Here is the chapter stars

Enjoy!

Happy reading

No tagrets but do vote and comment just check instagram please

Soon I will update the chapter again enjoy

After 1 hour

Author's POV

The room was dimly lit, its walls made of cold, polished stone that seemed to trap the shadows within. The massive table in the center reflected the faint light from a chandelier above, its crystal edges casting ghostly patterns across the room. The air was heavy, oppressive, as though the very space itself was holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

Hamad Malik sat at the head of the table, a figure carved from ice and steel. His black suit, tailored to perfection, clung to his broad frame, his posture relaxed yet menacing. He exuded an aura of quiet control, the kind that could shift into lethal action at a moment’s notice. His hands rested on the table, fingers tapping rhythmically against the smooth surface. Each tap echoed like a countdown, filling the room with an undercurrent of dread.

Standing behind him was Ibrahim Shah, his ever-present shadow. If Hamad was the storm, Ibrahim was the thunderclap that followed. His piercing gaze swept over the room, taking in every detail, every nervous movement of the men seated before them. His presence alone was enough to make grown men cower; the stories of his brutality were well known, whispered in the darkest corners of the underworld.

The men seated at the table, a mix of contractors, executives, and logistical planners, sat rigidly in their chairs. None dared to move unnecessarily, their gazes flickering between Hamad and Ibrahim. They knew better than to meet Hamad’s eyes directly—those cold, calculating orbs that could strip a man of his courage with a single glance. It was as if they were being weighed, judged, and found wanting before they’d even spoken a word.

The doors creaked open, the sound reverberating through the room like the opening of a tomb. A man in a sharp navy suit entered, clutching a file so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. His steps faltered as he approached the table, the weight of the room’s tension nearly bringing him to his knees. He stopped a few feet from Hamad, his throat working as he tried to summon his voice.

“Mr. Malik,” the man began, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to appear composed. “I have... I have the complete presentation for the project. The shipments, the schedules, the security—everything is accounted for. We’ve ensured that—”

Hamad raised a single hand, the gesture as smooth and deliberate as a blade being unsheathed. The man’s words died in his throat, his face draining of color as he realized he had already failed to meet Hamad’s unspoken expectations.

“Speak when I ask you to,” Hamad said, his voice low and icy. It wasn’t a shout, nor was it a growl. It was far worse—a calm, measured tone that carried the promise of unimaginable consequences. “Until then, you will stand there and wait.”

The man nodded hastily, his eyes dropping to the floor. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the projector being wheeled into the room. Ibrahim’s sharp gaze followed every movement, his hands folded across his chest as he leaned against the wall. His silence was as loud as any threat, a reminder that he was always watching, always ready to act.

The presentation began, the projector casting maps, graphs, and logistical data onto the wall. The man nervously pointed to each slide, detailing the routes, the security measures, the contingencies. His voice trembled as he spoke, his words spilling out in a hurried attempt to appease the unrelenting gaze of Hamad Malik.

Hamad leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. He let the man speak, his silence far more unnerving than any interruption could have been. When the man finished, his voice barely a whisper, Hamad finally moved. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his steely gaze locking onto the presenter.

“Do you know what happens to people who fail me?” Hamad asked, his voice soft but deadly. The question hung in the air, a blade suspended by a thread. The man swallowed hard, unable to speak.

“They cease to exist,” Hamad continued, his tone chilling. “Their names are erased. Their families vanish. And their bodies... well, no one ever finds them. Is that clear?”

The man nodded frantically, his fear palpable. “Y-yes, Mr. Malik. There will be no mistakes. Everything will proceed as planned.”

“Good,” Hamad replied, leaning back once more. His fingers resumed their rhythmic tapping, each tap a reminder of the power he held over everyone in the room.

The meeting continued, each man presenting their piece of the project with the same mix of fear and urgency. Hamad listened, his sharp mind absorbing every detail. When someone dared to suggest a modification to his plans, he silenced them with a single look, his authority absolute.

At one point, a contractor stammered through a report about potential delays at one of the docks. Hamad’s gaze fixed on him like a predator locking onto its prey. “Delays?” he repeated, his voice dangerously calm. “Are you telling me that my shipments might not arrive on time?”

