The Wali Question
Chapter 34 – The Wali Question
Belle used to think marriage questions were romantic.
Ring size.
Venue.
Colours.
A song for the first dance.
Now, the question that sat at the centre of everything wasn’t romantic at all.
It was a word.
Short.
Heavy.
A word that carried an entire structure behind it.
Wali.
And because Belle was Belle, she didn’t want to treat it like a technicality.
She wanted to understand.
Not as a checklist.
As a form of respect.
Because in this story, respect was the only way love survived.
It began with a message from Ivan.
Ivan didn’t message often.
When he did, it was never just “hi.”
It was a bullet point.
Need to clarify wali path. Before we set any nikah window.
Belle stared at the message.
Her stomach tightened.
She glanced at Aleem beside her.
They were at a quiet café, mid-week, after Belle’s ustazah session.
Aleem was stirring his drink slowly, eyes calm.
Belle slid her phone toward him.
Aleem read.
His jaw tightened slightly.
Not anger.
The gravity.
“We knew this was coming,” Aleem murmured.
Belle nodded.
“I know,” Belle whispered. “But seeing the word… makes it real.”
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle exhaled.
“Okay,” she echoed.
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then Belle asked quietly,
“Can you explain it again?”
Aleem nodded.
“Properly?” he asked.
Belle’s mouth twitched.
“Properly,” she confirmed.
Aleem didn’t launch into a lecture.
He started with the part he always started with.
Gentleness.
“In a nikah,” Aleem said, voice low, “a wali is the guardian who represents the bride in the contract.”
Belle nodded.
Aleem continued,
“For a Muslim woman, the usual wali is her father.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
My father.
Aleem’s gaze stayed steady.
“But for someone converting,” Aleem said carefully, “your father would not be a Muslim wali.”
Belle’s stomach tightened.
Her hand went instinctively to her notebook.
Like she needed to hold something.
Aleem noticed.
He softened.
“That doesn’t mean your father is excluded from your life,” Aleem added immediately. “It just means the religious contract has a specific structure.”
Belle swallowed.
“So then… who?” Belle asked.
Aleem exhaled.
“Usually, it would be a wali hakim,” he said. “An appointed wali, often from the religious authority, or someone authorised. Sometimes an imam. Sometimes a representative.”
Belle nodded slowly.
Wali hakim.
The phrase sounded like law.
Like a gate.
Belle whispered, “So my father can’t… stand for me.”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“He can stand with you,” Aleem said softly. “He can still be there. He can still give you away culturally, if you want. He can still walk you in. He can still be your father.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
“But he can’t be the wali,” Belle whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said.
Belle’s chest tightened.
That was the grief.
Not rejection.
Just… structure that didn’t include her father in that specific role.
And Belle knew, instantly, that this would hurt her parents.
Not because they needed control.
Because being involved was how they loved.
Belle stared at her hands.
Then she whispered,
“How do I tell them without making them feel like they’re losing me?”
Aleem didn’t answer immediately.
He stared at his drink.
Then he looked at Belle.
“By telling them the truth,” he said quietly. “And by giving them a role that honours them.”
Honours.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Aleem continued,
“And by showing them, again, you’re not disappearing.”
Belle nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay.”
They decided to talk to Belle’s parents first.
Not as a sudden announcement.
As a preparation.
A kindness.
Belle chose Sunday again.
Because Sunday was the day her parents expected her.
The day she needed to show up most.
When Belle arrived, her mother was peeling fruit.
Her father was watching TV.
The familiar scene.
Ordinary.
But Belle’s chest was tight.
She sat at the dining table.
Her notebook was open.
Her pen trembled.
Her mother glanced up.
“Why you bring notebook home?” her mother asked.
Belle’s mouth twitched.
“I’m… studying,” Belle said.
Her mother’s eyes softened.
“Oh,” her mother murmured.
Belle swallowed.
