She was like a butterfly in spring. Flying from one garden to the next with her face pulled in a bright smile.
He was like a lonely Eagle. Soaring through the winds at high speeds, looking for happiness.
Life threw curveball on curveball in her path...
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B R I G H T lights shimmered in the tiny street. The house of the Jamal's was covered in golden fairy lights. With a maroon tent covering the street for extra space. It was clear that it was the brides home. For it was decorated like one. Hoor was inside her bedroom. She had just returned from the state-of-the-art saloon. Rehman had kindly sent her a driver for pick and drop. Everyone that had caught a glimpse of her, had been moved to say MashAllah.
The women all around the street prayed for their own daughters to have a naseeb like that of Hoor's. It was practically impossible for a woman of such a poor household to marry into a rich one when she was at home all day. It was true what they said. "Joarayasmaanonmein bantay hain".
Hoor had opted to wear a burnt mustard coloured short shirt with loose bell bottom pants. The shirt had golden gotta work on it. With some pastel pink and blue bead work. The duppata was plain and had the same work as that on the shirt and trousers. She was going to take a heavier dupatta aswell. It was tradition. And she was not one to break traditions. Since the event was just downstairs, Hoor had decided to wear plain golden khusas. Her hair in a bun covered in jasmines. And two thick gajray covering her slender wrists. She was a vision.
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The dress came with a handbag made of the same cloth. And was tied with a drawstring. Her hands as of yet were free of Henna. And she could not wait for them to be covered. If there was one thing she loved more than cooking, it was having henna applied on her hands.
Hoor roamed her room, fiddling with her fingers. Mind full of anxiety. She just wanted to be done with everything. Her hands were turing cold by the second. It seemed that it was all happening too fast. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself down. To remind herself of the days that were to come. The sense of fulfillment that she had wished for, for most of her life.
She looked out of her window. It opened into the street. Seeing the women dressed in their embroidered chiffon clothes, exit their homes and make their way to hers made her happy. These were all people that were happy in her happiness.
Suddenly there was a loud sound of footsteps rush up the stairs. A knock sounded on her door. "Kon hai?" Hoor asked from the other side of the door. "Mein. Darwaza kholo". Ali replied. Hoor opened the lock of the door, opening it wide. To allow him to step in. "Chalo. Waqt ho gaya hai," Ali gave her a tight lipped smile. He took out the colourful fancy dupatta that was on a small table in her bedroom. He alongside a few of their distant relatives held it over her head. Leading her downstairs slowly.