The contractor paled, his hands trembling as he tried to explain. “N-no, sir. I mean, it’s just a possibility. The local authorities have been unpredictable, and—”

Hamad cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Then make them predictable. Bribe them. Intimidate them. Or remove them. I don’t care how you do it, but my shipments will arrive on time. Do you understand?”

The contractor nodded quickly, his voice barely audible. “Yes, sir. It will be done.”

Ibrahim chuckled darkly, his deep voice filling the room. “You’re lucky he’s giving you a chance to fix this,” he said, his tone mocking. “Most men don’t get second chances with us.”

The contractor’s face turned ashen, his fear so palpable that it seemed to hang in the air like a cloud. Hamad said nothing more, his silence a dismissal that sent the man scurrying back to his seat.

As the meeting progressed, it became clear that Hamad’s plans were not just meticulous—they were absolute. Every detail, every contingency, had been accounted for. The men in the room were not collaborators; they were pawns, each one serving a purpose in a game they barely understood.

When the meeting finally concluded, Hamad stood, his movements deliberate and commanding. He buttoned his jacket, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room one last time. “You are dismissed,” he said, his voice cold and final. The men wasted no time, gathering their papers and rushing to leave. The sound of their hurried footsteps echoed through the hall as they fled the room, desperate to escape the oppressive presence of Hamad and Ibrahim.

Once the doors closed, the room fell silent once more. Ibrahim turned to Hamad, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Well, that was entertaining,” he said, his tone laced with amusement.

Hamad didn’t respond immediately. He walked to the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked out over the city. The skyline was dark, the lights of the buildings below flickering like distant stars. “The shipments will arrive on time,” he said finally, his voice calm but resolute. “And if they don’t... we’ll make an example of whoever is responsible.”

Ibrahim’s smirk widened. “Of course. No one’s foolish enough to cross you now. Not after what happened to the last man who tried.”

Hamad turned to face him, his expression unreadable. “Fear is a powerful tool, Ibrahim. But loyalty... loyalty is what keeps men in line. Make sure they remember that.”

Ibrahim nodded, his sharp features hardening. “Consider it done.”

Sifna pov

The evening air carried the faint aroma of marigolds and lingering perfume as the last of the guests stepped out of the door. I offered a small, polite smile, holding the edge of my dupatta tightly, as if the soft fabric could anchor me in the sea of emotions swirling within. After the final pleasantries, I closed the door and turned around. The house was quiet now, the voices that filled the space moments ago replaced by an unsettling silence.

Ammi, Di, and I walked into the room together. The weight of their gazes felt heavier than usual, and I knew what was coming. Di’s questions were as inevitable as the sunset. My heart raced as I prepared myself, trying to delay the inevitable.

“Di, aap kapde badalijiye, mai tab tak ye kitchen ka kaam karlu,” (Di, you change your clothes; meanwhile, I’ll finish the kitchen work) I said quickly, avoiding her piercing eyes. I moved toward the tray on the table, hoping to escape, but before I could touch it, Di’s hand gripped mine.

A sharp hiss escaped my lips before I could stop it. I froze. I knew I had messed up.

Di’s brows furrowed, her gaze shifting to my hand, then back to my face. Her doubt from earlier, when I returned from the kitchen, was now solidified. Her fingers loosened, and she gently turned me to face her. Her voice was soft but laced with firmness as she asked, “Kaise hua, Sif? Jaldi bata.” (How did this happen, Sif? Tell me quickly.)

I swallowed hard, feeling the lump in my throat grow larger. If I told her the truth, she would undoubtedly confront Ammi, and I couldn’t bear that. “Di… Di… woh…” I stammered, trying to find words that wouldn’t betray my mother.

But Di didn’t let me finish. Her voice rose slightly, filled with frustration and pain. “Kya woh woh, Sif? I know kisne kiya hai. Kab tak bachayegi tu inko? Kab tak, yaar, Sif?” (What ‘woh woh,’ Sif? I know who did this. How long will you keep protecting them? How long?)

Her words hit me like a storm, each one breaking the walls I had built around myself.

“Yeh deserve hi nahi karte tere jaisi masoom, bholi si aulad ko!” (They don’t deserve a pure, innocent child like you!) she said, her voice trembling with anger. “Us waqt bhi tune unhein bachaliya! Arre jab inko sachai ka samna karna padta na mere sasural walon ke samne, tab inhe pata chalta na!” (Even that time, you saved them! If they had to face the truth in front of my in-laws, they would have realized!)

