stage. My wife was constantly in tears, dapping away at her eyes with a tissue. She had actually tested her eye make-up to ensure that it would handle her tears today, which had made me laugh uncontrollably. She had called it her own 'scientific experiment'.

"Because it reminds us of how far they've come." I watched with pride as my newly graduated daughter headed to her seat. She looked up briefly before she sat down and smiled at us. I smiled back, and silently prayed to Allah that she always remained smiling like that. 

"Congratulations, proud parents!" Hamza grinned at me and Mina. 

And suddenly, I couldn't help thinking of my own parents when I had received my undergraduate degree. I still vividly recall the expression on their faces when I'd walked over to them after the ceremony had ended. Papa had always been a reserved, strict-seeming man, but he had been beaming that day, his face heavily displaying his pride for me. I understood that feeling today very, very well.

I knew very well that my Hania was a little insecure about the fact that her degree wasn't a 'elite degree', as per society's standards, but the fact that I was sitting here and watching her graduate in a subject that she loved made me even happier. As long as she and Iman were happy with their chosen subjects, it was irrelevant what they did. And while, I was ecstatic that Iman chose to follow my footsteps, I was just as delighted with Hania's choice, because she had chosen her mother's path. Mina also adored writing just as much as Hania did now.

I glanced at Hamza, who was staring in Hania's direction, looking as proud as I would have looked for Mina, if I had witnessed her graduation as her husband.

"Congratulations, father of my butterfly." Mina whispered as she looked up at me.

"Congratulations to you too, Mina." I discreetly pecked her lips.  

Hania had no idea that this day was just as important for her mother and me, as it was for Hania herself.

****

Hania

I made my way through the crowd, looking around for my family, after everyone had left the hall. My heart was pounding hard with excitement as I rushed to greet them, and I couldn't stop smiling. 

"Papa!" I immediately threw myself in his arms, the moment I reunited with my family.

"There's my little graduate." He grinned, his pride obvious on his face. "Ma Sha Allah! Congratulation, Hania!" He kissed the top of my head.

I held out my other arm for my mother and she joined in. "Thank you both for always supporting me. I love you guys so much that I cannot even begin to put it in words."

"Aww, Hani. We love you too, jaan." Mama kissed my cheek.

I wanted to stay in their arms forever, their little Hani. I was now starting to finally feel grown up; graduation, marriage, it felt too much. I'm still hardly able to find my things without Mama's help, how was I going to manage to start a new life?   

I pulled away, sniffing and hugged Iman tightly. She was my Mani, my first confidante. When we were kids, I used to tell her stuff when I was afraid to tell Mama, like how I once ate a crayon. I'm serious. She was five and I was seven, and I ate a crayon. I had no idea what I was thinking, but my stomach started to hurt, so I told Iman first. Sisters really are your first best friends, and I was grateful to Allah and my parents for bringing my Mani into my life. "I love you, Mani."

"I love you too, Appi." She smiled at me, and I was surprised to see her in tears. "And I'm going to miss you so much once you're married."

"Relax." Hamza added. "We'll always be around at your parents' house anyway, bothering them."

We all laughed.

"Of course, Hamza. You're always welcome." Mama smiled at him.

"Aunty, Uncle, I'm taking Hania for lunch, if that's okay." He glanced at my parents. "She's all yours after that. Until rukhsati, I mean." He winked at me.

I blushed as my family laughed again.

"As long as Hania is happy to go with you, we really have no problem." Papa replied.

"'Happy' is an overstatement." I teased Hamza right back. "More like, I'm only doing that because you're my husband and I respect you. Doesn't mean that I'm happy about it."

"Burn." Iman high-fived me. "Good one, Appi meri jaan. I'm proud of you."

Hamza just smiled at me in a way that made me feel really embarrassed because my parents were present. I was going to have to have serious words with that husband of mine to make sure he doesn't behave in a certain way in front of my parents again.

"We will give you your graduation present later, Hania." Mama gave me another kiss on my cheek as I turned to leave with my husband.

Hamza took my hand as we walked out into the car parking after I'd returned my robe and hat. He was quiet now, and he looked like he was deep in thoughts.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He turned to look down at me. "You're my wife, so I don't want to lie to you and tell you that I'm fine, but can I just request to you that we don't discuss this today? I want today to be about you and only you. It's one of the biggest days of your life, and I want you to completely enjoy it."

"How can I, when you're not happy?" I was worried.

We got to his car and he opened the passenger side door for me, and then leaned over it to stare at me. 

