Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞

If someone tells you that the wedding day morning is peaceful and calm, they're either lying.

.. or sedated. Because mine? Chaos. Screaming.

Curling irons burning hair. Someone crying because their heels don't match their clutch.

Me? I was sitting in the middle of it all, in my PJs, trying to eat cereal like a normal person.

Spoiler: I wasn't even hungry. But pretending to eat gave me something to do besides panic.

Today was The Day. Not my rukshti yet, that drama was scheduled for the evening. This morning was for Nouran Api and Ayyan Bhai's Nikkah. And for some reason, the entire house was acting like we were hosting the Oscars.

"Who took my dupatta?! The mint green one!" Laiba screamed from down the hall.

"Zoya, tell her I didn't take it!" Aaliya yelled back while trying to curl her lashes and simultaneously argue with Laiba.

I stayed silent. Because I had taken it. Accidentally. And it was currently sitting folded under the iron because I wanted to 'just see how it looked with my outfit.'

Oops.

"I swear this house is full of thieves!" Laiba yelled again, and I sneakily slid the dupatta behind a cushion on the sofa.

Not today, Satan.

While everyone was in full-blown panic mode, I glanced at my mehndi-covered hands.

The color had deepened overnight. And right there, hidden between the paisleys and florals, was his name.

Written so small it could pass as a secret code.

Zaigham. Just the thought of it made my face heat up like a toaster.

Okay, Zoya, focus.

I got up to finally start getting ready and instantly tripped on someone's heels lying in the hallway. Who puts stilettos in a hallway?! I barely caught myself and groaned dramatically. "If I die today, tell Zaigham it was the shoes."

Laiba rolled her eyes at me as she passed, her hair half straight, half curled. "You're not even with him yet and already blaming your husband. Incredible."

I stuck my tongue out at her.

As I entered the room, I found my outfit hanging light pastel with light gold embroidery.

Simple, elegant. I slipped into the dress, pinned my hijab neatly, and stared at myself in the mirror.

I wore the watch he bought for me the other day, it perfectly complemented my look, and a smile appeared on my face.

Deep breath. Chin up. You're still technically married yet unmarried for the next few hours, so no pressure.

From downstairs, I heard someone yell, "Zoya! If you're not ready in five minutes, we're leaving you behind!"

I grabbed my tiny clutch and yelled back, "That's fine! I'll Uber to the Nikkah like a strong, independent woman!"

More screams followed.

And as I rushed down the stairs, holding my dress like a proper disaster bride, I couldn't help the grin spreading across my face.

"Let's go, fellas," I said, practically marching down the stairs like I was leading a parade.

Of course, Rumman Api was the first to roll her eyes.

"Cut the drama and move already. Your husband's the most impatient person there right now. Mr. Time-Punctual."

I narrowed my eyes at her, but deep down, she wasn't wrong. I'd bet my dupatta he was checking the time every five minutes like the world might end if we didn't show up soon.

"MashaAllah," Mama muttered, dramatically sighing as I stepped down, "Has this girl ever gotten ready on time in her life? We're already late."

I gasped. "Mama! Don't scold me today! I'm the bride... technically. Even if not right now."

That softened her, a little. Her eyes melted just enough for me to smile, and then—

"Okay, okay, enough emotional drama," Ayyan bhai cut in with the most casual grin, looking ridiculously handsome in white traditional outfit. "It's my nikkah, by the way. In case anyone cares."

Laiba and I shared a look and instantly high-fived.

"Aww, someone's getting impatient!"

And yep, there it was. The blush. He hid it well, but we knew.

"Can we please leave now?" Baba's voice called from the living room like a final warning.

"Yes, sir!" all of us chorused in unison like kids being loaded into the school van.

Most of the family had already left an hour ago, Tayi Jaan, Taya Jaan, their kids, all the guests. Even Dada jaan and Deeda were gone by now. The venue wasn't at home this time. It was an outdoor banquet, open-air, breezy, dreamy.

Now it was just the last group me, Mama, Baba, Laiba, Rumman Api, Ayyan bhai, Mama's sister and brother, Tasneem Khala, Adam Mamu, and a handful of our maternal cousins still waiting behind with us.

We reached the venue a little after 11 a.m., and honestly, It looked like something straight out of a wedding Pinterest board.

