Chapter 17: 16

'On the floor' - J Lo

Unedited

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Zayn sat on the settee that Zaina had put much effort in decorating, receiving congratulations from family for his engagement. The wedding functions had begun; today was his mangni. Syra sat in the room next to him. They decided to do it segregated, so the ladies could wear their fancy clothes, take off their hijabs and enjoy the event. And also because they were not yet married; he'd see her pictures after. Towards the end they planned to put Syra in her hijab so she could come in and they could exchange rings.

They weren't initially planning an engagement. It had no significance in their religion, and in their culture there were tons of other wedding functions: mendhi, dholki, haldi, sangeet, maiyoon, barat, nikkah, walima etc. They had planned a mendhi, haldi and nikkah - the barat and walima were to come after. The engagement was planned by his extended family, for the day they had planned to have a big get together. Syra's paternal aunts family had come over too; her other family members were all the way in Sydney. They planned to come to England when Syra and Zayn moved in together and held the barat and walima.

Zayn was exhausted; his black embroidered kurta's collar was suffocating him now, the trousers uncomfortable. His Dadi (dad's mum) had come and insisted he swipe his eyes with surma, a black powdered kohl which both men and women wore across regions like South, Central and West Asia, some parts of Africa. He badly wanted to rub his eyes but he didn't want to end up looking like a jinn.

Seeing the room was mostly empty, he quickly opened his phone camera and wiped the surma away as much as he could. He failed - it smeared everywhere instead. Stubborn bitch, he thought in annoyance.

"Oh my god, Bhaiya! Why did you rub your eyes?" exclaimed Zaina.

Zayn just huffed, too irritated to explain. Zaina just shook her head, her earrings and tika swinging. She produces a makeup wipe out of nowhere and ordered him to look up and she carefully wiped under his eyes, then told him to look down as she wiped on his eyelid. She stepped back, nodding with satisfaction, wiping her fingers of the surma, chudiyan clinking.

"Done. It's almost gone. Just a thin line lining your eyes. It looks better, tho. Also, moved to the end of the settee, Syra Bhabi is coming,"

He smiled upon hearing Zaina call Syra her sister in law. It felt surreal.

He leaned back, trying to be patient. Time was passing by so quickly yet so agonisingly slow. He found it hard to believe it was his wedding and he was getting married to the girl he loved.

The door opened and in walked Syra with her mother, who had told him to start calling her Amma. She wore a long black dress with gold accents to match him, her signature black hijab and a matching dupatta hanging at her elbows behind her back; she looked so elegant.

She met his eyes briefly, raising her eyebrows slightly, before averting her eyes with a challenging smile. He was glad she was being herself; not a shy bride. She came and sat next to him, a respectable distance in between them. They were each presented the rings. Zayn had chosen a ring that had spoken out to him; he didn't bother asking for Syra's opinion because he had overheard her in depth and lengthy explanation to her friends about how she wanted her engagement ring. So he had done that. And she had chosen his for him, she knew he wanted a band shape that was a little thick to go with the rest of his rings.

After some tedious posing, most people went to go eat food; it was just him, Syra and her sister Malikah. They were eating in peace. More like wolfing down their food after sitting down all day.

Zayn stood up and stretched his legs, trying to catch Syra's attention without Malikah catching on. But her sister didn't miss anything, instead went to the and opened the door just so she could fit and poked her head out, kind of giving them privacy but not making it too haram. He silently thanked her. There was something he had to ask Syra.

"Syra I've been needing to ask you something for a while," he begun.

"Yes?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I know you prolly want to forget the incident but I wanted to know who that guy was. The one who tricked you. There's a case building up against Jaxon and they're bringing in all the ways all the girls were coerced -"

"I don't want to partake in any of this," she interrupted, her eyes firm.

"I understand that. But you must share your story before him - who knows he might lie and then you'll be forced to go through unnecessary processes with you lawyers to get out of that - remember they're powerful people. Your identity will be protected, and it doesn't have to involve your parents." he rushed on.

While she mulled this over, he went further,

"But I still think you should tell them,"

"They'll be angry at me. For lying to them. For doing stupid things that lead me to that place. And most importantly because I have kept it from them for this long,"

"It will come out sooner or later. It's better they hear it from you than by any other means. And holding it off longer will only worsen it."

"If I tell them, how will I explain the part where you come in?" she said after a small pause.

"Ilyas already knows a bit. I'm sure he told Saleh. Besides that I don't care -"

"You haven't told your parents," she pointed out.

"Because something else happened. It's not yet safe; they're better off being unaware about it. I've also been meaning to discuss that with you."

"Fair enough. But my family won't be pleased you knew before them - yes you're going to be my husband but I told you while you were still a ghayr mard," (an unrelated male).

"And we were alone then too," she added almost as an afterthought.

"Yes I was a non mehram at the time - but I had a part in it so it's different. And I already knew technically, I just failed to connect the dots. Besides how would I have known then I would get married to you?"

She raised her eyebrows, her lips twitching,

"Oh? Didn't you say you wanted me right when you saw me?"