"Hania Hamza, of course I'm happy." His gaze ran over my face, as if memorising everything about it. "My wife has achieved something major, and her happiness is my happiness."

"That's not what I meant."

"Han, please. Not today." He spoke gently, but there was also firmness in his voice.

"Fine. But tomorrow I won't let this go." I warned him.

He smiled. "I expect nothing else." 

****

We were having lunch in a Pakistani restaurant in the heart of Edinburgh*. It was nothing fancy, just a normal restaurant, but Hamza knew that this was how I preferred to dine out. 

*Reminder: Hania's university was in Edinburgh, so that's where her graduation is.

"So..." He began as he ate kebab with naan. "About your graduation present..."

I was having chicken biryani. I tend to stick to one particular dish every time I went out to eat, no matter who I went with*. I smiled at him, excitedly. "I'm looking forward to that."

*Fun fact: This is my own personal trait, therefore that's why there's a repetition of food names in my stories. I'm not the type to enjoy trying new stuff (unless I know of all the ingredients required to prepare it). It's an annoying habit, but that's who I am. 

"It was a tough decision." He spoke thoughtfully. "I know that my Han isn't into traditional things like jewellery or a car. I considered that, I really did. But I wanted it to be something memorable for you." 

"What is it?"

He had been carrying a gift bag with him. I'd been curious, but I had been too polite to ask him about it. "I'll show you after we've eaten. I want to wash my hands before I show you." 

I waited impatiently but without complaining, eager to see what my graduation present from my husband was going to be. After lunch, after we'd both gone to wash our hands in turn, and had ordered tea (like the desi-at-heart that we were), he took an album out of the bag.

"What...?" I blinked, surprised.

"I had a proper photo shoot of your family, and I took photos of them personally, and created this album. I know that so far, they have been the most important people in your life, and that you'll cherish this even after we're living together." 

I opened the album, flicking through the photos of my parents and Iman, taken extremely professionally. Tears ran down my cheeks. Money didn't matter, but the amount of effort someone goes to, to create such a perfect present for you, shows you how much you mean to them. "Hamza, this is perfect."

"I know it seemed like I'm saving money by..."

"Don't." I shook my head. "Time is more valuable than money, and you took the time to do this, which means more to me than I can tell you, Hamza." I paused. Maybe now was the right time to say it? "Hamza, I..."

"But, I'm not that stingy." Because I had spoken quietly, he probably hadn't heard, because he reached into the bag again and pulled out an average sized jewellery box, holding it out to me.

"What is this?"

"Why do people ask that when they can just open something and see for themselves?"

"Geez, you don't have to give me attitude." I grinned at him and opened the box. "Allah!" It was a beautiful silver necklace with a heart shaped locket. But what really caught my attention was my name engraved on it in cursive letters. 'Hania Hamza'. "Thank you so much, Hamza. I love it."

We had a nice meal, and then took a walk along South Bridge, down towards Princes Street. We held hands, and he held onto the gift bag in his other hand, even though I had insisted that I could carry it. It was quite cold, and I was grateful for my jacket and hat that Mama had insisted that I took along to the graduation ceremony. Mothers.

"I can't believe that by the end of the month, we'll be living together." He spoke, breath vapor escaping his mouth as it was so cold. 

"In Sha Allah." I intentionally gasped out, wanting to see my breath vapor. As kids Iman and I used to love doing it, and we used to pretend that we were smoking. 

"I love you." He suddenly turned me to face him, glancing down at me, holding my hands. And there and then, in between the crowds of pedestrians walking past us, he got down on one knee. "I love you so much, Hania Hamza. Would you do me the honour of marrying me and becoming my wife?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

People around us gasped and clapped, taking photos and a chorus of 'awws' rose up amongst the crowd. I stood there, blankly staring at my husband, unable to believe that this was happening.

He opened the box and I saw a stunning diamond ring, shaped like a rose, with a silver band. "Hania?"

"Yes." I whispered, holding out my hand as everyone clapped and cheered around us.

I took my glove off and he slid the ring onto my finger, before I quickly pulled the glove back on. In seconds my hand had frozen up. Hamza stood up and pulled me into his arms for a quick kiss, before asking a by-stander to take a photo of us, with Edinburgh Castle in the background.

"I wanted to do that after how much I hurt you on our Nikah." He kissed my cheek, before posing for the photo.

I glanced up at my husband as he wrapped an arm around me, my eyes filled with love for him. How was it possible to fall in love so hard in such a short period of time? Despite my initial doubts, I really do know for certain now that we belong together. I was created for him, and vice versa. The idea that we were paired up before we even existed is so romantic and incredible.

