lotus flower

marriage proposal

A year ago, snowflakes danced gently outside the wide windows of a St. Petersburg house, painting everything a soft white stillness. But inside, tension was building as a storm approached.

Rania stood by the fireplace, arms folded across her chest, staring at her father in astonishment.

"A marriage proposal?" she repeated. "Dad, are you serious?"

Her father looked up from his chair, calm as ever, holding a steaming cup of Turkish coffee. "Yes, my love. From my best friend's son. Have you heard of Khabib?"

"That businessman? The one who lives between here and Dubai?"

"It's the same. He's a good man. A respectable man. And he's coming with his family to visit us tonight."

"Tonight?!" she cried, her heart pounding. "Without asking me first, Dad?"

He chuckled, unfazed. "I'm asking you now."

She groaned in excitement and rushed into the kitchen, her long braid swishing behind her. Her mother was preparing pastries, her hands working quickly, her face more serene than Rania liked.

"Mama, are you okay with this?"

"I haven't met him yet," her mother replied gently. "But your father says he's kind and successful, and most importantly, he was raised with good manners."

"I don't care. I won't marry a stranger."

But it seemed fate had other ideas.

The Visit

It was evening when they arrived.

The black car parked outside the house gleamed under the streetlights. The knocking on the door was light but firm. Rania, hiding behind the curtain like a spy, rolled her eyes in excitement.

"Ah, let's go," she muttered, trying to hide the slight fluttering in her stomach.

When the door opened, everything inside her turned upside down.

Khabib stood there—tall, well-groomed, wearing a navy coat over a smart suit. His features were striking, but not cold. His beard was carefully trimmed, and his eyes... soft. Kind. Intelligent.

He entered with confidence, not arrogance, but reassurance. Like someone with nothing to prove.

He greeted her parents first, lowering his gaze respectfully. When he turned to her, smiling politely, and said simply, "Peace be upon you, Rania," she forgot how to breathe.

She was wearing a pink hijab.

She stammered over her response: "And—and upon you be peace."

Maybe this wouldn't be so terrible...

She wanted to dismiss him without seeing him.

The Conversation

They sat together, under the watchful eyes of her family, and Rania's father and Khabib's father spoke like old friends.

He listened more than he spoke. When he spoke, it was slow, thoughtful, and deep.

"I know this is surprising," he said. "If you don't answer, then that's okay." He said it, and of course he didn't look at her face. He was talking to her father.

She blushed, not knowing why, and said to herself, "Stop admiring him. Stop."

But her heart was already betraying her.

But something had to happen to change things, didn't it? And...

"The boy enters - Rami."

Then came the surprise.

The front door opened without a knock. A wet, icy wind blew as Rami entered with heavy footsteps, his cheeks red from the cold, his backpack slung over his shoulder. With a girl of about 16.

"Grandma said we'd only be staying for ten minutes!" he shouted, annoyed, having not seen the guests yet. "You said we'd go to the cinema, Uncle!" He began to grumble.

Everyone turned.

Khabib smiled, looking a little embarrassed. "Ramy, say hello." We are guests."

Ramy stopped in his tracks, looking around the room. His brown eyes scanned Rania as if she were an insect under a microscope. Then, with narrowed eyes and a voice filled with doubt, he said,

"Is this her?"

Khabib blinked. "She...?"

"The one you're going to marry?"

Silence.

Khabib sighed. He knew bringing him to the engagement was a bad idea.

Everyone shifted in confusion. Rania's cheeks flushed.

Khabib sighed. "We're just here to get to know her family, Rami—"

"You said I'm the most important person in your life," Rami said sharply, taking a step forward, his eyes blazing. "But now you want to marry her?"

"Ramy, stop—"

"She'll take you away. Like Ali said. He said women always ruin everything."

"Ali is twelve years old." He doesn't know what he's talking about."

Ramy folded his arms and looked at Rania with open defiance. "I don't like her."

Both Khabib's parents laughed.

Rania raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You smile too much," he said sharply. "Don't I want you to be my mother?"

"I just met you," she replied coldly.

"Oh," he sneered, boasting, "Stay away from my uncle."

"Ramy, stop!" Khabib stood up now, his voice commanding.

But Ramy's small fists were clenched, his eyes watering with a storm of emotions overwhelming his small body.

Then he turned and rushed to his grandmother.