"I never knew you felt the same way then. And I was so against love and marriage and the whole shabang back then,"

He gazed into her eyes, alighting a fire in him,

"You came and changed that. Made me want to change too. And I'll always be thankful for that,"

She closed her mouth and smiled into his eyes, opening her mouth to reply but was cut off by a loud and deliberate cough.

"Well, well. I hope you're done," announced Malikah, before turning and sitting down, grinning at them.

Zayn knew that he'd be hearing her taunts for the rest of his life.

Oh well.

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Today was the haldi ceremony. The highlight of it to put ubtan on your skin which is made of: haldi (turmeric), besan (gram flour), chandan (sandalwood powder), araq-e-gulab (rose water), milk powder, almond powder and lemon juice. It's an orange-yellow paste people apply on their faces, arms, legs, feet etc for smoother, clearer skin. Some dancing and singing is also held.

The men wore kurtas of the yellowish colour with white trousers, while the women wore the same colours in different styles: gharara (kamees with wide, two legged trousers), lehengas (shirt + skirt), shararas (shirt + more full skirts), anarkali and regular kamees shalwar.

Zayn sat in the brightly decorated room on colourful cushions in the floor, on a slightly raised platform. His family members had come up one by one to put a little ubtan on his face, and he had returned the favour. Assortments of sweets were being handed around, like jalebi, halwa, gulab jamun, kheer, gajrela, rasmalai, barfi and many more, making his mouth water. Shahzad saw him eyeing them and brought some up to him, not before downing three whole gulab jamuns. He grimaced at the sight; he didn't know how he had so much meetha (sweetness) at once.

"So when are you going to see Bhabi?" asked Shahzad after plopping himself down on the cushions next to Zayn.

"Whenever I can." came the response.

"She prolly can't move rn cuz they dipped her in the mustard shît,"

Jesus, Zayn thought.

"Also I managed to track down the dude," Shahzad carried on.

This caught Zayn's attention.

"But your girl made me say Wallah,"

"To what?" Zayn prompted.

"That I won't tell you unless she's present. So when she comes here next to you we can have a little gossip session," he replied.

After seeing the look on Zayn's face he commented,

"It was her idea not mine. I can't do jack,"

When Zayn just glared harder he burst out,

"Well she's coming here in just a few minutes so go burn holes through her - wait you prolly already gon do that -" Zayn gave him a solid chastising slap on the back of the head.

Shahzad shot him a dirty look and went back to feasting on the mithai. (Sweets).

Zayn's attention was directed back to the front by the doors opening, a bunch of girls hurrying and lining the pathway leading to him. Syra walked in, again next to Amma, the girls tossing white petals on them. The dress she wore gave him leafy vibes, cleverly matching the theme and the embroidery on the shawl that was paired with his plain mustard kurta.

She had little swipes of ubtan on her forearms and cheeks, no doubt by her family and friends. She wore her scarf the way she did on the other occasions, just like the time she had come over for dinner, but a little more loosely with the heavier jewellery. He even spied the matching necklace catching light underneath her scarf; most likely Amma's work. She walked slowly due to the heavy skirts, greeting everyone with smiles and nods of her head.

Everyone but him. Goodness. She didn't know what was in for her after the nikkah; he was noting down every little thing she did and would make her pay. In a way he doubted she would have an objection too. He smirked at the thought, before clocking that she had almost reached him and was looking at him questioningly, no doubt wanting to know the reason for his smirk. He just smirked wider before standing up and moving to a side. He would've helped her up; but it wasn't allowed. Not yet. So Saleh helped her up and Zaina settled her down onto the cushions, settling her skirts around her so she could be comfortable. He sat sat down, keeping a distance of one cushion in between.

Now they would use a henna leaf to swipe the paste onto the back of each others hands. Zayn signalled for her to go first. He hadn't actually ever seen anyone do this before so he was sure he'd mess it up. He watched as those artist hands swiped a bit of the thick paste onto the leaf with her index finger, holding back the leaf with her thumb and middle finger, before swiping it on the back of his right hand. He mimicked her actions, accidentally taking a much larger dollop onto the lead. He smiled apologetically at her, who rolled her eyes, smiling. Their little moment was cut short by a voice behind Zayn.

"Ahem, may I begin now?" said Shahzad.

Zayn rolled his eyes and gestured with his hand.

"So. To begin with, this fella ain't that dumb, so whatever name he told you Syra, it was a cover. The name you gave me was Caine, but his name is Azrael. Hebrew names, strangely, because my findings showed not even an ounce of any Jewish ancestry - he's even agnostic. He's actually Finnish, came here with his single mother, before she unfortunately was killed by her abusive boyfriend. He was involved in illegal activities, which compelled him to also dabble in that shit to try and get revenge. He was a little late though - he had done something to anger Jaxon who had him killed. Which is how he ended up working for him. And he saw Syra at a corner shop one day and followed her, so he schemed to get her snap. Just know that even if you hadn't given it, he'd have got it. So that's that. Apparently another victim also spoke out against him so he's going down. They're deciding his sentence. So there's really not much else. I'll let you know about his sentence." concluded Shahzad.

Both Syra and Zayn relaxed. One problem out of the way.