The banquet had been set up outdoors in a wide garden, the kind that made you want to walk barefoot through the grass just because. A soft breeze swept through the space, rustling the white curtains draped around the wooden arches.

The entire aisle was lined with fresh jasmine and white roses, everywhere. Woven into hanging garlands, scattered across the floor like snow, tied around the chairs. It smelled like a florist's dream.

A delicate red-and-white theme tied everything together. The stage had a sheer crimson curtain dividing the groom and bride sides. And the groom's seating area was already occupied.

By us.

Well, mostly by Ayyan bhai, who, not surprisingly, stole the spotlight the second we entered.

Everyone turned to look at him. He was glowing. Not literally, obviously, but you know when someone's just radiating because they're happy? That was him.

But me? I wasn't looking at Ayyan bhai.

Because someone else, someone in a cream-colored kurta, pajama pants, and a perfectly fitted waistcoat, was already looking at me.

Zaigham. My heart attack in human form.

His hair was styled back neatly, like always. His posture relaxed but commanding. He didn't smile. Of course, he didn't smile. That would be too easy. But when our eyes met, something... flipped. Right there in my stomach.

Butterflies? Fireworks?

I don't know what it was, but I felt it.

And then, he looked away. Just like that. Back to composed, unreadable, emotionally unavailable Zaigham mode.

Classic.

I tore my gaze off him as Ayyan bhai took his seat beneath the floral arch. The red curtain separated his side from the bride's, which was currently empty.

Not for long, though.

Soon enough, Nouran Api arrived, looking like elegance in real. Inaya and Aaliya flanked her on either side, gently guiding her forward. She wore a sharara a beautiful shade of soft white, shimmered under the daylight. Her dupatta was sheer and delicate, like moonlight draped over her head.

She smiled shyly as she sat down. The curtain fluttered lightly between her and Ayyan bhai.

A moment later, the Qazi Sahab took his place and the nikkah began.

And suddenly, I wasn't in the garden anymore. I was back in my own nikkah.

It had happened so fast.

The garden glowed with soft fairy lights draped between trees and poles. White jasmine and roses lined the aisle and wrapped around the arches.

In the middle of it all sat me, nervous, trying not to trip over my dress or spill anything on the fabric.

It was a pale gold dress, with muted gold embroidery and tiny pearl droplets that shimmered every time I moved.

The dupatta was pinned too tightly on one side and kept slipping on the other.

I must've fixed it a dozen times before the Qazi Sahab even arrived.

Zaigham sat a few feet away under the floral canopy.

He wore an off-white Kurta Pajama, clean-cut, minimal, without a hint of flash.

His posture was firm, back straight, arms resting on his knees, eyes focused entirely on the Qazi like he was analyzing a presentation.

No smile. No glance in any direction. Just still. Unreadable.

"He looks like he's about to reject a merger, not get married," Laiba whispered under her breath, trying not to laugh.

"Shush," Rumman Api muttered beside her, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a tissue, even though she wasn't really crying yet.

Zaviyaar leaned in from behind. "Are you breathing? Because you look like you're going to pass out."

"I'm fine," I mumbled, though my throat felt too dry to speak.

Ayyan bhai gave a small smile from the other side of the aisle, holding up a thumb like this was all just another family milestone we'd laugh about later. Tayii Jan came over quietly, kissed my forehead, and whispered, "Stay strong, sweetheart. You'll be okay."

The Qazi began the Nikah proceedings. My heart thudded louder with every word.

There was a short silence, then he said Zaigham's name, Zaigham replied in the same tone he used in boardrooms, calm, measured, emotionless.

Then, My turn.

"Zoya bint Aariz Khan..."

I paused. For a breath. Maybe longer. And then I said it.

"Qubool hai."

Once. Twice. Third time. Done.

Flower petals flew in the air. Someone blew a whistle. Laiba squealed and hugged me tightly. Rumman Api held my hand and kept saying, "You're okay, you're okay." Mama was crying now. I was trying not to.

Mama wrapped her arms around me, her voice barely holding together. "My beautiful daughter. I am proud of you."

I nodded, pressing my face into her shoulder to hide the tears that were threatening to spill. I wanted to pause here, hold on to this warmth, this moment, but the world kept moving.

I looked for Zaigham again.

He was standing now. Hands at his sides. No smile.

Emotionally Challenged would've been a compliment. The man was a locked briefcase.

