A flutter of the brightly colored hummingbird's wings would have been put to shame after the pace at which her heart beat. Wide eyed, she stared at the crowd infront of her. Her heart missed a beat and the widest parts of her esophagus tightened. Stopping a cough she felt her eyes tear up from the pain at holding it back. From one man to the next, her dark brown eyes ran wild. Searching for a twitch in the jaw or a facial muscle move in a peculiar manner. It had to be a joke, she told herself calmly. The hopeful eyes and bright smiles were a scam she assumed.

The King of Persia had knocked at their door in the darkest hour of the night. At first, she had mistaken him for a messenger who had arrived to summon her father — after all the shabby clothes hinted at that. Like a shadow he moved into the tiny home with stealth and speed. Before she could even bat an eyelash he had whizzed in and his cloak grazed her chin. Locking the door she walked behind him, her parents equally surprised to see the man inside their home. The sun was yet to rise and the moon yet to set, the sky was darker than ever.

He had taken seat at a chaise, crossing his legs. Removing the thin silk scarf from his face, he raised his kohl lined eyes in their direction. Her father had been the first one to get out of his shocked state. Reaching out for the King's ring clad hand and kissing the back of it twice in respect. Shah Hassan had patted the space beside himself and Akbar had no option but to follow suit. Once they were all seated the King had thrown in their way an explosive news. A proposal for her hand in marriage to his son. Samra could observe the wide smile that had fixed itself onto her mother's supple face, and the gleam of hope that had her father's chin raised.

"I'm sure there has been a mistake. How could he — me? Me of all people?" Samra pointed to herself.

She had met the General only twice, both of which were incidents where she had launched into holding him as a culprit for his innocent mistakes. No word of greeting or love had been exchanged between the two. Just this afternoon she had managed to disrespect his sister, the future Queen of Persia. With that as an impression how had the King been convinced?

"It is you alright. Fadahunsi is a man of few words, so it was Alishba who came up with the idea and he agreed," King Shah Hassan grinned.

Samra blinked in silence. The General had lost his mind she assumed. Or he perhaps liked to be ridiculed, her subconscious mocked.

"With all due respect your Highness, I think your son needs to visit the hakeem," she gulped.

King Shah Hassan let out a loud laugh at that remark. His thick hands slammed her father's thigh and she winced lightly. Her poor father. The King looked to her with great enthusiasm and shook his head, the luscious hair peaking from under his thick cloak.

"He is quite alright. I think you've just left him spell bound. Please dukhtr think about it". He begged.

"This is such an important decision I can't just — abu aap kuch kahiye na!" She looked to him for help.

[Father you say something!]

Like a fish out of water Akbar gaped at being addressed. He rubbed his hand over his thin cotton shirt, sweat marking the top of it. Raising his brows and turning to his wife, he read her face. The wind gushed outside and blew in through the tiny gaps in the wall. Making soft whistling sounds, covering the deep muteness of the room. Bugs outside created a soft white noise and the relentless moonshine fell on Samra's dark face. She looked like the centre of the universe, and he knew as a father anyone would be lucky to marry her.

"Samra — from what I know Fadahunsi is a valiant soldier and a man of great skill. He is humble and generous, which is more than we could ask for. He'll treat you good, this father's heart knows that—"

"So Samra do you say yes?" Shah Hassan interrupted.

"Pardon me your Highness, I have more to say. Samra at the end of the day this decision is yours to make. He may be a decorated General, but you're my daughter. Far more important than any man's status," he patted her hand in gentle taps of three.

The ball was in her court with that. Everyone's expectations rode on her shoulders, plummeting her under the ground. Her vision darkened and tiny dark spots appeared as the world shifted in slow circles. She clasped the edge of the thin floor mat, tucking her head in between her knees. Groaning softly she clenched her head, her mother almost instantly at her side. Yumna rubbed her back softly and whispered soft words of confidence into her ears. Akbar ran out to grab a glass of cool water from the well while the King forwarded a handful of berries he had plucked from the fruit tray inside his bedroom.

"Beti hum kisi bhi tarah ap ko takleef nahi dena chahte. Agar aap raazi hain tou humein bohat khushi ho gi, magar aap par koi zor zabardasti nahi hai," he spoke softly, trying to make her feel a bit better.

[Daughter we do not want to give you any form of pain. If you are in agreement then we would be extremely happy, but there is going to be no decision forced on you.]

