Disaster's Aid

I straighten my posture as the heavy decorated clothing wraps around me and glitters in the lights. On the cream embroidered couch Mama rests in a green beige and blue suit with golden heels peaking out from under her long shalwar. Her henna decorated hand grips her cheek as she stares at me with a soft smile. Mama's scarf is decoratively sweeping around her shoulders and a lighter scarf covers her hair.

I further straighten and feel the weight of my clothes distribute more comfortably.

The makeup artist brushes my face with one last stroke and gives me a light hug.

"Aunty she's ready!" Raina says to Mama. She flips her makeup bags closed and starts cleaning up.

Mama stands and holds my face in her hands. She barely reaches my nose in height with my heels. She sniffles to keep back tears. I feel my own heart rattle against my ribs.

This is it. The official change. The final ceremony.

Mama turns me towards the mirror and I watch myself turn in surprise. The light makeup sharpens my features and my maroon wedding langa skirt sweeps the floor in a beautiful arc. My breath catches.

Tariq chose well.

Aunty Yasmina sweeps the door open and Mama and I turn.

"Masha Allah! Oh my daughter, May Allah the Merciful save you from evil eyes and give you all the best in this world and the next. Come my beautiful gem, it's time to come inside."

"Okay Aunty, we are coming." Mama takes my hands and kisses both my henna decorated palms.

"Sara, it's time to go." Mama breathes.

An ache travels from my hands to my heart. Aunty and Mama take my hands and guide me to the main door of the hall and away from the bridal room.

I take a deep breath and Abou and Uncle Baber catch my eyes from inside and grin. The tall white doors are arched and pulled open. Abou takes a deep breath and I catch a glitter in his eye. Tariq comes to stand by Abou. Tall and serene with high collars to define his strong posture Tariq strides to stand beside me.

In my peripheral vision a hundred cameras flash and they fade away as I watch Abou and Uncle Baber, like a father now, taking my hands and placing them in Tariq's. Tariq grins sweetly, almost shy as he takes my hands.

Mama takes Tariq's one hand and pulls his face down to kiss his forehead. Abou wraps his arms around us both. Tariq and Abou laugh lightly and I feel their warmth enter my chest.

Mama and Abou are Tariq's parents now too, Aunty Yasmina and Uncle Baber are now mine. Ever since the Nikkah we have been able to hug them and talk to them as they are now our own. Before this Uncle was my non-mehram (a non-family member that one could potentially marry), but now that I've married Tariq I can hug him and talk to him and don't have to wear a scarf in front of him just like my own father. For Tariq, Mama was his non-mehram, and now she has started hugging him and pulling his tall frame down for a kiss on the forehead every time she sees him.

Islam's rules allow the families to be completely at ease with each other by legally making the non-mehram parents in-laws into family members. And of course making Tariq my mehram as my husband.

Tariq walks me to the stage that is culturally styled and glittering. I lift my feet slowly up the stairs. The heaviness of the empress dress I have donned feels light as Tariq pulls me slowly to sit on the embroidered seat on the stage.

We rest down and the flashes start again. I hold Tariq's hand tight. My breathing sputters. My heart calms as all seems right. Everything comes into place.

The guests greet and congratulate us. Arfsy gives me a small pair of knit socks barely making a sound as she squeezes the fear out of me in a hug. The caterer's hired by Tariq feed the guests decorative and delicious foods.

A couple and about twenty children walk towards us and the children grin at us. The girls are each dressed in similar green embroidered dresses and the boys have light beige shalwar suits.

"You all look so wonderful." I say as one girl takes my hand.

"JazakAllah Khair for inviting us sister." The girl says. Her bright green eyes sparkle and her sweet beauty shines through her genuine smile. I glance at Tariq.

He grins and the young boys and girls smother us in hugs. I brush kisses on their foreheads and their faces light up.

"I invited some children from the orphanages to be fed with our guests in honour of our wedding."

He invited orphans to our wedding. My heart swells and the tears I was holding in sweep across my face and drip onto my chin. How beautiful. How perfect! To have the greatest day of my life to be also a day where the poor and needy are provided for in some way as well.

The couple that brought the kids wave to us as they turn away from the stage.

"She's like a princess and he's like a king! Did you see she was so pretty when we went close?" The little girl of ten says as they stride back to their seats.

"Yeah, and did you see her henna? You can do henna like that too, right Sara?" A girl of eight asks the older one.

Sara giggles and turns back to the stage. We catch eyes and we both grin and wave to each other.

How sweet this Sara is. More sweet than I was at her age, May Allah give her all the success in this world and the next.

I want to give Tariq a hug for how much he cares. To thank him for how humble he is to invite them and how loving, as I would have never thought of something like this.

I turn to look at him, expecting him to be staring after the children, but he glances at me. He brushes the tears from my cheek and I stare down at my hands, my heart hammering.

I'll thank him in a year. Maybe when it's a little less embarrassing to look at him. He looks really handsome today. Well...always.

"Thank you Tariq." I breathe.

"Thank you Sara." He says. I glance up.

"Why?" I smile.

"For giving me a chance. Alhamdullilah, Allah gives us all these things and I am fortunate." He grins.

I reach up to pinch his cheek and he rests his hand over mine.

"Masha Allah, how sweet of you."

A perfect moment.

That picture is now the cover for our wedding photo album.