. . .
❝Once upon a time, a girl fell in love with her husband and made the stars realise that they'd gotten her soulmate wrong.❞
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It's a daunting thing, your first love. It's new, making you unsure and doubt whether it's love or just a mere...
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REZA HAIDAR CLEARED HIS throat.
"I'm sure you know why we are all here."
I nodded, already feeling the awkwardness in the air. This really was not the most ideal situation to be in nor was it the most comfortable.
The man beside Zayaan chimed in. "We're here to ask for the bride's hand in marriage. What do you say, Faithe? Will you marry my brother?"
"Zakariyah!" Nafasat reprimanded, widening her eyes and shaking her head at him.
So this was Zakariyah. The middle child and the one that looked the least menacing out of all the new men in my living room.
I smiled at him, but before I could say anything, my mother beat to me talk. "Before we start talking about the wedding preparations, there's a Turkish tradition that we wanted to put to use today."
Interest gleamed in the Haidars' eyes. "Oh?"
"The coffee with salt tradition." Mum beamed at Zayaan and at the way his eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "When the groom's family arrive at the bride's family asking for her hand in marriage, we like to put two things to test. One: the girl's skill will determine if she'd make a good wife, even if it just coffee that she will make. And two: it will test the man's ability to persevere in the future, based on how severe his expressions are and how much he ends up drinking. The coffee represents the struggles that life will present, and if the groom drinks the entire thing with showing little struggle, then he'll be the perfect fit for a husband!"
Zayaan gave no argument. He smiled at my mother and gave me a challenging look as if to say do your worst.
I gave him a bright smile as if to respond, wouldn't dream of doing anything else.
My mother gestured her head to kitchen, telling me to make my merry way out. But on my way, I caught Aden's eyes and desperately mouthed 'help me'.
I stood at the stove a couple of minutes later, debating between two different pots to make the coffee. Turkish coffee.
"What are you doing?"
I jumped. "Aden!"
"Sorry, sorry. But why are you just staring at the pot?"
"I don't know what to do. I know that Mum only showed me yesterday, but I already forgot." I winced, wondering why the hell my brain could not just absorb cooking information.
