Divine Decree

Anaya Alhamid had learned very early in life that people could look at you and decide your entire future before you ever opened your mouth. She had also learned that sometimes, the kindest-looking people could be the cruelest. At twenty-nine, Anaya had a master’s degree, a career as a neurologist, a family that loved her deeply, and a faith that she held onto with both hands. She had everything. Everything except the one thing everyone seemed to think she desperately needed. A husband. Anaya sat quietly in the beautifully decorated sitting room of the Alhamid family home, her hands resting gently in her lap. The room was filled with women. Her aunts. Her sisters. Her cousins. Family friends. Everyone was dressed beautifully because today was supposed to be a happy day. A wedding day. Her wedding day. At least, that was what everyone had believed when the morning began. Anaya wore a beautiful cream-colored abaya embroidered with delicate gold patterns. Her hijab was wrapped neatly around her head, framing her face. Her glasses rested comfortably on her nose, and behind them were dark, intelligent eyes that had spent years studying textbooks, medical journals, patient scans, and the complicated mysteries of the human brain. Her automatic wheelchair was positioned beside the decorated table. She had learned how to maneuver it almost as naturally as other people walked. There had been a time when she hated the chair. When she was a little girl, she had watched her siblings run across the compound while she remained seated. She had watched her older brother play football. She had watched her younger sisters chase each other around the house. And she had wondered why Allah had chosen her to live differently. But she had grown. She had learned. She had accepted. And eventually, she understood that her wheelchair had never been the thing holding her back. People were. Anaya slowly looked around the room. Her older brother, Adam Alhamid, stood near the doorway with his wife, Safiya. Adam was thirty-four, protective of his sisters and particularly protective of Anaya. Then there was her younger sister, Maryam, twenty-six, married to Yusuf. And the youngest, Aisha, twenty-three, who had married Hassan the previous year. All three of her siblings were married. All three had children or were expecting them. And Anaya? She was still waiting. Not because she hadn’t been asked. That was the painful part. Men had come. Families had visited. Tea had been served. Dates and sweets had been exchanged. Questions had been asked. Promises had been made. And then, somehow, the conversations always ended. At first, Anaya had blamed herself. Then she blamed her wheelchair. Eventually, she stopped blaming anyone. She simply accepted that some people were not meant to stay. Unfortunately, that acceptance didn’t make rejection hurt any less. “Anaya?” She looked toward her mother. “Yes, Mama?” Her mother, Hauwa Alhamid, smiled. “You look beautiful.” Anaya smiled softly. “Thank you.” Her mother reached over and adjusted the edge of her hijab. “You should eat something.” “I already ate.” “You ate three bites.” Anaya laughed quietly. “Mama.” “What?” “I’m nervous.” Her mother’s expression softened. “I know.” Anaya looked down. “Do you think everything will be okay?” Hauwa hesitated. Just for a second. But Anaya noticed. She always noticed. “Of course,” her mother said. Anaya nodded. “Insha’Allah.” “Insha’Allah.” Across the room, her father was speaking with several of the older men. Karim Alhamid was a respected businessman and the head of the Alhamid family. He was wealthy, but money had never been the only thing that mattered to him. He had raised his children with discipline, faith, and humility. And when it came to Anaya, he had always been especially protective. Perhaps too protective. Anaya knew he worried about her. She knew he worried about what would happen to her when he was no longer there to protect her. But there was something else she knew. Her father hated the way people looked at her. They saw her wheelchair. Then they saw his wealth. And suddenly, they started calculating. How much money would come with the marriage? How much could they demand? How much could they manipulate? Anaya had seen it happen. One family had actually tried to extort money from her father. They had made it clear that they were doing him a favor by accepting his daughter. They had demanded an absurd amount of money, claiming that because Anaya was disabled, her father should compensate their son for “the responsibility.” Her father had thrown them out. Anaya had never forgotten it. Neither had he. And yet, here she was. Trying again. For the seventh time. She looked toward the clock. The nikah was supposed to begin soon. The groom’s family had arrived earlier. The women had been celebrating. The food had been prepared. The photographers had taken pictures. Everything had been perfect. Too perfect. Anaya had been sitting there for almost an hour with a strange feeling in her stomach. Something wasn’t right. She couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was experience. Maybe it was simply the fact that she had learned not to trust happiness before it arrived. Her father suddenly looked at his phone. He frowned. Then he looked at her mother. Her mother looked back. They didn’t say anything. But Anaya saw it. The brief exchange. The fear in her mother’s eyes. The tightening of her father’s jaw. The way he stepped away from the group of men. Her heart stopped. No. She watched her father walk toward the hallway. Her mother followed him. Anaya’s fingers tightened around the fabric of her abaya. Her breathing changed. No. Not again. She looked toward Adam. He had noticed too. His expression had changed. “Adam?” she whispered. He looked at her. For a