Chapter 14 - The Groom Who Fainted
1986 Words
Some memories never leave because they were extraordinary.
Others remain because they were ordinary moments wrapped in extraordinary love.
Years later, whenever Burhan thought of his wedding, he never remembered the decorations first. He never remembered the menu or the colours of the flowers.
He remembered laughter.
And he remembered fainting.
But before that unforgettable incident became family history, there were months filled with excitement, changing plans, and prayers answered in ways none of them had imagined.
After returning from Karachi, Burhan spent several days feeling as though he had left a part of himself behind.
His room in Abu Dhabi looked exactly the same.
The same bed.
The same cupboard.
The same half-open suitcase.
Yet everything had changed.
He was engaged.
And legally married.
And somewhere in Karachi lived his wife.
Even now, the word felt unreal.
Wife.
Sometimes he said it softly to himself and smiled.
That very night, he called Farzana Aunty.
She answered immediately.
"Assalamu Alaikum, Burhan beta."
"Wa Alaikum Assalam, Aunty."
"You reached safely?"
"Yes."
"And are you eating properly?"
He laughed.
Even from another country, she had begun with food.
For a while they spoke about the flight and about Karachi. Then Burhan became quiet.
"Aunty…"
"Hmm?"
"I wanted to thank you."
"For what?"
"For everything."
She did not speak.
"You looked after me when I was sick. You handled my engagement. You treated me as your own."
His voice softened.
"I came to Karachi alone. But I never felt alone."
Farzana remained silent.
"You loved me exactly the way my mother would have."
Again silence.
Then he said softly,
"Aunty… may I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"If you don't mind…"
He hesitated.
"Can I call you Maa?"
The silence this time was longer.
Then he heard her crying softly.
When she finally spoke, her voice trembled.
"You are asking me for permission?"
He smiled nervously.
"Yes."
"Pagal boy."
She laughed through tears.
"I am your Maa."
Another pause.
"And you are my son."
Something tightened inside his chest.
For a few moments he could not speak.
He had gone to Karachi searching for a wife.
Allah had given him another mother.
Back in the Lasalas Club, nobody allowed him a moment of peace.
"So, Mr. International Romance!"
"You went to Pakistan and came back engaged?"
"When is the biryani party?"
Even at the office, colleagues surrounded him.
"We heard you got engaged in Pakistan. Congratulations!"
Someone finally declared,
"You are officially the bravest salesman in Abu Dhabi."
For once, Burhan did not deny it.
Because perhaps love really had made him brave.
Preparations for the formal Nikah began.
The court marriage had brought them together legally, but both families wanted a proper religious wedding.
Zehra had only one wish.
Her Nikah should be performed by His Holiness, the spiritual leader of the Dawoodi Bohra community.
When she first mentioned it, her voice became softer.
"I have dreamed about it since childhood."
Burhan smiled.
"Then we'll pray for it."
And so they prayed.
Together.
Across borders.
Again.
In India, preparations began quietly.
Passports.
Photographs.
Forms.
Documents.
Burhan arranged everything required for Pakistani visas for his parents.
One of his close friends had permanently moved back to India and was living in Delhi.
"I need a favour."
"What happened?"
"My parents need Pakistani visas."
"For your wedding?"
"For my wedding."
His friend laughed.
"Done."
A few days later, his friend personally accompanied Burhan's parents to Delhi.
Forms were submitted.
Documents were verified.
And then one morning, the visas were approved.
His mother cried.
His father quietly looked upward and whispered a prayer.
That evening Burhan called Karachi.
"We got the visas."
For several seconds nobody spoke.
Then Zehra squealed.
He laughed.
"I didn't know you could make that sound."
"Don't tease me."
"I think I should record it."
"Burhan!"
Both laughed.
Soon another piece of happy news arrived.
There was a possibility that His Holiness would visit Karachi in December.
Excitement spread through both families.
Everything suddenly seemed perfect.
Shopping began.