In a few days, In Sha Allah, we would be leaving for Lahore, and I would officially start my life as Mrs Hania Hamza. I absolutely couldn't wait.

****

The rest of the day was time that I was going to spend with my parents and sister. I only had a few more days like this left, and I was going to make the most of it. My parents had rented out a place for the few days that they were going to be in Edinburgh, and Iman and I had joined them there. That evening, we were sitting in the living room. Mama was on the sofa, with me curled up beside her, with my head on her lap. Papa sat on the armchair, and Iman sat on a large floor cushion, a throw wrapped around her.

"Hania." Mama stroked my head repeatedly and gently. 

"Yes, Mama?"

"About your graduation present..." She said, softly. "When you started uni, we wanted to get you your own brand new car when you graduated, but now that you're getting married, we decided that it may seem too much like jahez, and Daniyal Bhai and Hamza were pretty clear that they didn't want any jahez."

*Jahez: dowry. Some families still demand a lot of dowry from the girl's family, putting a lot of pressure on them. Recently, a law was passed to make the demanding of dowry illegal in Pakistan. Although dowry is permitted in Islam, it is limited to a certain, modest amount that puts no pressure on the bride's family. However, culturally, this is overlooked, and newly married women have suffered a lot because their in-laws felt that the dowry was 'insufficient'.

"I don't want you guys to get me anything so expensive." I sat up. "You have to give me something, it's my right." I smiled cheekily. "But nothing expensive. Even a notebook is sufficient."

They exchanged a look, before Mama turned back to me. "Babe, your present is in London, because we felt that there was no point in bringing it to Edinburgh." She grabbed her phone and tapped away for a while before holding it up for me to see.

I saw a photo of a gorgeous vintage typewriter, the kind that I'd always wanted. "Allah! Is this Nana Jaan's typewriter? The one that he passed down to you, Mama, because he knew that you loved writing?"

Mama nodded, her eyes filling up as she thought about her late father.

One of my childhood memories included going to my Nana Jaan's study and looking at his typewriter. Although he was a doctor, he loved having a typewriter and it was one of his most valuable items. I used to go and watch it in awe, and he used to give me paper and allowed me to write stories on there. I must have been between eight and ten, and I made up stories about princess and unicorns, and this used to be my favourite pastime while in Lahore*. 

*Another fun fact: This bit is created using a personal experience of mine. I don't remember it, but my mother tells me that when I was a toddler, I used to steal my Dada Jaan's diary (he loved writing as well), and run away, with him chasing after me. I suppose I have inherited my love for writing from him. May Allah grant him a place in Jannah. Ameen.

"But, we have something else for you as well." Papa smiled at Mama, before handing me a slim wrapped rectangular box. 

I took the box from him and unwrapped it carefully. When I lifted the lid of the sparkling purple box, I gasped. In a frame was a photo of me as a newborn baby, and above it was my date of birth, time of birth, weight at birth and place of birth printed in beautiful writing. The frame itself was silver, and very gorgeous, with my name carved into it. 

"Your Papa actually gave this to me on my first birthday after Iman's birth." Mama explained. "He had it made in Lahore." 

"I love it so much." I was overwhelmed with emotions.

Close to tears, I hugged my parents, tightly, and for a moment I wished that I hadn't grown up. I wish that I was still that little Hani who used to hide behind her parents, shyly. The kid that always used to hold Mama's hand nervously when out in public, or the one who asked Papa to speak up on her behalf because she didn't have the confidence. It's not fair that a girl has to leave her parents, her family, her home, but unfortunately that was our culture and that's how it worked.

"I love you all so much." I hugged Mama again, feeling tears in my eyes.

"You're going to make me cry now, Hani." She whispered, tightening her arms around me.

"Remember how we used to get our Barbie and Ken dolls married Pakistani style?" Iman laughed. 

I giggled, remembering those old days. We used to grab the dupattas from our Eid clothes and wrapped them around the Barbie, and I used to wrap a handkerchief around Ken to make it look like a sherwani. It looked weird, but we were kids and we couldn't find actual sherwanis for the groom. Then, one summer, we mentioned it to Fariha Phupho, and she actually had doll sized sherwanis and bridal lehngas made for the dolls, and she gifted it to us. Iman and I had lost our minds with excitement and we literally jumped all over our Phupho.

"And in a few days, In Sha Allah, I will be dressing up my doll as a bride and sending her off to start a new life." Mama was in full tears now, making me cry as well. She held me tightly, as if she never wanted to let me go.