Her father turned down the TV volume.
His signal.
Ready.
Belle inhaled.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” Belle said softly.
Her mother froze.
Her father’s gaze sharpened.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“It’s about… the nikah,” Belle said.
Her mother’s hands tightened around the fruit.
Her father’s expression stayed calm.
Belle continued, voice careful,
“There’s a role in the nikah called a wali.”
Her father blinked.
“Wali?” he repeated.
Belle nodded.
“It means… guardian,” Belle explained. “Someone who represents the bride in the marriage contract.”
Her mother’s eyes widened.
“So… father?” her mother guessed.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Normally, yes.
But not now.
Belle swallowed.
“For a Muslim bride, the father is the wali,” Belle said slowly. “But… if I’m not born Muslim, if I convert… my father can’t be the religious wali.”
Silence.
Her mother’s breath hitched.
Her father stared.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Her mother’s voice came out thin.
“So you mean…,” her mother whispered, “he cannot… give you away?”
Belle’s eyes burned.
“Not like that,” Belle said quickly. “You can still be there. Dad can still walk me in. Dad is still my dad. But the religious contract has a specific role.”
Her father’s jaw tightened.
He didn’t speak.
Belle’s stomach twisted.
Her mother’s tears rose immediately.
Belle reached for her mother’s hand.
Her mother’s fingers were cold.
Her father finally spoke.
His voice was calm.
“Why?” her father asked.
Belle swallowed.
“It’s religious structure,” Belle said softly. “The wali must be Muslim.”
Her father’s gaze stayed steady.
He didn’t get angry.
He just… absorbed.
Her mother’s tears fell.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“I’m sorry,” Belle whispered.
Her father’s gaze flicked to her.
“Don’t say sorry,” her father said.
Belle froze.
Her father continued, voice quiet,
“This is not you insulting us. This is… your new religion structure.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
Her mother whispered, broken,
“But it feels like losing.”
Belle’s chest cracked.
She squeezed her mother’s hand.
“I know,” Belle whispered. “I know it feels like losing. That’s why I wanted to tell you early. So it doesn’t shock you later.”
Her mother’s shoulders shook.
Her father exhaled.
Then her father asked, quietly,
“So who will be this wali?”
Belle swallowed.
“A wali hakim,” Belle said. “An authorised representative. Like an imam or someone appointed.”
Her father nodded slowly.
Then her father asked the question that made Belle’s throat close.
“Do I still have a role?”
Belle’s eyes flooded.
This was the fear.
Not losing control.
Losing place.
Belle leaned forward.
“Yes,” Belle whispered urgently. “You are my father. You have every role. You can still be there. You can still bless me. You can still…,” her voice broke, “you can still say okay.”
Her father’s eyes softened.
His gaze held hers.
Then, quietly, her father said,
“Okay.”
Belle’s breath hitched.
But her father wasn’t done.
He looked at Belle.
His voice was calm.
“If I cannot be the wali,” her father said, “then I will be the father.”
Belle’s chest broke open.
Her mother sobbed quietly.
Belle reached out and hugged her mother.
Her mother clung to her.
Belle’s father’s voice stayed steady.
“We do it properly,” her father said.
Proper.
Belle nodded against her mother’s shoulder.
“Yes,” Belle whispered.
Her father continued,
“I want to meet this wali person,” her father said. “Not to fight. To understand. I don’t like unknown.”
Belle blinked.
Her father wanted to meet.
To understand.
To hold.
Belle nodded.
“Okay,” Belle whispered.
Her father nodded.
“Okay,” he replied.
Her mother lifted her face, wet.
Her voice was thick.
“Can we still… do something?” her mother asked. “Like… some tea ceremony? Something for us?”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Yes,” Belle whispered. “We can honour you. We can do it. We can have a moment. We can… include your love.”
Her mother nodded shakily.
“Okay,” her mother whispered.
Belle squeezed her mother’s hand.
