After Hafsa's Rukhsati The Siddiqui Mansion had fallen into silence. The grand lawn that had been filled with laughter, music, and bittersweet farewells was now quiet as the staff cleared away the remnants of the wedding. Everyone had retired to their rooms, the weight of the night heavy on their hearts.
In Aisha and Omar’s room, Aisha sat on the bed after freshening up, her light pink salwar kameez soft against her skin. Her mind was lost in thought, replaying the night’s events—the tears, the hugs, Hafsa’s lingering gaze before she left. She sighed, absently running her fingers over the embroidery of her dupatta, her heart aching with a strange mix of emotions. She was reminded of her own wedding.
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