Chapter 11

The days passed, and Faisal's calls never stopped. In the morning, he would say "Good morning," and since he was usually busy, the call wouldn't last long. In the evening, he would say "Good evening," and the conversation would end with "Good night," as he often called late. Our relationship grew stronger, and he shared everything about himself—his plans, his projects, and his preparation of the marital home where we would live. Since he was the eldest son, he didn’t plan to leave his father’s house, so I would have to adapt to that, though he assured me we would have a private suite to ensure our privacy. The idea of the suite comforted me, but the overall situation frightened me because I hadn’t prepared myself for living in my in-laws’ home indefinitely. I prayed to God to make things easy for me.

Now, let me tell you about my mother’s preparations, which were in full swing after Faisal left. We traveled to the city where I was studying and went to the dressmaker. We agreed on a simple design for a long dress with short sleeves adorned with delicate crystals and a simple cut at the front, decorated with beautifully arranged crystal pieces. My mother chose a light turquoise fabric woven with silver threads. We stayed for two days, and since my mother doubled the payment, the dress was completed in record time. The remaining details didn’t require my presence, so my mother arranged for Omar to pick up the dress when it was ready.

We returned to our city, and my mother launched a full-scale operation, turning our house upside down with the help of her “emergency crew,” whom she calls upon during seasonal changes from summer to winter and vice versa. It seems that my wedding was another seasonal transition in my mother’s life. She also devised a special skincare regimen for me, which she supervised herself.

My mother instructed me to focus solely on taking care of myself. She advised me to relax, pray, and read the Quran frequently. She jokingly added that I should make more phone calls to bring Faisal and me closer together. I responded with a shy smile and retreated to my sanctuary. Following my mother’s instructions, I stood before my Creator, thanking Him for the peace and tranquility that enveloped my life. After my prayers, I read a portion of the Quran.

I then lay on my bed, trying to relax when my phone rang, displaying a heart image with Faisal’s name.

I answered eagerly, "Hello, Faisal," and "Peace be upon you." His voice came through, saying, “How are you? My longing for you knows no bounds.”

Due to the external call, there was a slight echo, so I had to pause for a moment before Faisal’s words reached me, and he did the same. But this delay didn’t bother us; our eagerness to talk surpassed all obstacles.

Our conversations continued, filled with both playful and serious moments, and the excitement for the day that had been set. He told me that his younger brother insisted on attending the celebration, despite knowing it was strictly for women. He was adamant about seeing his older brother’s face as he left with his bride. Faisal tried to dissuade him, reminding him that it wouldn’t be the first time. His brother replied that he hadn’t forgotten being excluded from Faisal’s wedding contract and wanted to make up for it by attending this one. Faisal had no choice but to assign the evening shift at their company to his cousin, who managed the company in the morning during Faisal’s brother’s absence.

I started feeling uneasy when Faisal’s calls were delayed for any reason. Honestly, my longing for him had grown so much that I felt a pang in my heart whenever he wasn’t around. I sought God’s forgiveness to regain my peace.

As for my mother, she insisted on setting up a small wedding stage (kosha) in our living room. She had a nearby door opened to connect it to the main hall, creating more space.

She asked one of her relatives, whose son owned a carpentry workshop, to build a wooden platform and purchase a used couch. She also asked him to set aside three days before the party to dedicate himself to helping her complete the kosha.

My mother was adamant that the sweets should be homemade, ensuring they had a special flavor unique to our household and this occasion. She excelled in this area, perfecting both the sweets and their packaging five days before the party. She carefully stored them, preparing everything needed for the items that had to be made on the day of the event to avoid running out of time.

When the kosha was finally finished, I was amazed by my mother’s creativity. What had initially looked like the wreckage of a ship—an old wooden platform and a worn-out couch—transformed into a stunning white kosha adorned with turquoise crystals, surrounded by natural white and pink roses intertwined with crystal-studded branches. It was a beautiful work of art.

Didn’t I tell you my mother was one of a kind?

The big day arrived. My mother had completed all the invitations for our relatives and close friends the day before so she could fully focus on the event. Faisal’s family had arrived two days earlier and settled into his apartment in the city where we studied. The best part was that it was now easier to stay in touch with Faisal.

