The Royal feud✅

[10] J A W A D

JAWAD

I miss Ummi. I wish she is also sitting in the palanquin behind me. The wooden cubical palanquin suspended by the hands of four guards at each pole. I wish she is with me as I take a step into another phase of my life, the phase of choosing a life partner.

We are on our way to Amna grandmother's house. It has been three days since I saw her and declared my intentions. I'm afraid of rejection. In my 27 years of living, I've never taken interest in any lady or thought of marriage. It is all new to me. I don't want to force her into marrying me. I'll accept whatever she decides.

It's obvious she's scared of my presence. She thought I'll kill her when she saw me holding my sword the other day. Am I pushing her too fast?

I pull Aqwa's halter when the house comes into view. I climb down to await the Malika and Khadijah's arrival. I can see the top of their palanquin.

"My son," I turn to see the old woman's head peeking out of the door. "You're here again." She smiles, her facial skin creases. This is the first time she's seeing me without a hood on, but she doesn't look surprised.

"Salam alaykum,"

"Walaykum salam ya abni, marhaban." She steps out of the door then heads for where I'm standing, foots away from their entrance. "Come inside," she grabs my hand.

"I... I-I'm awaiting some—" My sentence is interrupted when the guards arrive in front of us. They drop the palanquin on the floor. "Let's go inside." I say to her when Khadijah and the Malika are out of the carriage.

I haven't seen Amna. Khadijah is sitting on the floor close to Amna's Grandmother while the Malika and I is sitting opposite them. Khadijah looks amused, judging by the smile on her face. She's having a conversation with the woman, and I don't miss the smirk she passes to me from time to time.

"Anything wrong?" I whisper to the Malika. She has been dusting her dress, sighing and shifting uncomfortably.

"I'm fine." She smiles. She looks distressed and out of place. She is scanning the ceiling made of crook woods, the drawers. Everywhere. She doesn't know I'm watching her actions. Why is she uncomfortable?

"salam alaykum."

"Walaykum salam." We answer in unison.

My head jerks up to the owner of the voice. Amna, she stands in the middle of the room with a veil draped over her head up to her eyes.

"Come and sit here," her grandmother taps the space between her and Khadijah. Amna saunters to the spot then lowers her body to sit. Khadijah whispers something in her ear, to which she giggles.

"You can start," I whisper into the Malika's ear. The least she can do is to make this perfect.

The Malika clears her throat.

"We are here to ask your daughter's hand for my son here," her hand circles my wrist. I don't like it, but I let her.

"Amna is very dear to my heart," her grandmother says, sighing. "But as much as I love her and don't want to let go of her, she has to get married and complete her Deen." She brings Amna hands into her palms. "The decision lies in her hands. If she's willing to get married to him, I'll let her. But if she isn't, I won't force her."

I dread hearing her say she isn't willing.

"Amna, are you willing to get married to Jawad?" the Malika asks. Each second ticking by as I await her reply adds a growing block to my anxiety. I'm not this anxious during wars. I'm looking down at the red flowery patterned mat we are sitting on. I hear Khadijah chant Mashaallah, I raise my head.