Accepted With Flaws

-Some things take time to heal-

An-Nisa' 4:34
Men are in charge of women by [right of] what Allah has given one over the other and what they spend [for maintenance] from their wealth. So righteous women are devoutly obedient, guarding in [the husband's] absence what Allah would have them, guard. But those [wives] from whom you fear arrogance -  [first] advise them; [then if they persist], forsake them in bed; and [finally], strike them. But if they obey you [once more], seek no means against them. Indeed, Allah is ever Exalted and Grand.

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Luth's PoV

"Hey, Omaiza, is everything alright?" I inquired, concerned for Omaiza's well-being before entering Zaid's home.

"Yea, alhamdulillah, I'm good," she replied with a nervous smile.

I could sense her apprehension, knowing well the weight she carried after everything she had endured. Omaiza's trust in people had been shattered, and it was clear that the scars of the past still haunted her. I couldn't stand by and watch her isolate herself, weighed down by the shadows of her past. I knew the feeling of isolation too well, the weight of sympathetic glances and whispered judgments. I wouldn't let her fight this battle alone. In sha Allah.

"Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuhu, couples!" Khadijah, my ammi, greeted us with a warm smile as we entered.

"Wa alaikum salam wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuhu," we both replied in unison, alternating our greetings.

"Ammi..." I began, about to reach out for a hug, but she surprised me by raising her hands to my face.

"Stop!" Ammi's sudden interruption caught me off guard, her eyebrow raised in an unspoken question. I was puzzled, and the frown on Omaiza's face suggested that she was equally bewildered.

"What's going on, Ammi?" I asked, searching for an explanation.

As if on cue, Zaid, Fathima, and the rest of the family gathered at the front door, creating an air of intrigue.

"Ssup, bro?" Zaid greeted me with an air-high-five.

"Confusion, bro. What's happening? Why am I not being allowed to enter?" I questioned, my eyes scanning the group.

"Why the rush, bigfoot?" Fathima, the little mischief-maker, chimed in, her teasing tone earning a glare from me.

"Baba? Chachu? Chachi? Seriously?" My annoyance grew as more family members joined in the spectacle.

"I'm sorry, Omaiza, my family can be really annoying sometimes," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Ammi's quick reflexes caught me off guard as she firmly grasped my ear and playfully twisted it.

"Ouch! Ammi, that hurts!" I protested, my voice a mix of pain and amusement.

"Annoying, huh?" Ammi tightened her grip, adding a playful twist.

Unexpectedly, Omaiza's laughter filled the room, a sound that took everyone by surprise, including Ammi.

Caught off guard, Omaiza blushed, her embarrassment evident.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"No problem, Baccha. You never have to apologize for being happy," Ammi reassured Omaiza, her fingers gently caressing her head. Both of them exchanged genuine smiles, their connection palpable.

"Aww..." I chimed in playfully, pulling a cute face and earning a playful hit from Ammi. It was a heartwarming sight.

"Alright, Lut, if you want to enter the house, then..." Ammi's mischievous gaze shifted between Fathima and Chachi.

"You have to carry Omaiza in a bridal style all the way to your bedroom," Ammi declared, her hands resting on her hips, the quintessential mother-in-law pose.

"No way!" I exclaimed dramatically, although my inner self was secretly elated, as if a cherished dream was coming true.

Omaiza's nervousness was palpable, her fingers fidgeting with unease.

"There's no turning back now," everyone chimed in, a playful chorus that left me outnumbered.

"Fine!" I surrendered, my resolve weakening in the face of their combined persuasion. Omaiza's gaze briefly met mine, and she nodded, a silent agreement to quell any potential debate.

With a deep breath and a quick prayer in my heart, I declared "Bismillah" and scooped Omaiza up in a bridal style. As I lifted her, her dupatta cascaded gracefully, and the frills of her sharara danced like a gentle breeze. Surprisingly, she was lighter than I expected, and as I held her close, an inexplicable warmth spread through me. I couldn't help but smile, an emotion that made my cheeks flush. Astagfirullah! I reminded myself that this moment was halal, and the fluttering sensation was allowed.

As we started walking, a chorus of cheers and playful noises accompanied us, the rest of the family following along. Omaiza buried her face in my chest, her grip on my neck tighter than before, and her palm felt slightly damp with nervousness.

"Hey, zawj," I whispered into her ear, bending my neck to catch a glimpse of her face.

There was no response from her, and a sense of unease settled in my chest.

"Omaiza? Are you alright?" My voice tinged with concern, I stopped in my tracks, the others continuing their cheerful banter.

A sense of panic seemed to overtake her, and she began to pant, as if struggling to catch her breath. We had reached our bedroom, and I gently laid her down on the bed, my worry deepening.

"Ya Allah! What's wrong with her, Luth?" Ammi's worry was evident, and her question echoed the concern in all of our minds.

Omaiza's hands grabbed at the bedsheets, her movements frantic and agitated.

Chachu and Zaid were politely asked to wait outside as they weren't her Mahram.

It hit me then,

.

.