I looked down, tears pooling in my eyes.

“Hazar dafa kaha hai ki mat bachaya kar inhe, mat bachaya kar! Lekin tu hai ki samajhti nahi!” (I’ve told you a thousand times not to protect them, but you never understand!)

A tear slipped down my cheek, and before it could fall, Di gently wiped it away. Her voice softened as she said, “Rone ki koi zarurat nahi hai.” (There’s no need to cry.)

But her anger wasn’t quelled. She turned sharply to Ammi, her eyes blazing with a fury I hadn’t seen before. “Maa, Allah ki kasam kha kar bol rahi hu ab mai aapko—bas agar iske saath kuch bhi zyadti hui na, mai tabah karke rakh dungi aapko!” (Mother, I swear by Allah, if anything else happens to her, I will destroy you!)

Ammi didn’t say a word, her silence loud and oppressive. Di didn’t wait for a response. She grabbed my other hand and led me to our room, her grip firm but careful. Once inside, she made me sit on the bed and disappeared momentarily, returning with the first aid kit.

Her hands worked gently, applying ointment to the deep red marks on my hand, where Ammi’s nails had dug into my skin earlier. She blew softly on the wounds, her face a mix of concentration and pain.

I winced as the cool ointment touched the tender skin, and she hissed every time I flinched, as though she felt my pain more than I did.

The silence between us was heavy, broken only by the sound of her breath and the gentle clink of the ointment tube. When she finished, she placed the kit aside and stood up, ready to leave.

“Di…” I called softly, reaching out to hold her hand. She paused but didn’t look at me. “Naraz ho mujhse? Maaf kar do, please?” (Are you upset with me? Please forgive me.)

At that, she turned around and crouched in front of me, her hands cupping my cheeks. Her touch was warm and reassuring, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Mai kabhi tumse naraz nahi reh sakti, Sifna,” (I can never be upset with you, Sifna,) she whispered, her voice breaking. “Tum bhi ye baat jaanti ho. Mai khud se naraz hu… ki tumhein hi kyun itni takleef jhelni padti hai mere hone ke baad.” (You know that. I’m upset with myself… because why do you have to endure so much pain even when I’m here?)

Tears spilled from her eyes, and I wiped them gently with my fingers. “Di, Inshallah Allah pe bharosa karo. Sab theek ho jayega.” (Di, trust in Allah. Everything will be okay.)

She smiled faintly, her eyes softening, and nodded. For a moment, it felt as though time paused, the weight of the world outside forgotten.

After a while, we both decided to change our clothes. The warmth of her presence lingered as she left the room to give me some privacy, but her words stayed with me. They always did.

The night had wrapped itself around the house like a soft velvet blanket, quiet and serene. Di and I sat on the bed, a rare moment of stillness after the chaos of the day. The dim yellow glow of the bedside lamp cast warm, golden hues on the walls, making the room feel cozy and comforting. I hugged the soft teddy bear Sabrina Aunty had given me earlier, its fur brushing against my cheek, and felt a warmth in my heart.

“Di, aapko pata hai, Sabrina Aunty ne jab mujhe hug kiya, bilkul Ammi jaisi feeling aayi—pyaar bhari,” (Di, you know, when Sabrina Aunty hugged me, it felt just like Ammi—so full of love,) I said with a smile, my fingers absentmindedly brushing over the teddy bear’s bowtie.

Di was standing near the cupboard, carefully placing the gifts we had received into the locker. Her movements were methodical, as if each item deserved her utmost attention. The shimmering jewelry and ornate boxes gleamed under the light. I watched as she handled them with care, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration.

She glanced back at me and smiled faintly. “They all are so nice, sif . You’re lucky, dida, to have them,” I said softly, her voice carrying a hint of affection but also something heavier—something unspoken.

I nodded enthusiastically, holding the teddy bear closer. “Haan, Di! Everyone was so sweet. Mujhe toh lagta hai ki Allah ne apko bahut achhe log diye hain,” (Yes, Di! I feel like Allah has blessed you with such good people.) I said, my voice bubbling with gratitude.

But as I spoke, I noticed Di wasn’t really there with me. Her hands slowed as she placed a box into the locker, her eyes distant, as though her thoughts were elsewhere. Her face, usually so full of life, seemed shadowed by something I couldn’t quite place.