"Jasmina, come on." Papa stood up. "For three years she lived in Edinburgh without us, it's not like this is the first time she's going away." 

"Yes, but she was Hania Fawad, our daughter, then!" Mama looked at him incredulously, shocked that he didn't understand such a simple thing. "Now she's someone's wife, and she's about to start her new life..." She started sobbing. "I can't help thinking of when she actually started her new life, when I gave birth to her, and when we held her for the first time, and now we are..."

"I'll always be Hania Fawad, your daughter." I grabbed her hands. "No matter how old I am, or where in the world I am, I'm still yours. I just have an additional, albeit very important, relationship now, but I'm still yours, Mama. A daughter's bond with her parents just strengthens after her marriage, because when she leaves them behind, she truly understands their value in her life."

"And besides, Hamza Bhai said he'll visit you too much." Iman added. "You'll get sick of seeing them." She smiled, but I knew that she was feeling sad as well. 

Our family bond had been incredible, and it is honestly the biggest blessing in my life. Alhumdulillah. But I wasn't going to let marriage change that. Sure, my focus would be on my husband and married life, but who says that I can't maintain both relationships, within reason of course.

"Come on, Appi, let's go make some coffee and snacks." Iman suggested. "Let's enjoy family time together while we can."

"Absolutely." I nodded, and the two of us left the room, knowing that Papa will calm Mama down. I hated seeing her upset. I know this was only natural, but one of the things that I absolutely couldn't tolerate is seeing tears in my mother's eyes. She's done everything to ensure a beautiful family life for us all, and she deserved all the happiness in the world.

****

It's a very disastrous idea to have me and Iman in the kitchen together. We always ended up making a bigger mess.

 This time, Iman smashed a mug accidentally, the moment she grabbed it, and I spilled milk and then slipped on it because I didn't immediately clean it up. By the end of it all, we were in tears from laughing so hard.

"I blame you. I'm usually very normal in the kitchen." I accused my little sister. I continued preparing coffee, when I felt something on my head. I looked up and saw that Iman had reached up and was sprinkling coffee on my head. "IMAN FAWAD!" I began to chase her around the kitchen and she was shrieking and squealing, dodging the kitchen chairs and table.

"Mama!" She screamed when I grabbed her and rubbed the coffee powder on her face.

We were laughing, and then I was crying because I was going to miss this so much. She was my little sister, my only sibling, and I loved her so, so much. I gave her a hug, tears falling out of my eyes endlessly.

"I know you're crazy about Hamza Bhai, but don't forget me, Appi." She whispered.

"Iman, it's not possible for anyone to forget you, let alone your big sister."

Mama came into the kitchen then, and had one look at the mess we had made. "Ya Allah! All this mess while making coffee! God help me if either of you ever have to cook something!" She saw us hugging and walked over, wrapping her arms around us both. "My babies."

"Does that mean we don't have to clean it up? Because we're emotional?" Iman asked, hopefully.

"Do not push your luck." Mama warned her. "I want you both to make coffee for me and Papa and then clean this up."

"What about us?" I asked. "We deserve coffee after such hard work." 

"Darling, if making a mess is hard work, then nobody works harder than Iman in this family." Mama smiled, lovingly slapping Iman's cheek lightly. 

"Mama?" I grabbed her hand. "Can you make us French toast, please? I love the way you make them."

"Good idea!" Iman agreed.

Mama rolled her eyes. "Fine, but at least give your father a cup of coffee, please. I don't want to keep him waiting."

"Hai!" Iman dramatically put a hand over her chest. "Your love melts my icy cold heart, Ma Sha Allah. Husband shouldn't even have to wait for coffee!"

"Iman!"

"At least it works both ways." I added. "Have you seen how quickly Papa gets Mama what she wants?"

Iman and I giggled as our mother glared at us.

"You're my jaan, Mina. Anything for you." My sister imitated our father, and we both laughed harder.

"Looks like Iman really doesn't want her monthly allowance anymore, Mina." Papa was standing in the doorway, watching us tease Mama.

"Exactly. More for me then." Mama winked at him. "As for Hania, just for your behaviour, I'm not making French toast for you."

"Mama!" I widened my eyes at her.

"Don't use that trick on me, I'm the one who taught you that." She warned me.

"But I'm getting married and I will be leaving soon and..." I tried everything, but she is my mother, after all.

"Should have thought of that before teasing me." Mama gave me a smug look.

"You aren't serious about the allowance are you?" Iman asked Papa, looking uncertain. "You know imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right?" 