She raised her head gently at that remark. With eyes rimmed red, tears dropping from the inner ducts of her soft eyes she nodded. Her heart knew what the mind did not accept yet. It had perhaps accepted fate and realized it's soulmate before she had even seen the man in front of her eyes. The decision had been made before the question even rose. Solidified into the perfect mould after seeing the father's gentle tone. If he could be so kind, she could only imagine the softness his son held for her. A leap of faith. She had to dive in head first, worry could be left for the later days.

"Hum Nikkah keh liye tiyaar hain," Samra whispered into her mother's ear, too shy to acknowledge it out loud.

[I am ready for marriage.]

Yumna yelped in glee. Hugging her daughter to her bosom tightly, she squeezed the feeble life out of her. Kissing the top of her head she congratulated her only child, tears of happiness falling one at a time. They left hot marks in their wake but she could care less. The hard days were bearing their fruit. Her life had been a collection of troubles and misery, her family the only silver lining. This joy was well deserved and she could not help but rejoice. Words of gratefulness towards their God uttered deep inside the chambers of her heart.

"Congratulations shah," Akbar who had returned, grinned and hugged the king.

[King.]

Shah Hassan patted Akbar's back and hugged him tighter. Taking out a date from his satchel and halving it, he gave the larger part to Samra. For him it was a method of showing his graciousness. He was full of thanks to give her. His son had asked him for something or someone for the first time, and her faith had kept him from falling in his son's eye for eternity. He was indebted to her, the passing of a ring from his own hands, solidified that notion.

"I must leave now, before I am spotted and trouble crops up for your family. I will bring Fadahunsi and our officiant who will keep the marriage a secret until you feel comfortable in announcing it. Just tell me the date you would like to host the wedding on," he spoke.

"Very thoughtful of you. We would need a few days to help Samra find a wedding dress, because no matter how rushed, I want to give her what she deserves," Akbar replied.

"Akbar we have a tradition in our family. The wedding dress is gifted by the groom so have no worry about that. Fadahunsi might come to escort Samra to the royal dressmaker, you just prepare the sweets and nothing more," he stood up.

Akbar escorted Shah Hassan to the door and kissed his hand once more. The two bid their goodbye's and returned to their family's. Samra hugged her parents tight, a feeling of freedom resided inside her chest and fought to surface. Hope bubbled up inside her heart as she stared at the jade ring in on her ring finger. The finger that was said to be connected to the heart with no interruptions. She was really going to get her happily ever after and she could not wrap her head around the prospect just yet.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

King Shah Hassan changed out of his guard's night clothes and wore his own luxurious kaftan. The loose Silk garment cinched at his waist where his family's emblem, an eagle, rested with pride. His thick leather sandals crunched the stray rocks and he walked into his son's room at the pace of a snail. Success had once more found its way to him, for which he was ecstatic. His son was a destined winner. Be it of wars or of hearts, Fadahunsi never failed. He smiled softly in the remembrance of his wife, who had fought him when they found out about her fourth pregnancy. It was a danger to her life but she had not given up. Their son was like her, relentless and perhaps the reason why he adored his youngest born a bit more.

Knocking on the delicately carved wooden door, the heavy bronze handles striking against the polished finish he waited until he heard a faint affirmation to walk in. He opened the door slightly and stepped inside, his mauve attire brushing the lion skin on the floor. The room was darker than the hour of midnight. The thick velvet curtains drawn shut. The King of Loh had not spared a single penny when it came to decorating his home. The clutter was tasteful, which was a shock to him. A single lantern burnt bright on the tall wooden pole. It cast a warm, orange halo onto Fadahunsi's usually pale skin. His dark brown beard and long hair were wildly unkempt, as if he had run his hands through them multiple times in nervousness.

"She has agreed to this proposal," he informed.

Fadahunsi stared at his father. Wondering if he was joking with him. The faint smile lines, emphasized pride in his glittering orbs and the missing ring of his mother were a proof of his words.

"واقعا پدر؟" He grinned.

[Truly father?]

"قسم میخورم۔" He kissed Fadahunsi's forehead.

[I swear.]

Letting his father's promise sink in, Fadahunsi sat up with great excitement. He hugged his father tight, already planning an intimate proposal where his fiancé was not full of dread because of a certain King and expectations.

• Translations •

Hakeem — doctor
Dukhtur — daughter
Kaftan — Traditional persian attire

•••

It be happening.
Bring your best fits