Wali’s Practice
Chapter 46 – Wali’s Practice
Belle didn’t know when she started associating courage with quiet rooms.
Not grand stages.
Not crowds.
Not cameras.
Just a room.
A table.
Two chairs.
And the person you loved trying to find the right words.
The wali question had always been there–
hovering at the edge of conversations like a shadow.
But once it was settled,
once the “how” became clear,
a new weight appeared.
The practice.
Because a wali wasn’t just a role.
It was a father standing in front of God and saying:
I entrust.
I consent.
I release.
Belle’s father was love-first.
But love-first didn’t mean pain-free.
He could show up while hurting.
He could bless while grieving.
And the day Aleem suggested they do a practice run,
Belle’s stomach dropped.
Not because she thought her father would refuse.
Because she realised how intimate the blessing was.
It was not a speech.
It was a surrender.
Aleem asked her father directly.
Again.
No messaging through Belle.
No emotional manipulation.
Proper.
They came to Belle’s parents’ place on a Sunday evening–
the “alternate Sunday” that belonged to Belle’s family.
Belle’s mother cooked simple dishes.
Her father sat at the dining table, pretending to read the news.
Belle could see the tension in his shoulders.
He wasn’t pretending well.
Aleem arrived with a small bag.
Not gifts.
Documents.
A printed sample of the nikah script.
A page with transliteration.
A page with meaning.
Belle watched as Aleem placed it on the table gently.
“Uncle,” Aleem said.
Belle’s father looked up.
“Yes?”
Aleem’s voice was calm.
“I wanted to go through the wali part,” Aleem said. “If you’re comfortable.”
Comfortable.
Not demanded.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Belle’s father stared.
Then he exhaled slowly.
“Practice?” Belle’s father asked.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” Aleem said. “Just so you don’t feel pressured on the day.”
Belle’s father’s jaw tightened.
He looked at the paper.
He looked at Belle.
Then he said,
“Okay.”
Belle’s chest cracked.
Okay.
Belle’s mother moved first.
She cleared the table, made space.
She brought tea.
She did not hover.
But she stayed close.
Like a witness.
Like support.
Belle sat beside her mother.
Aleem sat opposite Belle’s father.
Belle’s father sat with his hands on the table.
Hands that had carried groceries.
Hands that had held Belle’s bicycle when she learned.
Hands that had signed BTO papers once.
Hands that now had to release.
Aleem opened the printed page.
He pointed gently.
“Uncle,” Aleem said, “on the day, the kadi will guide. But this is the portion.”
Belle’s father stared.
It was Arabic.
A script that didn’t belong to him.
Belle’s father swallowed.
“I cannot read this,” Belle’s father said bluntly.
Aleem nodded.
“It’s okay,” Aleem said. “You don’t need to read Arabic. The kadi can help. You can repeat slowly.”
Repeat.
Belle’s father’s eyes narrowed.
“Repeat what?”
Aleem slid the transliteration page forward.
“This,” Aleem said.
Belle’s father looked down.
Letters.
Sounds.
Not meaning.
Belle’s father’s jaw tightened.
Belle wanted to cry.
Because her father was strong.
And strong men hated feeling incompetent.
Aleem’s voice softened.
“Uncle,” Aleem said, “you don’t need to be perfect. You only need to be sincere.”
Sincere.
Belle’s father’s throat moved.
Belle’s mother’s eyes filled.
Belle’s father looked up.
He asked quietly,
“What does it mean?”
Aleem nodded.
He pulled out the meaning page.
He placed it down.
“Meaning is simple,” Aleem said. “You are giving Belle in marriage to me. You consent. You entrust. And you state the mahr.”
Entrust.
Belle’s father’s jaw tightened.
He glanced at Belle.
The look was sharp.
Protective.
Like he wanted to ask:
Are you sure?
Belle’s throat tightened.
She nodded.
Yes.
Belle’s father exhaled.
“Okay,” he murmured.
They practised slowly.
Aleem didn’t make Belle’s father repeat like a child.
He offered the cadence.
He broke it into pieces.
He said,
“You can say it like this. In your pace.”
Belle’s father tried.
His mouth formed unfamiliar sounds.
He stumbled.
He stopped.
He frowned.
Mak would have snapped.
But Aleem didn’t.
Aleem simply said,
“Okay. Again.”
Again.
No shame.
Belle’s father tried again.
Still stiff.
Still awkward.
But better.
Belle’s mother covered her mouth.
Her eyes were wet.
Belle’s father glanced at her.