Our parents smiled at each other, clearly having won this one.

"Mama, I really want those French toast." I continued trying to convince my mother, even though I knew that she would never refuse. "And beside, you need to blame Papa for this. He makes teasing you look so much fun that Iman and I just have to do it."

"Hey! Are you trying to turn us against each other?" Papa raised an eyebrow at me.

The doorbell rang.

"Expecting someone?" Papa asked us, but none of us were. He headed out to answer the door, as Iman and I began to clear up the kitchen.

"Hania?" I heard Papa call out a few minutes later.

"Yes, Papa?" I headed out into the hallway and towards the foyer, where I saw Papa standing beside a very upset Hamza. "Hamza, what's wrong?"

Patting my shoulder, Papa headed back towards the kitchen, leaving us to talk.

I led Hamza into the living room, then turned to face him. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

He sank down onto a sofa, burying his face in his hands. "I didn't know where else to go. Papa's in London and..."

"I'm glad you came to me!" I sat down beside him. "What's wrong?"

"I had a massive argument with my mother, Han." His voice was muffled by his hands, but I was able to hear the words clearly. "And do you know what she said to me?" 

"What?" I whispered.

He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. "She said that I was the biggest regret of her life." 

I gasped, my eyes filling up, my heart unable to tolerate the pain that my husband was facing. "Ya Allah! How can a mother...?" I shut up, not wanting to make it worse for him.

"You have no idea, Han. When the person who is supposed to love you the most tells you that you're her biggest regret, you feel so worthless." He shook his head. "I've never let her words get to me, but this was..." His voice cracked.

"You're not worthless, Hamza. You don't even realise your value, your importance." I ran a hand through his hair. "You mean the world to me, you mean everything to me, and I know that it doesn't compensate for what she said, but her opinion doesn't change your importance."

He grabbed my hand. "I'm sorry. Today was meant to be the happiest day of your life."

"It is, because I get to spend it with my family, including you." I smiled tearfully. "And think about your Papa, Hamza, if nobody else. Think about how much he loves you. In the hardships we suffer, there's always something good to compensate for it. Sometimes it's right in front of you, and sometimes you have to look for it, but I believe that the good is always there. Your mother may not have been the best mother, but you have a father who loves you unconditionally, Alhumdulillah. I know it hurts, Hamza, and I know that nothing can take that pain away, but know that you're never alone, okay? I'm with you to help you through the pain."

"You're so good, Han, that I wonder what I did to deserve you."

"I have told you before that maybe you're better than you give yourself credit for. It's easy to look at our own faults, but much harder to look at the good things about yourself, unless you're a completely self-loving, narcissistic person. Sometimes you need to look at yourself through someone else's eyes to realise your own value." 

He was in pain, and his mother had made him lose his self-esteem. Special moments didn't have to include rose petals, candles or a grand romantic gesture. Special moments could be when the person you love was in pain and genuinely needed to be reminded about how important they were to you. This was the best moment possible. I wanted Hamza to know how important he was to me.

"I love you, Hamza." I said, without hesitating.

He looked at me, surprised.

"I'm in love with you, and I have been in love with you for a while." I continued. "I'm not saying that to take your mind of your pain, because your pain is justified. I'm telling you this because I need you to know that apart from Uncle and Rabia, you have another person who loves you unconditionally."

The smile on his face warmed my heart. "I love you too, Hania. Thank you for confessing your feelings because now that I know that I have a life partner who loves me, I'm prepared to face any pain and any problem, because I know that my Hania will be by side through it all, loving me and supporting me."

"In the meantime." I sniffed. "You're more than welcome to join in the craziness of my family. My parents will be more than happy to have you around." I stood up and turned, but he grabbed my wrist as he also jumped up to his feet.

"You can't just confess your love and leave like that." He whispered, tugging me so that I turned around. "I love you, Hania Hamza." He pressed his mouth against mine, and I wrapped my arms around him, unable to stop smiling.

"I love you too, Hamza Daniyal."

I giggled as he looked up at the ceiling and said "Alhumdulillah! She loves me!"

We stared into each other's eyes, knowing that we now well and truly belonged to each other. It was a beautiful, amazing feeling, and it decreased my anxiety about starting my newly married life with him.

Hamza Daniyal, my love, my husband. And to think that he almost ran me over with a bike when we first met, because I wasn't watching where I was going.

****

Who's ready for the grand wedding of Hania and Hamza? You're all invited, lol. If you could attend, who would you be the most excited to meet?

Thoughts and comments?

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