And many more to tackle.

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At last, the final pre-wedding event. The next one after this, he'd be married to Syra. Finally.

It was the mendhi. In this event, the first part was mixed, so everyone could perform their practised dances, then the ladies would go in the other room to hold their own separate singing and dancing more freely. But mainly, for the henna applications. That was the whole point of the event, hence the name.

Zayn and Syra sat in lavish chairs on the stage with the dance floor in front of them, watching all the dances. Zayn's Pashtun cousins from his dad's side performed their traditional attan dance, bright flashes of colours going in a circle, all synced together. Their Pathani clothes just added to it. Zayn had promised his paternal family to add one more event to honour his Pashtun roots, so he added a Sangeet (even though that was a Panjabi tradition) at the time of his barat and walima in which they would follow their traditions with their clothing. Some of his Pashtun relatives from the Afghan side of the border were also coming down from Leeds in time for that event. (Attan is a type of dance which is originally part of Pashtun culture. Pashtuns are an ethnic group native to Afghanistan & Pakistan - they're divided by border. Like the way there are Indian Panjabis and Pakistani Panjabis).

Syra's Muhajir relatives from her dad's side performed a fast - paced dizzying dance with some dandiyan. (Dandiyan are decorative sticks) (Muhajirs are Pakistanis with Indian ancestry, meaning their families migrated from different parts of India to Pakistan during the 1947 partition. Muhajir directly translates to immigrants. In this case, Syra's dads family migrated from nowadays Gujarat in India, hence the dandiyan).

Both their mothers were Panjabi - and also from neighbouring villages in Northern Pakistan, coincidentally - so their maternal families held very entertaining Bhangra competitions. In the very end, they collaborated for one big dance before everyone dispersed for the food.

For the rest of the evening the men would chill until all the uncles and boys went as the guys had planned a small bachelor party for Zayn, while the women applied henna, sung songs with the dhol and duff, and danced even more. They didn't really dance in front of the men, a lot of them were hijabis and wanted to go all out for Syra.

Zayn felt annoyed. He hadn't even been able to look at Syra once - she had arrived from the side entrance and he couldn't turn to look at her and now some annoying kids had plopped themselves on the chair between them. He was about to beckon Zakaria over before Ilyas approached the two of them.

"Amma told me to bring the two of you to the side room so you can eat comfortably before Sia leaves," he announced, going to Syra to help her up.

Zayn headed down the steps to grab a drinks; by the time he was back they had gone. He went to the room and was immediately met with the sight of Syra. She looked so breathtaking, he paused right at the door, stunned.

Her kamees and gharara shimmered with every movement of hers. She wore no scarf, instead her dupatta had been arranged to cover her front, revealing a little of her neck which had been covered by a heavy choker. It had been pinned close to the front of her head, not letting any of her hair show; despite it being carefully slicked back into a bun. Her forehead was covered in a headpiece that came down from the top of her head, two lines leading from each side across her forehead to under the dupatta - he vaguely recalled it being called a matha pathi. She wore the traditional fake-flower earrings which matched the ones on her wrist. She was looking at Amma talking to her, showing off her amazing side profile; her sharp jaw. He was sure he would have stayed staring until she turned to him, sending him a quick smile, before replying to Amma.

God certainly blessed us, he thought as he came forward and sat down, his movements almost drunk. He wanted nothing more than to call the Imam then and there and sign the papers and take her home. Lord, she was killing him. (Imam is a religious leader in Islam, like a Rabbi in Judaism or a Preist in Christianity).

"Zayn. Zayn. I've been talking to you for the past minute and - jeez, ZAYN!" Syra called, snapping her fingers in front of his face as he stared as his biryani lost in thought, her bangles chiming.

"Sorry - I was lost in my thoughts. You were saying?"

"Yeah. I've got to go right now - the henna artist is here and she has to start now otherwise it will get too late by the time she is done -"

"But you haven't even eaten," he said, appalled.

"Malikah will feed me as I get my henna done. Okay? I'll see you on our nikkah, Assalamualaikum," she said, standing and sending him an apologetic smile.

And she was gone, leaving him alone to listen to the clanking of her jewellery as she hurried out the room.

Normally he wouldn't have cared - he actually like the way henna looked and appreciated the effort it took to do it, but right now he couldn't help feel a little envious of the damned mendhi artist.

At least he'd have her all to himself after until the holidays ended. He smiled satisfactorily at that.

He wouldn't sulk. There was no point. The biryani infront of him didn't let him so so. So he ate leisurely, staying in the room for as long as he could until he had to leave to say goodbye to the departing uncles. Time to enjoy with his brothers, cousins and friends for the last time as a single fella.

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I think this is the first time the wedding functions have been through the groom's perspective. Usually it's focused on the bride and her stress and millions of preparations. I didn't do too much of that, cuz this is Zayn point of view. And I decided to put all the pre-wedding events into one chapter because it's gets very tiring, writing everything in such detail. And how would Zayn notice the things Syra would have - wedding wise. So that's why this is a lengthy chapter. I also hope the explanations were sufficient - I thoroughly researched everything so no debates please. Thanks.

3280 words.