Chapter 5: Echoes of the Past
The alarm clock on Aisha's bedside table rang loudly, showing 4:30 a.m., waking her from sleep. She tried to move her arms but found them stuck. Slowly opening her eyes, she looked around and froze, her breath catching in her throat. Omar was holding one of her hands tightly, while the other rested beneath his cheek, as if he were sleeping on it.
For a moment, Aisha couldn't help but stare at how peaceful he looked. There was no scowl, no trace of anger, just calmness. She wished time would stop, allowing her to keep admiring him, as if his features were sculpted by angels. His sharp jawline softened in sleep, his thick eyebrows no longer furrowed, and his lips slightly parted in peaceful repose. Even in his stillness, there was something undeniably captivating about him.
Aisha debated whether to stay still and enjoy the rare moment of closeness or attempt to retrieve her hands without waking him. The latter seemed like a difficult task, as his grip was firm. But she had to get out of bed soon if she didn’t want to miss her tahajjud prayer. Still, she lingered, appreciating the rarity of this moment—Omar never held her like this.
Omar and Aisha had known each other since childhood, thanks to the friendship between their parents. Growing up, they weren't particularly close, merely acquaintances. Yet Aisha had always admired him from afar. Omar was charismatic without even trying; his mere presence captured everyone's attention. In high school, he was especially popular, and his talents as a badminton player made him a star. Whenever he played, the stands filled with girls eager to watch him, and Aisha was no exception.
When school ended, Aisha's crush on Omar deepened, but her heart sank when he left Pakistan to study in London. She moped around for days, but eventually refocused on her own studies, knowing there was little she could do about his departure.
Then one day, while passing by her parents’ room, Aisha overheard a conversation that stopped her in her tracks.
"Salma apa has asked for Aisha's hand in marriage for Omar," her mother, Nadia, informed her father, Haroon.
"Did she say it directly?" her father asked, intrigued.
"Yes, she didn't hesitate. She said they consider Aisha like a daughter but now wish to make her their daughter-in-law by marrying her to Omar."
Aisha stood frozen, straining to hear every word. Her mother continued, "I told her I’d speak to you and Aisha first. But I assured her that we know Omar well and think highly of him."
"I was considering Omar for Aisha too," her father replied thoughtfully. "If she agrees, then we can proceed."
Aisha could hardly contain her excitement. She hurried to her room, closed the door, and let out a silent scream of joy. She was going to marry Omar—the boy she had quietly loved for so long.
The next day, when her parents asked her consent, she coyly replied, "I trust whatever you decide for me will be best," which was clearly a resounding yes. Her parents were delighted, and soon, word was sent to Omar's family.
It wasn’t long before Omar’s acceptance came through, though Aisha noticed a delay in his response. Still, she shrugged it off, focusing on the excitement of her upcoming wedding.
Three months later, they were married in a small, intimate nikaah ceremony, just as Aisha had wanted. She wore a stunning white bridal suit with intricate embroidery, a red dupatta draped elegantly over her head. Omar looked equally dashing in a white sherwani, though his face remained stoic throughout the event, an expression that gave nothing away.
In the three months leading up to the wedding, Aisha hadn’t spoken much to Omar. He arrived in Pakistan just a day before the ceremony, claiming he was too busy with work. His absence irked Aisha, but her future mother-in-law reassured her, “He’s been swamped, beta. Once you’re married, he’ll be with you.”
The day after nikaah, at their small reception, Aisha wore a breathtaking pink ensemble, while Omar donned a stylish blue suit.
They had taken only a few photos over the two days, now lovingly gathered into an album. After the reception, Aisha’s rukhsati took place. She wept like a child, embracing her parents, not only because she was leaving them behind, but also her homeland. After marriage, she would be moving to London with Omar, as his business was based there.
Aisha had always dreamed of being a devoted wife rather than a career woman, and now that she had the chance, she was determined to fulfill that role wholeheartedly. Financial independence was never a concern; as an only child, her parents had always provided her with everything she needed.
She also believed that, according to her faith, if her mehram—her father or husband—could provide for her basic needs, she needn’t work. Despite being surrounded by wealth, with her father, husband, and father-in-law all running successful businesses, Aisha remained low-maintenance. She had no desire to flaunt her family’s wealth or indulge in unnecessary expenses. She enjoyed a simple life, with modest clothing, modest words, and a humble heart.