Okay.
Showing up.
While hurting.
That night, Belle messaged Aleem.
I told them. They cried. But my dad said: If I cannot be wali, I will be father.
Aleem’s reply came quickly.
Your father is a good man.
Belle’s eyes burned.
She typed:
I’m scared they’ll feel excluded on the day.
Aleem replied:
Then we give them a place that no religious structure can remove. We honour them publicly. We show up. We don’t hide.
Belle stared at the message.
Honour them publicly.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Then she typed:
Okay.
Aleem replied:
Okay.
The next step was talking to Mak and Ayah.
Because while Belle’s parents were grieving inclusion,
Aleem’s parents were guarding religious propriety.
They met at Aleem’s parents’ flat again.
This time, Belle noticed something.
Mak didn’t look at Belle like a question.
Mak looked at Belle like… family.
Mak still scolded.
Mak still fussed.
But Mak’s eyes were softer.
And that softness made the conversation feel heavier.
Because now, if Belle disappointed them, it would hurt more.
After tea, Aleem raised the topic.
“Mak,” Aleem said.
Mak looked up.
“What,” Mak replied.
Aleem’s voice was calm.
“We need to discuss wali,” Aleem said.
Mak’s eyes sharpened.
Ayah’s gaze steadied.
Mak leaned back.
“Of course,” Mak said. “Wali is important.”
Belle’s stomach tightened.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “Because Belle’s father cannot be wali.”
Mak nodded.
“Yes,” Mak said. “Wali must be Muslim.”
Belle swallowed.
Mak looked at Belle.
Her voice softened.
“You told your parents already?” Mak asked.
Belle nodded.
“Yes,” Belle whispered.
Mak exhaled.
“Good,” Mak said. “Better tell early. Later they shock.”
Belle nodded.
Mak continued,
“We can use wali hakim,” Mak said. “We can ask imam. Or ask someone authorised.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Ayah spoke calmly.
“We do it properly,” Ayah said.
Belle nodded.
“Yes, Uncle,” she whispered.
Then Ayah added something that made Belle’s eyes sting.
“But your father still must be honoured,” Ayah said.
Belle blinked.
Ayah looked at Aleem.
“Her father gave her life,” Ayah said. “We cannot act like contract replaces that.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Mak nodded abruptly.
“Yes,” Mak said. “We honour.”
Mak’s voice was firm.
“We can plan entrance,” Mak added. “We can plan speech. We can let her father stand near.”
Belle’s chest tightened.
Mak, who once worried about interfaith complications, was now protecting Belle’s father’s place.
Belle whispered, “Thank you.”
Mak waved dismissively.
“Aiyo,” Mak muttered. “You cry too much.”
Belle’s mouth trembled.
“Okay,” Belle whispered.
Mak huffed.
“Okay,” Mak replied.
Later, in Aleem’s car, Belle sat quietly.
Her hands were cold.
Aleem glanced at her.
“You okay?” he asked.
Belle exhaled.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Just… sad.”
Aleem nodded.
“Because it feels like they lose something,” he guessed.
Belle nodded.
“Yes,” she admitted.
Aleem’s voice softened.
“They are losing a role,” he said. “But they’re not losing you.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“I know,” she whispered.
Aleem’s hand reached over and squeezed Belle’s gently.
Not claiming.
Grounding.
“We will honour them,” Aleem said. “Properly.”
Belle nodded.
“Properly,” she echoed.
Then Belle whispered, almost like she was confessing to the air,
“I wish love didn’t require people to grieve.”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
He stared at the road.
Then he said quietly,
“Sometimes grief is the proof that love was real.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
She nodded slowly.
And as the car rolled forward, Belle realised the wali question wasn’t just a religious technicality.
It was a mirror.
It reflected everything they were trying to do.
Hold deen.
Hold family.
Hold love.
Without taking.
Without erasing.
Properly.
One “okay” at a time.