Practice & Preparation
Chapter 35 – Practice & Preparation
After the wali question, Belle expected to feel relief.
A hard problem named.
A solution identified.
A path.
Instead, she felt something softer and more unsettling.
Responsibility.
Because now it wasn’t just will we be allowed?
Now it was:
Will we do it right?
And right, in this story, didn’t mean perfect.
It meant proper.
Proper meant:
No rushing.
No pretending.
No leaving anyone behind.
Proper meant learning the shape of the ceremony–not as a performance, but as a vow.
So Belle began practising.
Not like an actress.
Like a woman preparing to step into a life.
It started with words.
Not the grand words.
The small ones.
The ones that anchored daily life.
Belle’s ustazah–Ustazah Mariam–had a habit of giving Belle vocabulary like she was offering her tools.
Not as a conversion campaign.
As a way to reduce fear.
“If you don’t know the word,” Ustazah Mariam said gently, “you will imagine it as something bigger than it is.”
Belle nodded.
Ustazah Mariam handed her a sheet of paper.
At the top, it read:
Nikah Terms (Basic)
Belle’s throat tightened.
Ustazah Mariam smiled.
“Not a test,” she said. “Just… familiarity.”
Belle exhaled.
Okay.
Ustazah Mariam pointed.
“Wali,” she said.
Belle nodded.
“Guardian,” Belle murmured.
Ustazah Mariam nodded.
“Witnesses,” Ustazah Mariam continued.
Belle wrote it down.
“Saksi,” she murmured.
Ustazah Mariam nodded.
“Mahr,” Ustazah Mariam said.
Belle paused.
“That one is… dowry?” Belle asked.
Ustazah Mariam smiled.
“It’s a gift from the groom to the bride,” she said. “It belongs to you. It is not a price.”
Not a price.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Ustazah Mariam continued,
“And then… akad nikah.”
Belle’s pen paused.
Akad.
Contract.
Belle wrote slowly.
Ustazah Mariam looked at Belle.
“This is the sentence,” Ustazah Mariam said softly. “The one that makes you husband and wife.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Ustazah Mariam’s gaze was gentle.
“We practise because we don’t want the day to feel like panic,” she said.
Belle nodded.
Because panic was Belle’s old enemy.
That evening, Aleem met Belle after class.
They sat at a quiet corner table.
Belle placed the sheet between them.
Aleem’s gaze flicked over it.
He nodded.
“Good,” he said.
Belle exhaled.
“Good?” Belle repeated.
Aleem’s mouth twitched faintly.
“Familiarity reduces anxiety,” he said.
Belle blinked.
“You sound like Ivan,” she accused.
Aleem’s eyes softened.
“I asked Ivan for a framework,” Aleem admitted.
Belle stared.
“You two are insane,” Belle muttered.
Aleem’s mouth twitched.
“It works,” he said.
Belle sighed.
Then she whispered,
“I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing.”
Aleem’s expression steadied.
“You won’t be speaking the akad sentence,” he reminded gently. “I will.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Still,” Belle murmured. “What if I freeze.”
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“Then we pause,” he said. “No one will force you.”
Belle’s eyes stung.
This was why she trusted him.
He treated fear like a reason to slow down.
Not a reason to push harder.
Preparation was not only religious.
It was family.
It was logistics.
It was learning what would happen, step by step, so no one felt ambushed.
Ivan held another ABIX “meeting.”
This time, he brought a printout titled:
Ceremony Flow (Draft)
Crystal made a choking sound.
“Ivan,” Crystal gasped, “are you… the wedding planner?”
Ivan stared.
“I am preventing chaos,” Ivan replied.
Crystal leaned over the paper.
“Wow,” she whispered. “You even put timestamps.”
Ivan nodded.
“Yes,” he said.
Crystal looked at Belle.
“Are you okay?” Crystal asked, suddenly softer.
Belle stared at the flow.
Her chest was tight.
But she didn’t feel like running.
“I’m okay,” Belle whispered. “Just… processing.”
Aleem sat beside Belle.
His hand hovered near hers.
He didn’t touch.
He waited.
Belle placed her fingers over his.
He squeezed gently.
Ivan spoke.
“Key risk,” Ivan said. “Parents feel excluded. We address via roles.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Crystal nodded eagerly.
“Yes,” Crystal said. “Roles. Like… your dad can still walk you in. Your mum can still do blessing. We can do tea ceremony before or after. We can put it in program.”
Ivan blinked.
“Program,” Ivan repeated.
Crystal nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “Program. Like concert.”
Ivan’s mouth tightened.