After a week to their wedding they moved to London. Omar's London apartment was beautiful,Spacious open-plan living area with sleek kitchen, dining, and lounge,2 generous bedrooms with walk-in closets and en-suite bathrooms.Floor-to-ceiling windows, hardwood flooring, and modern finishes.Private balcony with stunning city view. She was excited for their new life together. But her excitement was short-lived.

The moment they stepped into the apartment, Omar turned to her, his face serious. "Aisha, I never wanted to get married so soon. I have a lot on my plate, and this wasn’t my choice. I’ll take care of your expenses, but don’t expect me to be a loving husband. I’m too busy for that. Please, stay out of my way."
Aisha’s heart sank. She had known he wasn’t enthusiastic about the marriage, but hearing him say it so bluntly stung. Tears filled her eyes as she realized the reality of her situation—she felt like an unwanted burden.
After that, they settled into a routine of coexisting rather than living as a couple. They shared a room, though Omar promised to furnish another bedroom for her, a promise he fulfilled after a few months. However, neither of them made the move to separate bedrooms.
Now, as Aisha pulled her hands free from Omar's grip, her heart ached with the tension between them. He hadn’t asked her to move out of their shared room, and she couldn’t understand why. Despite his earlier words, he still held onto her in his sleep, as if subconsciously seeking her presence. As she rose for her tahajjud prayer, she smiled at the small, silent connection they shared, even if it was buried under layers of unspoken words.
WEDDING LOOK
Chapter 6: Iqra's Aqeeqah
It was Sunday morning around 8:30 a.m. when Aisha walked into the kitchen. She knew Omar wouldn’t be awake for another half-hour, giving her enough time to get breakfast ready.
She decided to make Aloo Parathas with curd and green chutney. As she set the potatoes to boil and kneaded the dough, she softly hummed a naat about Prophet Mohammad (S.A.W). Singing alone in the kitchen had always been her quiet pleasure.
Upstairs, Omar was jolted awake by his ringing phone. Barely opening his eyes, he reached for the phone on his bedside table. “What?” he grumbled, clearly irritated.
“Good morning to you too, Omar,” Faraaz’s voice chimed from the other end.
“Just tell me why you woke me up,” Omar replied, his tone sharper than usual as he dealt with the consequences of last night’s drinks.
“Iqra’s Aqeeqah is today. You and Aisha are supposed to be here before lunch. Don’t make us wait,” Faraaz reminded him before hanging up.
Omar groaned, cringing at the piercing beep, and decided a long shower might help his headache. Emerging from the bathroom in a bathrobe, he noticed a tray on his bedside table, which hadn’t been there earlier. On it sat a glass of lime juice, a familiar cure for his hangover, with a sticky note: “Lime juice for your hangover. Omar, please stop drinking?”
This message, in Aisha’s neat handwriting, was a ritual he’d grown used to, though he rarely responded to her silent plea. He drank the juice in one go, then balled up the note. Yet, just as he was about to throw it in the trash, he paused and tucked it into his bedside drawer before getting dressed.
Meanwhile, Aisha returned from placing the juice on his table. She disapproved of his habits, considering them haram, but knew that voicing her thoughts openly would only result in an argument. Her silent notes were her way of expressing care, coupled with her prayers that one day, he would see the light. She went back to the kitchen to finish preparing breakfast.
She heard his footsteps as he entered the dining area. “Assalam-u-Alaikum, give me two minutes. I’m almost done,” she called, flipping the last paratha onto the pan and pulling out plates.
“Walaikum-Assalaam,” he replied, to her surprise.
The warmth of his response made her heart skip a beat. She smiled brightly as she brought over the freshly made parathas, serving him a generous helping with curd and green chutney. Omar ate in silence, his expression neutral. Her smile faded slightly, though she remained hopeful, filling her own plate quietly beside him.
“Faraaz called. Iqra’s Aqeeqah is today. We’ll leave in an hour,” he said, standing after he finished his meal.Iqra was Faraaz and Azra' s 4 months old daughter.
“Alright, I’ll clean up and get ready,” Aisha replied. She looked forward to the event. It had been a while since she and Omar went anywhere together.
Once everything was tidy, Aisha went to change for the occasion, choosing a pastel hijab and a sapphire blue abaya adorned with intricate embroidery. She completed her look with a gentle smile and bright eyes. Just as she fastened her watch, Omar emerged from the closet dressed in a kurta that matched her outfit almost perfectly, as if they’d coordinated by fate. His appearance left her awestruck, and she blushed as he caught her staring, raising an eyebrow as if to say, *What?*
“Let’s go,” he said, heading toward the door. Aisha followed, grabbing her purse and slipping on her grey heels.