Some evenings disappeared entirely discussing wedding colours.
"Cream sherwani?"
"No."
"Maroon?"
"No."
"You reject everything."
"Because your choices are terrible."
"And yours?"
"Perfect."
He laughed.
There was no winning against her.
They spoke for hours about invitations, clothes, jewellery and decorations.
Some nights they forgot the time entirely.
Happiness had entered their lives quietly.
Neither wanted to waste even a moment of it.
Then one week before everything was to happen, the news arrived.
The visit had been postponed.
The venue had shifted.
To India.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Zehra sighed.
"So… all our planning is finished."
"Completely finished."
Silence.
Then both burst into laughter.
Because by now they had learned something.
Whenever life changed its plans, Allah was usually writing something better.
Luckily, Zehra and her family already had Indian visas.
Tickets were cancelled.
New tickets were booked.
Plans changed.
Excitement remained.
The Nikah finally took place in India exactly as they had prayed.
At the blessed hands of His Holiness.
Years later, neither of them could fully remember the details.
Only fragments remained.
Prayers.
Blessings.
Smiles.
Trembling hands.
And an overwhelming feeling that Allah had been extraordinarily kind to them.
Two years earlier, they had been separated by borders.
Now they sat beside each other as husband and wife.
Burhan's father arranged a small reception in their hometown.
Simple.
Warm.
Filled with relatives.
Everybody wanted to meet the bride from Karachi.
By the end of the evening, even Zehra was laughing comfortably among people she had only met a few hours earlier.
Burhan watched her quietly.
She belonged everywhere.
After the reception, both families sat together.
Tea was served.
Dates were passed around.
Then Burhan's father looked at Rizwana.
"So… when shall we do the rukhsati?"
Discussions began.
Dates were considered.
Schedules checked.
Finally it was decided.
Fifteenth February.
After that…
Zehra would truly leave with him.
Preparations started once again.
This time for Karachi.
During their transit at Colombo Airport, Burhan's father behaved like an excited child.
He walked from one shop to another.
"These chocolates are for Zehra."
"And this Ceylon tea for Rizwana Bhabhi."
"And another one for Farzana."
Burhan laughed.
"Papa, we still have another flight."
His father smiled.
"When people welcome your son with so much love, you never return empty-handed."
Burhan looked at him.
That sentence stayed with him.
Finally they landed in Karachi.
At the airport, Burhani Ismail was waiting.
Warm hugs followed.
Then another man approached.
And another.
And another.
Each greeted Burhan's father enthusiastically.
Burhan blinked.
"Papa… people know you here?"
His father looked surprised.
"Of course."
"How?"
"I have been serving the community for years."
Another man arrived.
"Hakim Bhai! Welcome!"
Burhan laughed.
Apparently his father had an entire life he knew nothing about.
The wedding day finally arrived.
The hall glowed with lights.
Children ran everywhere.
Guests filled every corner.
Meanwhile, Zehra was getting ready at the parlour.
When she finished, Burhan arrived to pick her up.
But before going to the hall, they stopped at the beautiful home of one of Burhani Ismail's close friends for photographs.
The house looked magical.
Fairy lights hung from trees.
Lanterns glowed among flowers.
A small bridge crossed an artificial pond.
It looked less like a home and more like a film set.
The photographer smiled.
"Come, bride and groom."
Bride and groom.
Even now the words sounded unbelievable.
They posed beside the pond.
Under the lights.
Near the garden arch.
Sometimes they laughed.
Sometimes they simply looked at each other and forgot the photographer existed.
Years later, whenever they looked at those pictures, they never remembered the poses.
They remembered how impossible happiness had suddenly become real.
At the wedding hall, the atmosphere was festive.
The air-conditioning made the hall pleasantly cool.
Too cool for Zehra.
She rubbed her hands.
"Burhan."
"Hmm?"
"I'm freezing."
He laughed.
"Really?"
"Very."
A ceiling fan above them continued turning.
She looked upward.
"Can we switch it off?"