The day I had eagerly awaited arrived, filled with joy because I would see Faisal and fear because I would meet his family. After getting ready, my mother asked me to stay in my room with Wafaa and some of my close cousins until all the guests had arrived, then come down to the hall.

Everything went according to my mother’s plan. I descended the stairs with my mother, who led me to Faisal’s mother and asked me to kiss her hand and forehead in front of everyone. It was an embarrassing request, but I complied, remembering Faisal at that moment. I then greeted Faisal’s sisters and was quickly enveloped in the hugs of relatives.

Finally, I reached the kosha, where I settled in. The hall buzzed with praise for the Prophet Muhammad and Islamic songs fitting the occasion, all at Faisal’s request. I agreed because, since I entered medical school and began seeing death daily, I had developed a strong aversion to music, which I used to be addicted to.

The party was a success, and after everyone had enjoyed dinner, only Faisal’s family remained. I stayed in my outfit because Faisal had requested it, and I wanted it too.

Let me tell you about my impression of Faisal’s family—they were wonderful. I was optimistic about my future with them. There was no significant difference between our customs and theirs, and my mother bonded well with Faisal’s mother. I also got along with Faisal’s sisters despite the age difference, as they were cheerful, down-to-earth, and my studies helped break many barriers, bringing us closer through their questions and playful banter.

My mother’s phone rang, and I realized it was Hossam asking for Faisal’s permission to enter. Faisal entered wearing his traditional attire, and although Hossam occasionally wore this outfit for special occasions with his friends, Faisal’s appearance was beyond words—his handsomeness was breathtaking, forcing me to admire him as he kissed his mother’s forehead and cheeks, lowered himself to kiss her hand, and asked, “Are you pleased with me?” She replied, “In this world and the next, may God grant you peace as you bring peace to my heart.” He then approached my mother, kissed her forehead, and greeted his sisters.

He finally reached me, giving me a look that made me lower my head. He came closer, kissed my forehead, and his mother brought out a wrapped box, from which he took out a set of gold jewelry that combined elegance and beauty. Faisal put it on me piece by piece, making a comment with each one that made me smile. Don’t be curious about what he said—I’m not telling.

All the formalities ended well, and Faisal, his brother, my brothers, and some of my cousins left for a small house on our farm to spend the night there, leaving the house to the women.

The next day, Faisal’s family left with his brother, but Faisal stayed in our city, planning to remain for a week to handle some business and for another reason I won’t share.

The house returned to its peaceful state after all the joyful noise. Festive noise is always welcomed by everyone.

During Faisal’s stay, he visited almost daily, and each time, I noticed my mother’s unease until he left, after which she seemed more relaxed. Of course, I was the only one who noticed this. My mother was careful to be a gracious hostess to Faisal.

I forgot about it after Faisal left, promising to return and take me back to the city where I study when the holiday ended.

The days passed, and for the first time, the holiday felt slow, perhaps because I was eagerly waiting for its end so that Faisal could take me back.

You might be wondering what happened with Ahlam. I tried calling her, but her phone was off. I contacted her mother, who told me that Ahlam had changed her number and politely suggested I give her some space so she could sort out her feelings. I remembered hearing this phrase from Ahlam once and realized that her feelings toward me wouldn’t sort themselves out—they had become a distorted picture.

I closed the chapter on Ahlam until I returned to school.

Two days before the end of the holiday, my mother entered my room and asked to talk. Don’t be surprised by my mother’s unannounced entry; she’s always done that since I got my own room. There’s no need for formalities. I appreciate her concern and see it as care rather than an invasion of privacy. After all, she’s my mother, and I’m an open book to her.

My mother began with a question, “Do you love Faisal?”

I felt deeply embarrassed but answered after her smile encouraged me. I told her I hadn’t expected to become so attached to Faisal.

She responded, “Do you want to hear a story about my friend Hana?”

My thoughts drifted to Aunt Hana, the chemistry teacher known as “the beautiful divorcée” during my high school years.

I asked, “Does the beautiful divorcée have a story I don’t know?”

My mother replied, “Yes, she does, and it’s a secret between her and me. I want to share it with you because it contains advice meant just for you.”

I told her I was all ears, eager to learn the story of the beautiful divorcée.