“Don’t cry,” Belle’s father muttered.
Belle’s mother shook her head.
“I’m okay,” she whispered. “I’m just… proud.”
Proud.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Belle’s father’s jaw tightened.
He looked away.
Then he tried again.
Halfway through, Belle’s father stopped.
He put the paper down.
He rubbed his forehead.
He exhaled.
“This is very strange,” Belle’s father said.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” Aleem replied.
Belle’s father looked at him.
“This language is not mine,” Belle’s father said.
Aleem’s gaze softened.
“I know,” Aleem said. “And I respect that.”
Belle’s father’s eyes narrowed.
Then he asked,
“Why can’t you do it? Why must I do it?”
The question was blunt.
Not hostile.
Just honest.
Aleem didn’t flinch.
“Because Islam honours the woman’s guardian in marriage,” Aleem said gently. “It’s not to control her. It’s to protect her rights. It says… you matter in this.”
You matter.
Belle’s father’s throat moved.
Aleem continued,
“And because Belle’s family is important,” Aleem added. “If you do it, it shows everyone: she is not alone. She is not being taken away quietly. She is being given with love.”
Given with love.
Belle’s father’s jaw tightened.
He looked down.
Then he said quietly,
“You keep saying not taking.”
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” Aleem said.
Belle’s father’s voice was low.
“Because you know she was taken before,” Belle’s father said.
Taken.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Promises.
Plans.
Then dropped.
Aleem’s jaw tightened.
“Yes,” Aleem admitted.
Belle’s father stared at him.
Then Belle’s father said,
“If I do this… it means I am trusting you.”
Trust.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” Aleem said softly. “That’s what it means.”
Belle’s father’s throat moved.
He looked at Belle.
Belle’s eyes stung.
Belle nodded.
Her father exhaled.
Then he picked up the paper again.
“Okay,” Belle’s father said.
They practised until Belle’s father could say the key sentence without stumbling too hard.
Not perfect.
But clear.
Sincere.
At the end, Belle’s father leaned back.
He exhaled.
“Enough,” he said.
Belle laughed weakly.
Aleem nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “Enough. You did well.”
Belle’s father scoffed.
“Well?”
Aleem’s gaze was steady.
“Yes,” Aleem said. “You showed up. That’s well.”
Belle’s father stared.
Then, to Belle’s shock, her father’s eyes shimmered.
He blinked quickly.
He cleared his throat.
“Okay,” Belle’s father muttered.
Belle’s chest cracked.
Belle’s mother reached over and squeezed Belle’s father’s arm.
Belle’s father didn’t pull away.
After the practice, Aleem stood to leave.
Belle’s father walked him to the door.
Belle lingered behind, watching.
Her father’s voice was low.
“On the day,” Belle’s father said, “if I mess up, you don’t laugh.”
Aleem’s mouth twitched.
“I won’t laugh,” Aleem said. “I’ll repeat with you.”
Belle’s father nodded.
Then he said quietly,
“You better take care.”
Not a threat.
A command.
A father’s last grip.
Aleem nodded.
“I will,” Aleem replied.
Belle’s father stared.
Then he said the word.
“Okay.”
Aleem bowed his head slightly.
“Okay,” Aleem echoed.
In the car, Belle couldn’t stop crying.
Not loud.
Just tears slipping.
Aleem glanced at her.
“You okay?” he asked.
Belle shook her head.
“No,” she whispered. “Yes. I don’t know.”
Aleem nodded.
“That’s normal,” he said.
Belle wiped her face.
“I didn’t know the wali part would feel like… this,” Belle admitted.
Aleem’s voice was quiet.
“It’s a father releasing,” Aleem said. “Even when he still wants to hold.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Aleem continued,
“And it’s also a father participating,” Aleem added. “Your father is not letting you disappear. He is placing you into marriage with his own hands.”
With his own hands.
Belle’s chest cracked.
Belle whispered,
“Okay.”
Aleem nodded.
“Okay.”
When Belle lay in bed later that night, she replayed the practice.
Her father stumbling.
Her father insisting on meaning.
Her father asking why.
Her father saying “okay.”
Wali’s practice.
Not a rehearsal for perfection.
A rehearsal for bravery.
For a father to stand at the edge of his own grief and still give blessing.
For a daughter to accept the release without guilt.
For a man to receive responsibility without arrogance.
And Belle realised:
the nikah sentence wasn’t the only sacred thing.
So was a father trying.
So was a man being gentle.
So was a family choosing participation over distance.
Proper.
Okay.