Proper Wedding Talk

Chapter 44 – Proper Wedding Talk

If the nikah was sacred,

the wedding talk was practical.

Not because one mattered more.

Because families spoke different languages of love.

Aleem’s family spoke love through structure.

Belle’s family spoke love through presence.

And both, when nervous, spoke love through control.

So the “proper wedding talk” happened exactly the way Belle expected.

In a living room.

With tea.

With fruits.

With too many chairs.

With everyone trying very hard not to sound like they were bargaining for her.

Belle sat between her parents and Aleem.

And she realised this was what adulthood looked like.

People you love negotiating the shape of your life.

Not to own you.

To protect you.

To honour each other.

To do it properly.

It was hosted at Aleem’s parents’ place.

Not because Mak wanted power.

But because Mak had a dining table that could survive a family meeting.

Belle’s parents arrived first, punctual.

Her father carried a bag of oranges.

Her mother carried pastries.

Mak opened the door and immediately started fussing.

“Aiyo, why bring so much,” Mak muttered.

Belle’s mother smiled nervously.

“Just small,” Belle’s mother said.

Mak waved.

“Okay lah, come in,” Mak said.

Ayah greeted politely.

“Assalamualaikum,” Ayah said.

Belle’s parents nodded.

“Hello,” Belle’s father replied.

Belle’s mother’s lips moved uncertainly.

“Wa… waalaikum…” she attempted.

Mak’s eyes widened.

Then softened.

“Waalaikumsalam,” Mak corrected gently.

Belle’s mother blinked.

“Waalaikumsalam,” Belle’s mother repeated quietly.

Mak nodded briskly.

“Okay,” Mak muttered.

Belle’s chest tightened.

Small attempts.

Small bridges.

They sat.

Tea was poured.

The air was polite.

Tight.

Like everyone was holding their breath.

Ustazah Mariam was not present.

This was not a facilitated session.

This was family.

ABIX were not present either.

Ivan had offered to come.

Aleem said no.

“This is our parents,” Aleem told Belle quietly. “They need to speak without audience.”

Belle had nodded.

Okay.

So it was just them.

Two sets of parents.

Two children.

A table between.

Ayah began.

Calm.

Respectful.

“Thank you for coming,” Ayah said. “We are here to discuss the wedding arrangements after nikah. We want to honour both families.”

Belle’s father nodded.

“Yes,” he replied.

Mak cleared her throat.

“We don’t want big drama,” Mak said. “Just proper.”

Belle’s mother nodded quickly.

“Yes,” she said. “Proper.”

Belle’s throat tightened.

Proper became a shared language.

They discussed the basics.

Venue.

Date.

Guest list.

Not in an emotional way.

In numbers.

Belle noticed how her father relaxed when there were numbers.

Numbers were safe.

“Your side how many?” Mak asked.

Belle’s mother swallowed.

“Maybe… seventy?” she said.

Mak’s eyes widened.

“Seventy?” Mak repeated.

Belle’s mother flinched.

“Too many?” Belle’s mother asked quickly.

Mak waved.

“No,” Mak said. “Okay. Our side also. But you must list properly. No last-minute add.”

Belle’s mother nodded.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Belle’s father cleared his throat.

“Chinese side got… extended,” Belle’s father said. “Aunties will ask.”

Mak huffed.

“Aunties always ask,” Mak muttered.

Belle’s father’s mouth twitched.

“Yes,” he agreed.

The room loosened slightly.

Shared enemies.

Aunties.

Then came the delicate parts.

Ritual.

Sequence.

What belonged where.

Belle’s mother spoke softly.

“We want tea ceremony,” Belle’s mother said. “Because… it’s important for my parents.”

Mak nodded.

“Yes,” Mak said. “After nikah. We already plan.”

Belle’s mother exhaled.

“Thank you,” Belle’s mother whispered.

Mak waved.

“Okay lah,” Mak muttered.

Belle’s father spoke.

“And… wedding dinner,” Belle’s father said. “Chinese side… used to banquet.”

Mak’s brows furrowed.

“Banquet?” Mak repeated.

Belle’s stomach tightened.

Ayah spoke calmly.

“We can do a simple reception,” Ayah said. “Not necessarily very grand. But we can feed everyone.”

Belle’s father nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “Feed.”

Mak frowned.

“Chinese banquet very expensive,” Mak muttered.

Belle’s father’s jaw tightened slightly.

“Yes,” he agreed. “We don’t need hotel. We can do community hall. But must have… proper meal.”

Proper meal.

Mak stared.

Then Mak nodded.

“Okay,” Mak said. “Community hall is fine. Hotel no need.”

Belle’s mother’s shoulders loosened.

Okay.

Agreement.

Then came money.

The room tightened again.

Because money carried pride.

And pride carried fear.

Ayah spoke gently.

“We are prepared to contribute,” Ayah said. “Because we want to ease the burden.”

