7th April

Our Walima* is coming up. There was a reasonable gap between the wedding and the walima so that there would be more time to settle down. Personally I would prefer to move the Walima to an even later date, but the holidays are ending. My parents and my in-laws just want to get it out of the way instead of having to wait for another holiday. It is supposed be on next Friday, the 10th.

At first I didn't care much about it, but then my excitement started when I saw my new dress for the party. Think of me what you will, girly or whatever, but a new dress always cheers me up. And this is a special one, so I doubt you if you can fathom the thrill I had at the sight of the dress.

Whether you want or not, I'm going to describe the dress: it is long, goes below my ankles so I suppose I would have to wear heels (they are such a hassle!). The color is blue, my all time favorite. I wonder how Mahir knows that, since I haven't told him yet. Anyway, coming back to that topic later. Now, where was I? Oh, my dress. Yes it's blue with light brown sequence. I'm glad for that, because it means I can match my favorite scarf with the dress. That scarf still looks as good as new if I dry clean, iron and all - despite the fact that I wear it a lot. It's made of some magical material, making it so comfy, which is why I love it so much.

I went off topic again- back to the dress. It has long sleeves, with light brown designs at the edge. The sequence on the dress starts from the narrow waist. And then the dress widens up with layers as it flows down. Speaking of narrow waist, I think I need to control my eating until after the walima, if I'm am dreaming of getting into that dress.

Mahir got the dress for me yesterday. When asked him why he didn't take me as well so I could choose, he said he wanted to surprise me. And honestly, after I saw the dress, I was glad that he didn't take me. I don't think I would've been able to choose such an amazing dress myself. If I wasn't so shy, I would've hugged him right away. Since the awkward me is still a bit more awkward around him, I went as far as giving him a big thank you, with a bigger smile. He seemed to enjoy how childishly happy I was over a dress. Oh well, we are both happy, that alone means more than enough. Alhamdulillah.

I think Mahir asked Tanim about my favorite color. I mean, he seems to be the only reasonable person to ask about me. I don't think he would call me parents and then go, shy as he is, 'Um...could you possibly somehow happen to know the favorite colour of...you know, my wife, I mean your daughter...uh, Aleena because I want to impress her by giving her a surprise dress but I also want it to be in her favorite colour so that it increases the chance of her liking it?'

Man, I'm being so dramatic here. Sure Mahir is capable of holding a normal phone conversation. He would probably have a fit if he sees the way I'm describing him to you. Anyway, it's also possible that the dress is blue simply out of coincident. Or is his favorite colour blue too? Now that would be awesome.

It's 6:30 pm now. I started writing after I prayed Asr. Mahir went to drop Maruf in his Arabic class. He goes there twice a week, and stays for 2 hours. It's a bit far, so I wonder if Mahir would come home now, or return after he picks Maruf at the end of the session.

I know he is only gone for a while, but I miss him already. How would I manage when he starts working? My class and his working schedule don't sync. He works in two shifts: once early in the morning, and then in the evening. So he is not home until around 9'o clock. He does come home in between the shifts, but then most of the weekdays around that time, I would be in the university. I guess I just have to get used to the separation, short as they are. At least we are both free in the weekends. And, after all, I did live without him for the past 21 years of my life!

One of these days, I might describe you how I spend my days here at my new home. Not now though, because I want to write more about my prince charming. How much I can, that I don't k ow because my hand is starting to ache. This is what technology does to us. I barely write with a pen anymore these days, other than this journal. All my assignment are typed so I don't need to write that much. As a result, my handwriting has also gone horrible.

Last night after dinner, I came to our room so I could finish some of my coursework that I had been putting off since the wedding. It was only 8:30 pm. After about an hour when I was exhausted from the effort it took me to not to get distracted and actually get some work done, thankfully, Mahir walked in. I tried to smile at him, realising how tight the muscles of my face have been, from the forced concentration. He saw it too, because he commented as he came and sat beside me, "you don't look so well." It wasn't a question or remark, just a casual observation, or, for our case, you can say, a conversation starter.

"Where have you been?" I asked him about his delay. Of course it's his house and he doesn't always have to be in the room, but that wasn't usually the case.

"I saw you taking your laptop, so I assumed you were going do some work. I didn't want to distract you so I stayed in the sitting room chatting with Mum."

"Oh."

"So why do you look worn out?" He inquired.

"Don't even ask me about it. Writing essays are such hard work!"

He chuckled at that. "No they are not."

"Oh, I forgot that you graduated in English." I rolled my eyes and tried to sound bored. But it was hard to stay bored when he was around me. "Please, enlighten me why writing Essays are so fun?"

He took a breath and put his feet up comfortably on the bed. I could see that he was bracing for a great speech. Putting his left arm around me, he started: " You see, Aleena," But I wasn't seeing anymore, because he said my name! "Writing is like an art" he continued. But I was oblivious to the words as the voice that carried them pulled me to a land of fairytale, where there is no other sound other than that voice.

"When you write an essay on - say, anything - you demonstrate a level of understanding through words that you weren't even aware of. If you understand a certain topic, the essay should come out of you flawlessly, as if you were explaining it to somebody who doesn't have the same level of understanding as you. After the essay comes to an end, you discover that you actually know a lot more than you thought. But - here's the catch, if you don't understand the topic, than it's a different story."

Mahir probably sensed my fading state, for I heard that voice in my fairy tale stop. When I focused to inquire the reason, I saw his mouth twitching upward. I felt embarrassed now.

"So, Aleena," Mahir called after a while.

"Mmm," I responded, my chin leaning on my palms. I was looking down now, pretending to examine the patterns in the bed sheet. "

"Tell me why you might find essays so hard." He demanded.

"Because they are sooo boring."

"But I just told you why they are not boring!"

He sounded disappointed so I looked up. "Did you?"

"Forget it." He removed his arm and started to reach for a book.

"Hey!" I exclaimed. I was feeling guilty now. I've upset him! "Please tell me, because obviously this student of yours doesn't concentrate." I made a baby face, pulling his arm back.

"Student?" He raised an eyebrow, looking amused.

"You know what I mean! Now go ahead and finish your speech so that we could stop talking about boring essays for the night!"
He smiled at my child-like outburst which also made me feel relieved. He wasn't upset anymore.

"So, as I was saying, the reason that you find it hard to write essays might be because you don't understand the topics that you are supposed write on." He explained.

I thought about what he said for a while, looking at the wall. "Hm, that could be possible. It makes sense." I agreed.

"Good that we are finally on the same page."

"Well, thanks." I was really grateful, not just because he gave me an uninteresting talk on essays, but also because he lightened my mood that removed all the stress I had an hour ago. "JazakAllahu Khairan."

"BarakAllahu feeki dear wife." He smiled. "My pleasure to be of your service."

In that moment I was so content that I didn't even notice he called me 'wife' for the first time. Actually, that was the first time anyone ever mentioned me by that word.

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*Walima: A traditional party thrown after the wedding ceremony, usually from the groom's side.