moment, he didn’t answer. And that was all the answer she needed. Anaya looked down. Her heart sank slowly into her chest. Someone nearby laughed. Someone else was discussing the food. A little girl ran across the room. Everything continued as though nothing had happened. But Anaya knew. She knew. She maneuvered her wheelchair backward slightly, moving away from the crowd. Her hands were trembling. Seven. This was the seventh time. The first man had disappeared after meeting her. The second had claimed his mother wasn’t comfortable with the marriage. The third had asked her father for money. The fourth had said he “needed time.” The fifth had suddenly become engaged to someone else. The sixth had never even bothered to tell her himself. And now the seventh. The man who had agreed. The man whose family had sat in this house. The man whose mother had smiled at her. The man who had looked directly at her and said she seemed like a wonderful woman. He was leaving too. Anaya closed her eyes. “Alhamdulillah.” The word came out quietly. A cousin sitting beside her turned. “Anaya?” She opened her eyes. “I’m okay.” “Are you sure?” Anaya nodded. “I’m okay.” But she wasn’t. Not completely. Her mother came back into the room. Her face was pale. Her father followed behind her. The conversations around them slowly died. Everyone knew. Anaya looked at her father. He looked at her. And for several seconds, neither of them spoke. Then Karim walked toward his daughter. “Anaya…” She smiled. It was a small smile. Almost heartbreaking. “You don’t have to say it, Baba.” Her father’s face crumbled. “Habibti…” “It’s okay.” “No.” He shook his head. “It isn’t.” Anaya swallowed. Her mother sat beside her and took her hand. “They said…” Hauwa couldn’t finish. Anaya gently squeezed her fingers. “I know.” Her father sat down in front of her. “The man changed his mind.” Anaya nodded. “Okay.” “He said…” Karim stopped. Anaya looked at him. “He said what?” Her father’s eyes filled with anger. “He said he had reconsidered the marriage after speaking to someone in his family.” Anaya smiled bitterly. “Someone in his family.” Everyone knew what that meant. Her disability. Her wheelchair. Her glasses. Her body. Something about her had become unacceptable after the celebration had already begun. Her mother started crying. Anaya immediately reached for her. “Mama, please don’t cry.” “I’m sorry.” “Why are you apologizing?” “Because I wanted this for you.” Anaya shook her head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Her father lowered his head. “I failed you.” Anaya stared at him. “No.” “I keep bringing people into your life and letting them hurt you.” “Baba.” “I should have known.” “You couldn’t have known.” “I should have—” “No.” Her voice was firmer this time. Everyone became silent. Anaya looked at her father. “I don’t want you blaming yourself.” “But—” “They rejected me.” She took a breath. “That doesn’t mean there is something wrong with me.” Her father looked at her. Anaya’s eyes were wet, but she refused to cry. “I have spent too many years thinking that maybe if I became smarter, prettier, kinder, more successful, more religious…” She swallowed. “Maybe someone would finally choose me.” Hauwa covered her mouth. “But I have done everything I can.” Anaya looked down at her hands. “And I’m tired of feeling like I have to prove that I’m worth marrying.” No one spoke. She wiped the corner of her eye. “I’m a neurologist.” A small laugh escaped her. “I have a master’s degree. I have a career. I have a family who loves me. I have people who respect me. I have Allah.” Her voice became softer. “And I’m still me even when I’m sitting in this chair.” Karim reached for her hand. “I know.” “I know you know.” She smiled sadly. “But sometimes I think everyone else forgets.” Her father squeezed her hand. “Never me.” Anaya nodded. “I know.” For a moment, there was only silence. Then Adam stepped forward. “Then let him go.” Everyone looked at him. Adam’s jaw was tight. “If he couldn’t see Anaya beyond a wheelchair, then he wasn’t worthy of standing beside her.” Anaya gave him a look. “Adam.” “What?” “Don’t say things like that.” “I’m not insulting him.” “You are.” “I don’t care.” Despite everything, Anaya almost laughed. Her older brother had always been like that. Protective. Hot-headed. Impossible. Her sisters moved closer. Maryam knelt beside Anaya’s wheelchair. “I’m sorry.” Anaya shook her head. “Don’t.” Aisha wrapped her arms around her from behind. “We love you.” Anaya closed her eyes. “I love you too.” Her family surrounded her. And for the first time that day, she allowed herself to cry. Quietly. Without making a sound. She cried because she was tired. Because seven times was a lot. Because every time she allowed herself to hope, someone reminded her that the world still saw her wheelchair before it saw her. But beneath the tears, something else was growing. Not bitterness. Not anger. Something stronger. Acceptance. Maybe marriage wasn’t going to happen for her the way it happened for her sisters. Maybe she would never have the story everyone expected. Maybe she would remain single. And perhaps that was okay. Anaya looked toward the window. The late afternoon sunlight spilled across the floor. She whispered under her breath. “Ya Allah…” Her voice trembled. “If marriage is written for me, bring me someone who sees me.” She paused. “Not my father’s money.” “Not my degree.” “Not my face.” “Not my disability.” “Me.” She closed her eyes. “And if it isn’t written for me…” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Give me the strength to accept that too.” She opened her eyes. And somehow, despite everything that had happened, Anaya felt peaceful. She didn’t know it yet. But the seventh rejection was not the end of her story. It was the moment her story truly began.