“This is not a concert,” Ivan said.
Crystal shrugged.
“Same energy,” she argued.
Belle laughed weakly.
Then she exhaled.
They were right.
Roles.
Not to appease.
To honour.
Aleem nodded.
“My parents already said they want to honour your father,” Aleem said.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“I know,” Belle whispered.
Ivan flipped another page.
“Next,” Ivan said. “Mahr.”
Belle froze.
Mahr.
Gift.
Not price.
Aleem cleared his throat.
“I’ve thought about it,” Aleem said.
Crystal’s eyes widened.
“Aleem has thought about romance,” Crystal whispered dramatically.
Aleem ignored her.
Belle’s cheeks warmed.
Aleem’s voice was calm.
“I want it to be meaningful for you,” he said. “Not something random.”
Belle swallowed.
“I don’t need expensive,” Belle said quickly.
Aleem nodded.
“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I’m thinking of something you’ll keep. Something… yours.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Ivan nodded.
“Good,” Ivan said. “Ownership matters.”
Crystal stared.
“Why you sound like HR,” Crystal muttered.
Ivan didn’t react.
“It’s a contract,” Ivan said. “Details matter.”
Belle’s mouth twitched.
ABIX was turning marriage into a project plan.
And somehow… it made Belle feel safer.
Because Belle understood projects.
Projects had steps.
Steps had control.
Not control over feelings.
Control over chaos.
That night, Belle sat at her parents’ dining table again.
Her mother was folding laundry.
Her father was reading the paper.
Belle opened her notebook.
“I learned new words today,” Belle said softly.
Her mother looked up.
“Words?” her mother asked.
Belle nodded.
“Mahr,” Belle said.
Her mother blinked.
“What is that?”
Belle swallowed.
“It’s a gift from the groom to the bride,” Belle explained. “It belongs to the bride.”
Her mother’s eyes widened.
“Oh,” her mother murmured.
Belle continued,
“And… akad nikah. The sentence.”
Her father lowered the paper slightly.
“Sentence?” he repeated.
Belle nodded.
“Yes,” Belle whispered.
Silence.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Then her father asked, calmly,
“You practising?”
Belle blinked.
“I… yes,” Belle admitted. “Not the sentence. But… the flow.”
Her father nodded.
“Good,” her father said.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her mother’s voice was quiet.
“Are you scared?” her mother asked.
Belle swallowed.
“Yes,” Belle admitted.
Her mother nodded slowly.
“I also scared,” her mother whispered.
Belle’s eyes stung.
Her father looked at Belle.
His voice was calm.
“Scared is okay,” her father said.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her father continued,
“You don’t rush. You do properly. And you keep coming home.”
Belle’s eyes spilled.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Her father nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
Belle’s chest tightened.
“Okay,” Belle replied.
Later, in the car with Aleem, Belle confessed softly,
“My dad said scared is okay.”
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“He’s right,” Aleem said.
Belle stared out the window.
“I keep thinking about the sentence,” Belle whispered.
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“The akad,” he said.
Belle nodded.
“That one sentence changes everything,” Belle whispered.
Aleem’s voice was low.
“Yes,” he admitted.
Belle swallowed.
“What if I’m not ready when the time comes?”
Aleem’s gaze stayed steady.
“Then we wait,” he said.
Belle blinked.
“Even if everyone is ready?”
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“Especially if everyone is ready,” he said. “Because if you’re not, then it’s not proper.”
Proper.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Aleem continued, softer,
“I want a marriage with peace. Not a marriage with resentment.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
She nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Aleem nodded.
“Okay,” he echoed.
Practice & preparation continued for weeks.
Small rehearsals.
Small explanations.
Small decisions.
Not rushing to book venues.
Not rushing to announce.
Just building familiarity.
Belle practised greeting elders properly.
She practised sitting through awkward silences without taking them personally.
She practised letting Mak scold her without feeling rejected.
She practised allowing Ayah’s calmness to be comfort.
And Aleem practised too.
He practised how to translate without making anyone feel inferior.
He practised how to protect Belle from comments without escalating.
He practised how to keep both families close without turning love into a tug-of-war.
ABIX practised, in their own way.
Ivan practised being a logistics wall.
Crystal practised being a morale cushion.
And Belle, in quiet moments, practised the hardest thing of all.
Receiving.
Receiving love that showed up even while hurting.
Receiving protection that didn’t possess.
Receiving a future that was being built one careful step at a time.
Because when the sentence came,
Belle wanted to be able to stand there and breathe.
Not because she was fearless.
Because she was held.
Properly.