“Didaa!” I called out, a little louder this time, hoping to pull her back to me.

She blinked and turned around, startled. “Haan, bache, bol,” (Yes, dear, tell me,) she said, her voice gentle but tinged with weariness.

I set the teddy bear aside and got off the bed, walking over to her. Her expression was one I hadn’t seen often—her strong, confident demeanor seemed replaced by something fragile, almost vulnerable.

“Dida, kya baat hai? Aap itni murjhaayi hui kyun lag rahi ho?” (Dida, what’s wrong? Why do you look so wilted?) I asked, my voice soft but filled with concern.

She smiled, a weak attempt to mask whatever was weighing on her heart. “Kuch nahi, bache. Bas shaadi ka stress hota hai na, wahi hai,” (Nothing, dear. Just the usual stress that comes with a wedding,) she replied, brushing off my concern with practiced ease.

But I wasn’t convinced. Her eyes told a different story—one of pain, of something she wasn’t ready to share. I wanted to press further, to ask her what was truly bothering her, but I held back. Di was strong, always putting others before herself, and I knew she would speak when she was ready.

“Inshallah, sab theek hoga, Di. Sab kuch,” (Inshallah, everything will be okay, Di. Everything,) I said softly, hoping my words could offer her some comfort.

She nodded, her lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “Haan, sab theek hoga,” (Yes, everything will be okay,) she echoed, though her voice carried the faintest tremble.

The air between us felt heavier, but I didn’t want to add to her burden. Instead, I took her hand gently, squeezing it in silent reassurance. We both knew that sometimes words weren’t enough, but presence was.

A few moments later, we prepared to offer our salah. The sound of water running from the tap in the bathroom was soothing in the otherwise quiet house. After performing wudu, we spread our prayer mats side by side. The rhythmic recitation of the Qur’an during our salah filled the room with a sense of peace, a reminder of Allah’s mercy and guidance.

As I finished my dua, I glanced at Di. Her eyes were closed, her hands raised in silent prayer, her lips moving softly. In that moment, she looked so serene yet so burdened, as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. I prayed harder for her, asking Allah to ease her heart and guide us both through the challenges ahead.

Once we finished our prayers, I sat at my study table, the faint rustling of papers filling the room as I prepared for the long night ahead. The reality of our upcoming exams loomed over me, but tonight, it felt like a welcome distraction.

Di sat on the bed, her gaze distant once more. I couldn’t help but glance at her every now and then, wondering what storm she was facing in silence. She caught my eye and smiled faintly, as if to assure me she was okay. But deep down, I knew better.

“Di, aap aaram karo. Mujhe pata hai, aap thak gayi ho,” (Di, you should rest. I know you’re tired,) I said softly.

She shook her head, pulling the blanket over herself. “Tum padhai karo. Mai thik hoon,” (You study. I’m fine,) she replied.

As I turned back to my notes, the words on the pages blurred for a moment. My heart ached for her, for the strength she always showed and the pain she never let slip. But I knew that together, with Allah’s guidance, we would get through whatever challenges lay ahead.

The night stretched on, quiet and calm, the two of us lost in our own worlds but bound by a love and understanding that needed no words.

On the other side

Sabrina pov

The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the landscape as we left their house. The soft warmth of the sunlight filtered through the car windows, casting playful shadows across the interior. Sidra, Abeeha, and I settled into the car, while Sara and Zara had taken the other. The hum of the car’s engine filled the silence, but there was a comforting stillness that settled around us. The gentle rustling of the trees outside, swaying in the cool breeze, was the only sound that broke the quiet.

As we drove, I couldn't help but let my thoughts wander back to the girl, Sifna. Her innocence, the purity in her eyes, and the softness in her mannerisms had left a mark on my heart. She was a child caught in a storm of circumstances, and yet, there was something about her that radiated peace, as if she were untouched by the world’s cruelties.

After a moment of silence, I turned to Abeeha. “Beta, yeh wahi dost hai na, aapki, jiska aap zikr karti hain? I mean, the one whose mother and father don’t treat her right?” I couldn’t help but ask. My curiosity and concern for Sifna were becoming more apparent.

Abeeha looked up from her phone, her expression softening. “Ji, Badi Maa. Sifna wahi Sifna hai jiske baare mein maine aapko bataya,” (Yes, Badi Maa. She’s the same Sifna I told you about,) she said quietly, almost as if the weight of the situation hung in the air.