She was stroking his head with her hand to calm him.

Silence.

No one spoke for a long moment.

Rania stared at her tea, her lips trembling slightly.

Khabib took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry. He's... suffered so much. He lost his parents three years ago. I've raised him ever since. He's afraid I'll leave him."

Her father tried to lighten the mood. "Children grow up. They adjust."

But Rania knew the truth. That boy wasn't just lashing out in anger; he'd declared war.

And part of her didn't blame him.

She looked at Khabib again. His jaw was tight, the sadness in his eyes.

She saw the weight he carried. The love he felt for that boy.

And yet... she found herself saying quietly,

"I do."

Everyone looked at her in surprise.

Even her parents. Her father held back his laughter.

Rania smiled faintly. "I think... I'd rather be in a complicated story with a good man than a simple story with a bad man."

Days later

The St. Petersburg sky was soft with the glow of that afternoon, that magical hour when everything seemed to sparkle with a touch of rose gold. Rania adjusted her scarf around her neck, shivering slightly as the chill touched her cheeks. Beside her, Celine exclaimed as they entered the store.

"Here it is!" Celine gasped. "The wedding dress search has officially begun!"

The store was every bride's dream—white dresses and others in beautiful, muted colors fluttered like clouds, delicate chandeliers shimmered above, and soft French music danced in the air. Velvet couches lined the sides, and mannequins posed like graceful ballerinas adorned with lace.

Rania exhaled a deep breath. "It feels real now..."

Celine turned around, her caramel hair flying. "It's real! You're getting married, Rania!"

Rania rolled her eyes. "You're obsessed."

"No, I'm inspired. Honestly, your life is turning into a soap opera—rich fiancé, fancy house, complicated nephew..."

Rania grumbled. "Don't remind me of Rami."

Celine noticed, immediately intrigued. "Find out. How bad can a little kid be? He's only five, he can't be that bad."

They sat on a velvet sofa while the assistant brought them coffee and let Rania leaf through the catalog.

"Celine," Rania began, "the first time he saw me, he told me I smiled too much and described me as unfit to be his mother."

Celine burst out laughing, nearly spilling her coffee. "I actually love him!"

"I don't love him!" Rania said, laughing in spite of herself. "He's like a little mafia boss with a grudge. He stares at me like I stole his sweets... or his uncle."

"Well, technically speaking—"

"Don't say that."

Celine smiled sarcastically. "Okay, okay. But seriously, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I mean, I want to be nice to him. I get why he's scared. But he's... so smart. You can't even compliment his shoes without him acting like a trap, like he's a genius or something."

They laughed again as the assistant approached in a dreamy gown—a long, satin gown with pearl detailing and a subtle sheen.

Rania stood, her eyes wide. "This is... really amazing."

"Try it. Now. I won't hesitate."

She went to try on the dress.

Rania entered the changing room and gasped at the sight of herself. The dress was white, long, and fell like liquid snow to the floor. The neckline was modest but elegant, with lace adding glam. It was simple yet gorgeous at the same time, since she didn't want anything too eye-catching.

When she came out, Celine put her hands on her chest like a proud mother.

"I'm going to cry. You look like you've stepped out of a wedding issue of a magazine."

Rania turned slowly, looking at herself in the mirror. Her heart raced—not because of the dress, but because the idea of ​​becoming Khabib's wife hadn't seemed so scary for the first time.

"Do you really think he looks great?"

"No," Celine replied dramatically. "I think he looks unfairly great. People will be shocked at the wedding. And Rami will probably get even angrier."

Rania laughed again, her tone softer this time.

"But maybe he'll see that you're not the villain in his story," Celine said gently.

Rania nodded, her eyes still fixed on her reflection. "I hope so. I think he's a nice person."

After the Store

Later, the girls walked down the cobblestone street with their coffee cups, snowflakes glinting softly above them.

"Thank you for today," Rania said, sipping her coffee. "I feel lighter when you're around."

Celine linked her arm. "Always, darling. And hey—if Rami continues to be the bad nephew, I'm going to give him that sad Celine look."

"Oh, no. Not the Celine look."

"Yes. He'll never get over it."

They burst out laughing again, and a couple passing by smiled at them.

But here, in this moment, with her best friend in the company and the smell of snow and coffee in the air... life seemed beautiful.