As they settled into the car, Omar reminded her, “Seatbelt.” She smiled, enjoying this small habit of his, and fastened it obediently.
“Shouldn’t we bring a gift for Iqra?” she asked hesitantly, hoping he wouldn’t mind the suggestion. After all, they couldn’t show up empty-handed on such an important occasion.
Omar wordlessly reached into the backseat and pulled out a small bag, handing it to her. “I already got something. Check if it’s suitable.”
Curious, Aisha opened the bag to find a small box containing a delicate gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped pendant. Her face lit up in approval, clearly touched by the thoughtfulness of his gift.
In about 15 minutes, they arrived at Faraaz’s home, a cozy bungalow warmly adorned for the celebration.
Faraaz and Azra greeted them with open smiles, thanking them for joining Iqra’s special day.
Omar took the little one in his arms, and Aisha’s heart softened watching him playfully tickle her. She handed the gift to Azra, who looked surprised and grateful.
“You didn’t have to…” Faraaz began, but Omar cut him off with a grin, “Of course I did. I’m her favorite uncle, after all.”
As they entered, Faraaz introduced Aisha to his parents,and cousins whom she had not met before. “Everyone, meet Aisha, Omar’s wife,” he said, gesturing to her.
“Assalam-u-Alaikum,” Aisha greeted them in her soft, gentle voice.
“Walaikum-Assalaam,” came a warm chorus of replies, followed by compliments on her beauty. Omar’s mother gave her an approving smile, and Aisha felt her nerves ease as she was invited to sit with the ladies.
Omar joined the men in performing the Aqeeqah ritual.Some of the meat from the sacrificed goat was donated to the needy, while the rest was prepared for lunch, which was lively with laughter, stories, and the camaraderie of both young and old.
After the meal, Azra asked Aisha to help distribute the dessert—a delicious Gajar ka Halwa she had prepared. Aisha carried the tray into the living room, carefully handing a bowl to each guest, her smile warm and sincere. She was down to the last two bowls when she realized Omar was missing.
Just then, a man stepped in front of her, flashing a strange smile. She froze momentarily, then politely offered him a bowl.
“Thank you,” he replied, taking it with an odd smirk. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you a friend of Azra’s?”
Aisha began to respond when Omar’s voice broke through, unmistakably firm, “She’s Aisha Omar Siddiqui,my wife. Keep your eyes off her.”
It Baffled Aisha,Omar addressing her as his wife was something very rare and precious.She couldn't help but smile at how nice it sounded.She looked at Omar who was staring at the man in front of him and wasn't looking happy.
“Oh, hello, Omar. I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was your wife,” the man said, his tone laced with a hint of mockery—or so Aisha thought.
“Now you know,” Omar replied with a steady gaze, stepping forward to stand beside her. Then, without a second glance at the man, he turned to Aisha. “Let’s go.”
Aisha nodded and fell into step with him, quietly thrilled at the silent support he’d offered. As they walked away, her curiosity got the best of her. “Who is he?” she asked, nudging a bowl of sweet dishes toward Omar, noticing that the man hadn’t been around earlier when she’d met everyone.
Omar took a dish from the tray before answering, his expression shadowed. “He’s Tahir Ahmed, Azra’s paternal cousin. Not a nice guy. I’d suggest you stay away from him.”
Aisha felt a smile tug at her lips. Was that concern she saw in his eyes? Perhaps she imagined it, but it warmed her all the same. “Good advice,” she thought, grateful he cared enough to warn her. Tahir had given her an unsettling feeling too, and she silently resolved to heed Omar’s advice.
As the afternoon waned, the gathering continued with laughter, shared memories, and joy for little Iqra. Aisha found herself feeling more at home than she had in a long time, grateful for this unexpected, tender connection with Omar. She knew that beneath his quiet, guarded demeanor, there was a man who, in his own way, cared deeply—maybe even more than he allowed himself to show.
For the rest of the day,Omar stuck close to Aisha, his presence as steady as it was reassuring. Whether it was for the benefit of the family or something more, she wasn’t sure, but his quiet protectiveness left her feeling safe and, strangely, cherished.
They finally arrived home, exhausted. After freshening up, they went to bed early, each content in their quiet companionship, though neither would openly say so.
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