I turned my gaze to the passing scenery, the golden light now shifting into something warmer as the evening approached. “Lekin, us bachi ne apni maa ko bachaya kyun? Kabhi toh inhein samajhne dena chahiye tha apni galti,” (But why did she protect her mother? Sometimes they need to understand their mistakes,) I mused aloud, feeling a mixture of confusion and concern for the child. She had acted out of love, but at what cost?

Sidra, who had been gazing out the window, turned to me and smiled faintly. “Badi Maa, hamari Sifna aisi hi hai. Bholi-bhali, masoom si. Kabhi kisi ka bura na chahne wali,” (Badi Maa, our Sifna is just like that. Innocent and pure-hearted. She never wishes ill upon anyone.) There was affection in Sidra’s voice, and it was clear that she felt a deep connection to Sifna. Her words painted a picture of a girl who was too kind for her own good.

Sidra continued, her tone softening with a touch of admiration. “Aapko pata hai, Badi Maa, woh kitni masoom hai? Hamesha bas Rab ki ibadat aur padhai mein hoti hai. Aur logon ka dil jeetne mein woh mahir hai,” (Do you know, Badi Maa, how innocent she is? She’s always immersed in her worship of Allah and her studies. And she’s an expert at winning people’s hearts.) Her eyes glinted with pride as she spoke about her friend, and I couldn't help but feel warmth in my chest at the thought of such a pure soul.

I smiled, the corners of my lips lifting with a bittersweet tenderness. “Yeh baat aapne sahi kahi, Sidra beta. Dil toh jeet liya Sifna ne humara,” (You’re absolutely right, Sidra, my dear. Sifna has truly won our hearts,) I said, my voice filled with affection for the girl, even though I hadn’t known her for long.

In my thoughts, I added, Allah us bachi ko hamesha khush rakhe (May Allah always keep this child happy). The way I had embraced her earlier felt like a protective instinct, and I wished with all my heart that she would be safe, that she would be shielded from the harshness of the world.

I glanced out the window as we approached home, the sky now tinged with soft shades of orange and pink. The conversation had shifted, but I could still feel the quiet concern that lingered in my heart for Sifna. I hoped that with time, the pain she carried would heal, and she would find the peace and happiness she deserved.

The car slowly came to a halt, the evening sun casting its last golden rays over everything as we pulled into the driveway. A quiet sigh escaped me as I turned to look at Sidra and Abeeha, who had been sitting in silence for the past few minutes. I knew they had their own thoughts swirling, but there was no time to waste. The wedding preparations were already in full swing, and everything needed to be perfect.

“Chalo, beta, sab kapde badal lo, thoda relax kar lo,” (Come on, kids, change your clothes and relax a bit.) I said with a soft yet firm tone. We had a lot to discuss and plan, and there was no time for delays. The wedding was only a few days away, and I could already feel the weight of it all settling on my shoulders. Sidra, ever the attentive daughter, looked at me, sensing my unspoken concern. “Badi Maa, sab thik hai? Aap thodi pareshan lag rahi hain.” (Badi Maa, is everything okay? You seem a little stressed.) Her voice was laced with care, and I appreciated her sensitivity. But I knew I had to remain strong, for the sake of the family and the big day ahead.

I smiled reassuringly at her, placing a hand on her arm. “Haan beta, bas thoda sa stress hai. Tum dono jaake apne kapde badal lo, humari shaadi ki tayyari kaafi important hai.” (Yes, sweetheart, just a little stress. You both go and change your clothes, the wedding preparations are really important.)

The soft glow of the golden chandeliers cast a warm, welcoming light over the spacious living room. The elegance of the room was both timeless and modern—the fine marble floors, rich velvet curtains, and intricately carved wooden furniture all spoke of a family that valued both beauty and tradition. Today, the air felt even more special as the room hummed with the excited chatter of family members gathered together for one common purpose: Hamad’s wedding, the first wedding in our family. The excitement was palpable, yet there was an air of reverence about it. This wasn’t just a celebration of wealth or status; it was a moment where family, love, and faith would be honored in the grandest of ways.