Belle’s father’s jaw tightened.

Belle’s father didn’t like taking.

He had raised Belle on the idea that dignity was self-sufficiency.

Belle’s father spoke carefully.

“We also can pay,” Belle’s father said. “We are not… asking you to carry everything.”

Mak nodded.

“Yes,” Mak said. “We share.”

Belle’s mother blinked.

Mak continued, brisk,

“Half-half,” Mak declared. “Because we are family now. Not competitors.”

Not competitors.

Belle’s throat tightened.

Her mother’s eyes filled.

Belle’s father exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” Belle’s father said.

Mak nodded.

“Okay,” Mak replied.

Then came the hardest part.

Not religion.

Not money.

Not numbers.

The thing no one wanted to say.

The thing Belle’s parents had carried since day one.

The boundary.

Belle’s mother’s voice turned quiet.

“I need to say something,” Belle’s mother said.

The room went still.

Belle’s fingers tightened around her cup.

Belle’s father’s gaze stayed steady.

Mak’s eyes narrowed.

Ayah’s expression softened.

Belle’s mother swallowed.

“Our boundary… is still the same,” Belle’s mother said. “Please… don’t isolate her from us.”

The sentence was simple.

But it held years of fear.

Mak’s face tightened.

Belle’s father’s jaw clenched.

Belle’s chest tightened.

Ayah spoke first.

“Yes,” Ayah said calmly. “We understand. We agree.”

Belle’s mother’s eyes filled.

Mak exhaled sharply.

Mak’s voice was blunt.

“We are not kidnapping,” Mak snapped.

Belle’s mother flinched.

Mak continued, awkwardly softer,

“But… I understand. You scared. I also scared. So we do agreement. Alternate Sundays. Calls. She come home. Okay?”

Okay?

Mak had turned it into a question.

Belle’s throat tightened.

Belle’s mother nodded quickly.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Okay.”

Mak nodded.

“Okay,” Mak muttered.

Belle’s father’s voice was calm.

“Thank you,” Belle’s father said. “That’s all.”

Mak stared.

“That’s all?” Mak repeated, suspicious.

Belle’s father nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “We don’t want to disturb your family. We just… want to stay close.”

Mak’s eyes shimmered.

She blinked fast.

“Okay,” Mak whispered.

Aleem hadn’t spoken much.

Because this was not his stage.

But now he spoke.

His voice was quiet.

“Uncle,” Aleem said.

Belle’s father looked at him.

Aleem continued,

“I want to promise you one thing,” Aleem said. “Not grand. Just one thing.”

Belle’s heart pounded.

Aleem’s gaze was steady.

“I will never use marriage to separate her,” Aleem said. “If she needs her parents, she will go. If you need her, she will come. I will not block.”

Belle’s throat tightened.

Belle’s father’s gaze sharpened.

Then he nodded once.

“Okay,” Belle’s father said.

Aleem exhaled.

Mak huffed.

“Okay,” Mak muttered.

Belle’s mother’s tears fell silently.

By the end, the wedding talk didn’t feel like victory.

It felt like a contract.

Not legal.

Relational.

A mutual agreement:

We will not tear.

We will stitch.

And if someone hurts, we will not punish.

We will adjust.

Belle’s father stood to leave.

He bowed his head slightly to Mak and Ayah.

“Thank you,” Belle’s father said.

Ayah nodded.

“Thank you,” Ayah replied.

Mak huffed.

“Okay lah,” Mak muttered.

Belle’s mother held Mak’s hand for a brief moment.

A touch.

A bridge.

Mak looked uncomfortable.

But she didn’t pull away.

Belle’s chest tightened.

Acceptance through action.

Again.

When Belle and Aleem returned to their flat, Belle was exhausted.

She kicked off her shoes.

She sat on the floor.

Aleem sat beside her.

They didn’t speak immediately.

Because sometimes, silence was the only way to recover.

Finally, Belle whispered,

“Was that okay?”

Aleem exhaled.

“Yes,” he said. “That was very okay.”

Belle’s eyes stung.

“I thought there would be… drama,” Belle admitted.

Aleem’s mouth twitched.

“Your parents are love-first,” Aleem said. “They don’t fight. They cling.”

Belle swallowed.

“And your parents?” Belle asked.

Aleem’s gaze softened.

“They watch,” Aleem said. “But today, they didn’t just watch. They agreed.”

Agreed.

Belle’s chest loosened.

She whispered,

“Proper wedding talk,”

Aleem’s voice was low.

“Proper,” he echoed.

Belle leaned her head against his shoulder.

The road ahead was still heavy.

But the weight no longer felt like it would crush.

Because everyone had done something rare.

They had spoken without exploding.

They had negotiated without humiliating.

They had protected without taking.

And in a world where love often became a battle,

their families had chosen something harder.

Peace.

Properly.