This is the last of Sam & Ella's current story. I'm still working on the final installment... until then...
Ella
With two days left until Sam’s wedding, I still have not had a moment alone with her. Part of me is relieved by the crowd that surrounds us, because I would not know what to say. At 3pm I make my way across the lawn to the Khan house. I found Sam sitting in the sun room, waiting for her cousin’s to start applying henna on her hands. I closed the door behind me and sat down beside her, “Hey.”
She smiled, and then nodded over to other side of the room where the dining table stood and upon it was a large vase filled with some two dozen red roses. “Go read the card” she chuckled. Confused by the peculiarity of her tone, I walked over to the table and opened the envelope.
My Dearest Samar,
“To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.” You are my world Samar. As we embark on this journey, I am excited for every blessed moment that we will share throughout our lives.
Anxiously awaiting this Saturday…
Yours,
Shehzad
I could feel Sam watching me as my eyes re-read the card a half dozen times before putting in back in the envelope. Nervously I glanced upon Sam to find her smirking.
“So what do you think?”
“That’s… nice of him” I said hesitantly. My face was never any good at hiding my emotions, and with one glance at Sam, our laughter filled the room. We were still laughing when Sam’s older cousin, Zahra walked in with the henna for Sam’s hands and feet. Caught off guard by our roaring laughter, she glanced at us both like we were lunatics let out of a mental ward. After a few painful moments of uncontrollable laughter, Sam and I were able to regain our speaking skills.
“What was that all about?” Zahra asked as she placed the henna tray on the floor.
“Did you see the delivery that Sam got today?” I said pointing to the flowers. Zahra turned to look at them, and turning to us she said, “There’s nothing to laugh at there, he’s trying to be romantic. Appreciate it Sam, it doesn’t last very long.”
“Show her the card,” said Sam as she rolled up her salwar. Once again, I pulled out the card from its hiding and handed it to Zahra. We waited for a few moments for her reaction. A smirk, a smile, perhaps a chuckle? Zahra had been like Sam’s older sister for most of their lives, most of our lives. She had always been there with advice, with a different perspective, perhaps to shed light on something we had both missed sight of in trying times.
At last the smirk crept upon her lips. And with her voice as low as it could possibly go she said, “He’s anxiously awaiting Sam.” Another roar of laughter was born, except this time, it was only me and Zahra who laughed. Sam had turned crimson and pretended not to hear Zahra as she rubbed her arms and legs with eucalyptus oil, preparing her skin for the true bridal mark, henna.
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Sam
I’m still sitting in the sun room. It’s been a few hours since Zahra started decorating my hands with henna. Ammi has decided it would be a good time to take a break and serve dinner. With the henna applied to my feet and partially to my hands, I have now begun my bridal transformation. So I sit here, with no responsibility to do anything except look pretty for the next several days. Being a bride has been a lonely experience for me, my fears unresolved, my anxiety so intense that on some days I feel as though a burst of emotion will break through my skin. I’m told it’s normal to feel this reluctance, to have cold feet or so they say.
About two weeks ago, I had decided to take on a task that Ammi was unwilling to support me through – I sent my father an invitation to my wedding. I had not spoken to him in many years. He had randomly come in and out of my life, with each time bringing more disappointment and broken promises. But I still loved him. Days passed as I waited for his response, and finally today he called. He was going to come! I couldn’t believe it. Ammi was less than ecstatic to hear the news, but she knew what it would mean to me have him here.
“Sam do you want something to drink?” Ella voice brought my drifting thoughts back to reality. I nodded as I picked at my food with my one free hand. Maryam, Zahra’s first born, came up to me asking to look at my hand. As her eyes admired the intricate designs that had been carefully cast upon my skin, I wished that I could share in her innocence. “Sami Khala, Abba said I can put henna on my hands too if I’m a good girl” she declared. “Really? Is your Abba going to do it for you?” I asked teasingly. Maryam chuckled, “Nooo. Abba doesn’t know how to put henna.” For a few brief moments I was lost in the innocence of her giggles. The thought of her father doing intricate henna designs was so hilarious, that Maryam skipped away to share my silliness with him. As I watched her, I hoped the coming days would bring me such a moment as well.
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