Night Before
Chapter 47 – Night Before
The night before the nikah was quiet.
Not because everyone was calm.
Because everyone was careful.
Careful not to say the wrong thing.
Careful not to cry too loudly.
Careful not to turn nerves into fights.
The house felt like a room with thin glass walls.
Any sound could crack it.
Belle had imagined she would be surrounded by people–
sleepover energy,
bridal party,
laughing and squealing.
But this wasn’t that kind of love story.
This was a love story that had been built through restraint.
Through patience.
Through doing things properly.
So the night before was not loud.
It was held.
A quiet courage shared between households.
And the odd, sacred tenderness of everyone admitting,
without drama,
that tomorrow could hurt.
Even if it was good.
Belle spent the evening at her parents’ place.
It was her mother’s request.
“Come home tonight,” her mother said. “Sleep here.”
Belle had hesitated.
Aleem had nodded immediately.
“Go,” he said. “Be with them.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“You sure?” she asked.
Aleem’s gaze was steady.
“Yes,” he said. “This is their last night with you as only daughter.”
Only daughter.
The phrase landed like a soft weight.
Belle had nodded.
Okay.
So she went.
Her mother made her favourite soup.
Not the ginger chicken soup for Mak.
A different soup.
One Belle associated with childhood.
Warm.
Familiar.
Her mother watched her eat.
As if food could be proof that Belle would survive.
Belle ate slowly.
Her father sat quietly, pretending to watch TV.
But Belle could see his attention drifting.
He wasn’t watching.
He was listening.
To the way Belle’s mother moved.
To the way Belle’s spoon clinked.
To the sound of tomorrow approaching.
After dinner, her mother cleared the table.
Belle stood to help.
Her mother waved her away.
“Go shower,” her mother said briskly. “Rest.”
Belle blinked.
“Now?”
Her mother nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “Tomorrow early.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
She obeyed.
After showering, Belle sat in her old room.
It smelled like detergent and memories.
Her bed was smaller than she remembered.
Her posters were gone.
The room looked like a room that had been waiting for her to come back.
Belle stared at her phone.
A message from Aleem:
You okay?
Belle typed:
I’m okay.
Then she paused.
She typed again:
Are you okay?
The reply came quickly.
I’m okay. Just… quiet.
Quiet.
Belle swallowed.
She typed:
I miss you.
Aleem replied:
I miss you too. Sleep. Tomorrow is heavy.
Heavy.
Belle’s eyes stung.
She typed:
Okay.
Aleem replied:
Okay.
Belle placed the phone down.
She lay back.
She tried to sleep.
She couldn’t.
At midnight, her mother knocked softly.
Belle sat up.
“Mummy?”
Her mother entered quietly.
She carried a small cloth bag.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her mother sat at the edge of the bed.
No fuss.
Just presence.
“You can’t sleep,” her mother said.
Belle laughed weakly.
“No,” Belle admitted.
Her mother nodded.
“Me neither,” her mother murmured.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her mother opened the cloth bag.
Inside was a small jewellery box.
Belle blinked.
“What is this?”
Her mother swallowed.
“It’s from my mother,” her mother said quietly. “She gave me when I married your father. I… I want you to have.”
Belle froze.
Her grandmother’s jewellery.
A lineage.
Belle’s eyes burned.
“Mummy, you don’t have to–”
Her mother shook her head.
“I want,” her mother whispered. “I want you to carry something of us into your new life.”
Carry something of us.
Belle’s throat closed.
Her mother opened the box.
A simple gold chain.
Not flashy.
But old.
Worn by hands that had lived.
Her mother lifted it.
She placed it in Belle’s palm.
Belle’s fingers trembled.
Her mother’s eyes filled.
Her voice cracked.
“I know you’re going to be… good,” her mother whispered. “I know Aleem is good. I know his family is trying. I know. But I still… I still want to hold you tonight.”
Belle’s tears fell.
Her mother’s hand cupped Belle’s cheek.
Warm.
Fierce.
Belle leaned into it.
Like a child.
Her mother whispered,
“Don’t forget us.”
Belle shook her head.
“I won’t,” Belle whispered. “I won’t.”
Her mother’s shoulders shook.
She tried to laugh.
“Aiyo,” her mother muttered, copying Mak without meaning to. “I’m embarrassing.”
Belle laughed through tears.
“You’re not,” Belle whispered.
Her mother wiped her eyes quickly.
“Okay,” her mother said.
Belle nodded.
“Okay,” Belle replied.
Her mother kissed Belle’s forehead.
Then, before she could cry again, she stood up quickly.
“Sleep,” her mother ordered.
Belle nodded.
“Okay.”
Her mother left.
Belle stared at the chain in her palm.
A quiet bridge.
A way of saying:
You’re still ours.
Even when you become someone else’s family.
In Aleem’s flat, Aleem sat alone.
Not lonely.
Just… quiet.
He had prayed earlier.
He had read Qur’an.
He had made dua that felt like a whisper in his chest.
Not asking for a perfect ceremony.
Asking for steadiness.
For gentleness.
For protection against ego.
Mak had called him after Isyak.
“Aleem,” Mak had said.
“Yes, Mak?”
Mak’s voice was brisk.
“Tomorrow you don’t be blur,” Mak snapped. “You listen. You speak clearly. You don’t make Belle scared.”
Aleem had smiled faintly.
“Yes, Mak,” he replied.
Mak had paused.
Then, softer,
“You take care,” Mak muttered.
Aleem’s throat had tightened.
“Yes,” he replied. “I will.”
Mak had cleared her throat.
“And… if you panic, you drink water,” Mak added.
Aleem had blinked.
“Okay,” he said.
Mak had huffed.
“Okay,” Mak replied.
Then she hung up.
Aleem sat in the quiet after.
He thought about Belle.
He thought about her father practising the wali sentence.
He thought about her mother offering soup.
He thought about ABIX’s laughter.
He thought about the corridor.
The door.
Tomorrow.
He didn’t feel like a hero.
He felt like a man holding something sacred.
And the only way to hold sacred things was to be careful.
Proper.
At 1 a.m., Aleem received a message.
From Belle.
A photo.
Belle’s palm.
A gold chain resting there.
Caption:
My mum gave me this. I’m crying.
Aleem stared at the photo.
His chest tightened.
He typed slowly:
That’s love.
Belle replied:
I’m scared of hurting them.
Aleem stared.
Then he typed:
They are hurting because they love you. You’re not doing wrong by being happy.
Belle replied:
Okay.
Aleem replied:
Okay.
Then he added:
Tomorrow, when you feel overwhelmed, find my eyes. I’ll be steady.
Belle replied:
Okay.
Aleem replied:
Okay.
Belle finally slept near two.
Not deep.
But enough.
Enough for her body to rest.
Enough for tomorrow.
Before she drifted off, she heard her father’s voice outside her room.
Low.
To her mother.
“I practised,” her father murmured.
Her mother’s voice was quiet.
“Good,” her mother whispered.
Her father exhaled.
“I don’t want to mess up,” he said.
Her mother’s voice cracked.
“You won’t,” she said. “Even if you do, she will still love you.”
Silence.
Then her father’s voice, barely audible.
“Okay.”
Her mother replied,
“Okay.”
Belle’s eyes burned in the dark.
She held the gold chain under her pillow.
Like a talisman.
Like a thread.
The night before.
No speeches.
No dramatic vows.
Just families holding themselves together.
Just quiet courage.
Just the soft, trembling truth:
Tomorrow is sacred.
And sacred things always come with fear.
But they would show up anyway.
Properly.
Okay.