And me? The poor fool who now had the key, and no idea what to do with it.

Flashback ends.

I blinked back into the present when I heard the Qazi reciting the final dua. The nikkah was complete.

Nouran Api was wiping soft tears, leaning into Tayi Jaan's embrace. It didn't matter that we lived under the same roof,this moment hit different. A chapter had closed, and a new one had opened.

I was full-on crying like I was watching a drama serial finale. Yes, I already had my nikkah, but emotions have no schedule, okay? Especially when the guy you married used to terrify you with one raised eyebrow.

Ayyan bhai walked over and gently lifted Nouran Api's veil. Instant Awws and dramatic cheering from our very loud cousins began.

Mama kissed her forehead and whispered something sweet, and then it was my turn.

I walked up and hugged her tight.

"Congratulations, bhabhi. Welcome to the chaos," I said, grinning.

She raised one perfectly-shaped brow. "From Api to Bhabhi, huh? Fast progress."

I smirked. "Well, gotta keep up with the level upgrades."

We both laughed.

Someone behind us began handing out bidh boxes. Laiba and Rayyan bhai were in charge of distribution, their hands full of those cute little packs.

I skipped over to them and grabbed a handful.

"Where are you taking those?" Laiba narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"I'm helping distribute them, duh," I said innocently. "It's my brother's nikkah too."

"Wow. Doing actual work for once? Okay fine. Go ahead."

"I do plenty of work," I started to argue, but Rayyan bhai cut in with a dramatic sigh.

"Girls, please! Not today. Zoya, you're the bride too, remember? Your turn's just a few hours away."

"Exactly! I'm the bride," I said, spinning toward Laiba with mock sass. "Which means no one's allowed to annoy me for the next twelve hours."

Laiba rolled her eyes but smiled. "You're impossible."

"True," I said, grinning as I skipped off to hand out bidh boxes like the chaotic sister I was born to be.

I held the bidh bucket tightly and moved toward the bride's side of the gathering, linking arms with Aaliya like we were on some top-secret mission. We were laughing, teasing each other, and handing out the little packs like royalty tossing coins to the crowd.

Everything was going smoothly until—

BAM.

I bumped straight into something solid. Something tall. Something definitely not a wall.

"Ouch!" I yelped, stumbling a little.

And when I looked up—

Of course. Of course.

Zaigham. Standing right there with his arms folded across his chest like he'd been waiting for me to crash into him. His expression unreadable as ever.

Aaliya, the traitor, took one look and vanished into the crowd with her share of the bidh boxes.

I muttered under my breath, "Why is it always when I don't want to run into him... he appears like a ghost in a horror movie?"

Zaigham raised a brow. "Did you say something?"

I gave him the fakest, most sweet smile I could manage. "Nope. Nothing at all."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in that annoying way he does when he knows I'm lying but chooses not to call me out just yet. "Maybe try looking where you're going next time?"

"Excuse me?" I snapped, lifting my chin. "You were the one standing in the middle of the walkway like a... pillar."

Okay, fine. It was technically my fault. But admitting it?

Yeah. Not happening. Not in Zoya's world.

He just stared at me, silent, probably judging all my life choices.

To change the subject, I shoved one of the bidh packs into his hand.

"Here," I said sweetly. "For the bride's brother."

He looked down at it like I'd handed him a live grenade, his gaze went to my wrist subtly before saying. "I don't want it."

I grinned, completely ignoring that. "Take it anyway. Your wife is giving it to you."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, amused, and dangerously attractive.

And just like that, the butterflies in my stomach decided to start a small party.

No. Nope. Not today. I was not going to stand here and let him win this round.

I turned on my heel and took off before he could say anything else, my heart thudding louder than the wedding drums in the background.

Out of pure curiosity, I looked back once. He was still standing there, head slightly lowered, shaking it with a barely-there smile on his face.

I smiled too.

I know the chapter was a bit short, if I had added Zoya's wedding scene here, it would've become too long. Sorry for that, hehe... But don't worry, the next chapter will be full of fun and drama! Stay tuned Lovelies! ??

Bidh: Bidh is a lovely Pakistani tradition where the groom's side gives small gifts, sweets, or money to the bride's side as a gesture of love and joy.

These gifts are often packed in pretty boxes and distributed during or at the end of the event.

It's not a religious practice but a cultural one, meant to express happiness and good wishes for the new beginning.