CHAPTER THREE
1032 Words
"He who created death and life that He may see which of you is best in deed: and He is the exalted in Might, Oft-Forgiving."
-Surah Al-Mulk, Verse 2.
***
"What are you doing here?" I hiss through clenched teeth, stepping closer so that nobody is able to hear.
He smirks but speaks in a harsh tone.
"I know I'm irresistible. But, did you really have to beg my dad to get me married to you?"
"Beg your Dad? Who the hell do you think you are?" I almost scream in frustration.
Ignoring me, he continues,
"Congratulations, your dream has come true. I'm your husband now. But don't ever expect me to act like one."
I huff, the sound low and mocking.
"A guy like you doesn't deserve to be called a husband."
He glares at me, eyes darkening like clouds on a stormy night.
He points an accusatory finger at me. "What do you think about yourself? You practically threw yourself on me; the first guy you found."
His words unfurl anger within me, but I just lower my gaze. Knowing that his words held the truth.
"What? Truth hitting hard-"
He gets interrupted by the photographer.
"Please pose for the pictures."
We both stand there, arms crossed and just glare at the camera.
The photographer looks between the two of us and says in a shrill voice,
"Step closer and turn towards each other."
"Not happening." Rohaan states in that authoritative voice of his.
His father cuts in.
"What do you mean? Treat Ayra well or I'll-"
Before he even finishes his sentence, Rohaan steps close to me, snakes his arm around my waist and turns me around so that we're facing each other.
A flush crawls across my cheeks. Does he have no shame? Our parents not even standing one foot away from us.
"Get your dirty hand off of me." I all but hiss.
"Oh, don't I wish." he sarcastically rumbles. "Stop squirming and put your hands on either side of my shoulders, look me in the eye and smile."
Not wanting to create a scene in front of everyone, I do as he says. But accidentally on purpose step on his shoe.
A sharp intake of breath and Rohaan looks me in the eye, promising me a slow death.
I give him one in return.
When we're done with this pose, the photographer tells me to rest my head on Rohaan's chest and tells Rohaan to hold me by the waist.
I cringe so hard that I'm sure everyone sees it.
But again we do what we're told with every single person staring at us.
I detest this. I feel like the only reason people get married is to show off. Because at least for me there is no 'heart beating faster' or 'skin burning where he touches me'.
I wonder whether all the stories about romanticism are pretty lies just like many other things that I've found out after growing up.
***
Everyone left after making me sit in the middle of the bed with my dress spread all around me. Again, another shitty traditional thing.
I slide off of the bed, feeling absolutely knackered by the events of the day. My dress itches and I feel like tearing my face apart to get the thousand layers of makeup off of it.
I open my suitcase, take out my Victoria's Secret satin night-suit and go to the bathroom to get changed.
The bathroom is luxuriously large. It has a posh hardware and glass mosaic tiles lining the shower area and a marble counter top for the vanity.
Firstly, I remove my makeup which takes more than half an hour. The mascara is still not getting off! Then, I get changed, wear my hijab and step out of the bathroom.
I find Rohaan lounging on the bed. His eyes take me in and rolls his eyes.
"You can take your hijab off now. Show's over." he grunts,
From out of nowhere, anger surges through me. It takes every bit of willpower I have in me to not walk over there and punch the little . . . Never mind. I am not finishing that.
My fists clench by my sides, nails digging into the soft flesh of my palms.
"I don't wear it for show."
He fakes shock, hand on his chest and asks me, "You don't?"
I clench my hands tighter. I am not going to punch him.
"Shut your mouth!" I scream, exasperated.
He uncoils from the bed and growls, "That's no way to talk to your husband!"
"Husband. Yeah, right." Sarcasm laces my voice like venom.
"I said you can take off your hijab. It's not like I haven't seen your hair before. And it's nothing special." he smirks his usual smirk that make my insides tighten with annoyance.
I bite down on my lower lip, knowing that whatever he said is true. I slowly take off my hijab, roll it up messily and put it in the suitcase.
Rohaan chuckles his usual chuckle that makes me want to break his nose. I swear, I’m only now discovering that everything he does pisses me the hell off.
"How unladylike." he reprimands.
I inhale deeply, close my eyes and turn off my murderous instincts.
When I open them, I see him sprawled across the bed, like he owns it.
Well, technically it is his. But, whatever.
"I've taken the bed. Since there is no couch, you can sleep on the floor." With that being said, his eyes flutter shut.
I know that there is only one thing that will help with this situation because there is no way I'm sleeping on the floor. I’m not his damn maid.
"Fine," I drawl, hands on my hips. "I'll go tell Uncle that-"
Before I even finish my sentence, he grabs my elbow roughly and literally throws me to the right side of the bed.
Okay, fine, I'm exaggerating.
Then, he places pillows in a line between us and lays down on the left side of the 'barrier'.
"Goodnight, wifey." he mutters sarcastically.
"Shut up!" I bark, turning my face to the other side.
- Writer