He smiled.
"I'm dying from the heat."
"I am dying from the cold."
He looked at her.
Then at the fan.
Then back at her.
"Fine."
He called someone.
"Please switch off this fan."
The fan stopped.
Zehra smiled happily.
"Thank you."
He laughed.
"You are impossible."
As the rukhsati began, emotions filled the hall.
Rizwana's eyes were wet.
Burhani Ismail looked unusually quiet.
Relatives were crying.
Zehra's eyes glistened.
Inside his heavy sherwani, Burhan slowly began feeling warm.
Then hotter.
Then uncomfortably hot.
He loosened his collar slightly.
Nobody noticed.
The room suddenly seemed smaller.
The lights brighter.
Voices more distant.
"Burhan?"
Zehra looked at him.
"You okay?"
He smiled weakly.
"I think…"
The sentence never finished.
Everything turned black.
And the groom collapsed.
Chaos erupted.
"Burhan!"
"Water!"
"Move!"
"Call someone!"
Zehra's face lost all colour.
She knelt beside him.
"Burhan! Please wake up!"
Her voice broke.
She had never seen him like this.
Someone brought water.
Someone loosened his sherwani.
The hall that had been celebrating moments ago suddenly filled with panic.
Finally he moved.
His eyes opened slowly.
Everyone leaned forward.
He looked around.
Then whispered,
"Did the wedding finish?"
For one second, nobody moved.
Then the entire hall burst into laughter.
Even Zehra.
She was crying and laughing simultaneously.
Burhani Ismail sat down because he was laughing too hard.
The doctor arrived.
One look.
Then he smiled.
"Heat, exhaustion and one very loving husband who switched off his fan."
Even the doctor laughed.
From that day onward, the story became family history.
The groom who fainted during his own rukhsati.
Much later that night, after the guests had gone and the city had finally become quiet, Burhan and Zehra were taken to Farzana Maa's house.
As they entered, both stopped.
The room had been decorated.
Soft fairy lights glowed around the curtains.
Fresh flowers filled the room with fragrance.
Rose petals rested on the bedspread.
A tray of sweets sat on the side table.
Nothing was extravagant.
Yet everything was beautiful.
"Maa…" Burhan whispered.
She smiled.
"What happened? My son brought home his bride today."
Those words touched him deeply.
My son.
She kissed Zehra's forehead.
Then looked at Burhan.
"Take care of her."
His expression softened.
"I will, Maa."
Satisfied, she smiled and quietly left them alone.
Silence settled inside the room.
For the first time all day there were no guests.
No photographers.
No ceremonies.
Only them.
Burhan looked at Zehra.
She looked beautiful.
And exhausted.
A few hours earlier she had left her parents' home.
Now she sat beside him.
His wife.
Even now, it felt unbelievable.
He reached into his sherwani pocket.
"I have something for you."
She looked surprised.
He handed her a small velvet box.
Inside lay a delicate diamond pendant.
She looked at it.
Then at him.
"You bought this for me?"
He nodded.
"I was waiting for the right moment."
She smiled.
The kind of smile that seemed to light the entire room.
He carefully placed the pendant around her neck.
The diamond rested just above her heart.
Then he gently held her hand.
"I cannot promise you a perfect life."
She looked up.
"I cannot promise there will never be difficult days."
The room seemed softer.
"But I can promise you one thing."
He smiled.
"I will cherish you like a flower."
Her eyes never left his.
"I will protect your smile."
For several moments she said nothing.
Then she whispered,
"You already do."
Neither spoke after that.
They simply sat together.
Side by side.
A husband.
A wife.
Two people who had once lived in different countries.
Who had measured love in prayers, phone calls and visa applications.
And now, on a quiet Karachi night, in a room lovingly prepared by the woman who had become another mother to him, they finally sat together with nowhere else to go and no goodbye waiting for them.
Outside, Karachi slept peacefully.
Inside, a new chapter of their lives had quietly begun.
- Writer
