Every little girl dreams of their wedding day. Mine was not quite what I had hoped for, but we were happy nonetheless. My husband looked like weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He walked easier and smiled in a way I had not seen in more than a year.
I think the happiest person though, might have been Z. He emerged from the mosque and proudly lifted his hands to the sky above his head with a sigh and an "Alhamdulillah!" and my mom got a picture of it. The look on his face says a thousand words. He was happy for M and I, of course, but I think it counted to him as a personal success that he was able to be a part of his best friend's happiness and a really nice day.
Here now a tribute to my extreme dorkiness. My mom, at my request, had brought a white wedding dress I had purchased with her when she came. It had been fitted and was just waiting for me to wear. There was no way for this to happen. It just didn't fit into the surroundings. That part of my dream, that kind of wedding, was gone. My lengha, on the other hand, made an appearance at a little dinner party at M's house two days after our Nikkah. Z's wife was wonderful, as always and loaned me gold bangles and a lovely pair of hoop earrings. Z purchased food from a local restaurant and his two brothers came to celebrate with us.
Z bought us our only wedding gifts, a watch set for me and flowers to hold. Z took pictures and his wife made a video to be sent to M's mother in Karachi. She was going to be taking a trip there soon and would make sure they saw it.
I had now moved on to my next obsession, one I had been holding onto for many months, one I had been planning for and studying for: my impending battle with the US Citizenship and Immigration Services.