We all sat down , I gazed around the room, my thoughts already racing ahead to all the preparations. My heart swelled with gratitude as I looked at my family—Sidra , Zara, Ayaz, Yousuf, Hadi, Daamin, Aaban arsalan ji abeeha, haroon —who were all gathered here, sharing this moment of joy. They all understood the importance of this day, and their presence filled the room with a quiet strength.

"Alright," I began, my voice steady yet filled with emotion. "We need to finalize the guest list and ensure everything is in place. This isn’t just a wedding; it’s a gathering of all those who have been part of our journey, and we must make it a reflection of who we are—a family grounded in faith, love, and togetherness."

a smile tugging at my lips. Sara my little sister-in-law said bhabhi maa we should personally send the invitation to Hamad’s bua as we all know how she is she will easily get the chance to taunt that you all dont mmtake me as a family etc etc i replied Yes, of course we must send invitations to Hamad’s bua and her family. They are part of our extended family, and it’s important that they feel included."

Zara, my younger sister-in-law, who always had a practical way of thinking, added thoughtfully, "We should also consider inviting some of our close friends, those who’ve supported us through the years. It's the first wedding in our family, and people will want to be there."

I paused, thinking carefully. "Yes, you’re right, Zara. But the focus should be on those who have always been by our side, those who have supported us in both easy and difficult times. I want this wedding to reflect our values: unity, faith, and gratitude. It’s not about the number of people we invite, but about who we invite—those who truly matter."

Ayaz, one of Hamad’s uncles, smiled warmly. "Bhabhi, don’t worry. Everything is taken care of. The venue is booked, the caterers have been confirmed, and we’ve already chosen the decorators. The wedding will be grand, but it will also honor the traditions we hold dear."

I felt a deep sense of gratitude wash over me. "Thank you, Ayaz. But remember, we must ensure the celebration is in line with our faith. The dress code for the event should be modest. We’ll have the women dressed in elegant but modest attire—nothing too flashy or revealing. Our guests will understand that this is a celebration of love, not a show of wealth."

"Of course, Bhabhi ," said Yousuf, Hamad’s other uncle. "We’ve made arrangements with the best event planners, and they’re well aware of our wishes."

I turned my attention to the catering arrangements, which were always one of the most important aspects of a Muslim wedding. "The food should be halal, of course. We’ll have traditional dishes, but also offer a variety for our guests. There should be plenty of sweets—baklava, kunafa, and the delicious biryanis we all love. And we must have fresh dates and Arabic coffee as part of the welcoming ceremony. Our guests should feel that the warmth of our hospitality is as rich as the food we serve."

Hadi, spoke next, his voice full of excitement. "What about the wedding hall, Badi Maa? Should we focus on a grand entrance for the bride?"

I nodded thoughtfully, imagining the details in my mind. "The entrance should be beautiful, but not overdone. We’ll have white and gold as the main colors, with delicate floral arrangements—roses, lilies, and jasmine. The soft lighting should give the room a serene and welcoming feel. We want the guests to feel peace and happiness the moment they step inside. A live Qawwali performance would also be a beautiful touch, something that speaks to our heritage."

Sidra, who had been quietly listening, now added, "What about the nikah ceremony? It’s so important that everything is done according to tradition. Should we have a proper religious setting for it?"

"Yes, absolutely," I responded. "The nikah should be the focal point of the wedding. It should be simple yet powerful—our imam will lead the ceremony with the proper prayers, and it should be intimate. Just close family and friends, gathered to witness the sacred union. After the nikah, we’ll have a small gathering to celebrate the blessed occasion, and then the larger celebration for the reception."

Zara nodded in agreement, her face glowing with understanding. "It’s perfect, Bhabhi. You’ve thought of everything."

I smiled, feeling a wave of relief. "I want everything to be perfect, not because of the extravagance, but because of the love it represents. This wedding is about the union of two hearts, and it should honor not just their love, but the love of everyone who has supported them—our family, our friends, and most importantly, Allah’s blessings."

As we continued to discuss the details, I could feel the weight of this special moment. The first wedding in our family. It wasn’t just about the grand banquet or the beautiful clothes or the lavish venue. It was about coming together as a family, strengthening the ties of love and faith.

I offered a silent prayer in my heart, asking for Allah’s blessings upon Hamad, upon his bride, and upon our family. May this wedding be the start of a beautiful, blessed journey, filled with love, laughter, and the light of faith.



Dont forget to check the profile and comment on instagram

Happy reading