Beneath Loves's Veil

3. ROY G BIV

As I carefully pinned the last dot onto my hijab, the distant song of an Asian koel drifted through the air, signaling the arrival of a beautiful morning. The night had been accompanied by a gentle rainfall, its soft patter soothing against the roof. Now, with the rain ceased, the sun emerged, casting a warm glow over everything. The scent of damp tarmac and fresh plants wafted around me, a simple yet delightful reminder of nature's presence. With determination, I decided that today, my class would enjoy their first lesson outdoors in the school gardens.

I heard the creak of my bedroom door opening, and as I turned, I spotted my mom entering. "Assalamu alaikum, ummah," I greeted her cheerfully. She responded with a nod and a quiet "wa alaikum assalam." A feeling of unease settled within me as I noticed her somber expression. She moved across the room, adjusting the curtains with a decorative rope to let more sunlight in. While doing so, she posed a question, "Do you have plans for today after school?"

"Yes," I replied. "My friends and I are planning to go to a restaurant at One Galle Face."

Her response was firm and unwavering, "Cancel your plans and come straight home."

"Why?" I inquired, a sense of dread creeping over me.

"There is a prospective groom coming to see you. Aunty Sahar set it up," she explained.

My heart sank at her words. "But I was looking forward to visiting these friends after such a long time."

"I don't care," she retorted, her tone sharp as she turned to face me. "You are 25; it's time you got married."

"But ummah," I protested softly, hoping to reason with her.

"No buts," she interrupted, her tone edged with anger. "Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me at Hafsa's wedding? All the aunties at my table bombarded me with questions about why you aren't married yet. They kept reminding me that their daughters, who are younger than you, are all either engaged or married."

As the pieces fell into place, I realized the source of her troubled expression at the wedding two weeks ago. "No wonder her face was like that," I thought to myself.

"Once you get married, we can start finding a prospective groom for your sister, Arwa," she added, her words hanging heavily in the air.

As questions swirled in my mind, I couldn't shake the confusion about why everyone seemed so fixated on my marital status. Who was this guy coming today anyway? Amid my contemplation, my mom's voice broke through my thoughts.

"Oh, and when they come to see you, tell them that you will be quitting your job soon. No one likes a working wife," she instructed, her words landing heavily on my shoulders.

"But ummah," I began, attempting to explain, "the whole reason I got this degree was because..."

"Because what?"she interjected sharply. "Is that degree going to give you children? Is that degree going to sleep with you at night? Is that degree going to take care of you once we are dead?" Her words pierced through me, leaving me speechless and retreating.

"Okay, ummah," I murmured timidly, conceding to her wishes despite the turmoil within me.

Growing up, navigating around my mom's moods became a familiar dance. We clashed often, and guessing her temperament was a daily challenge. Watching my friends enjoy effortless relationships with their mothers filled me with longing. Don't get me wrong, I adore my mom, but sometimes I just wished I could open up to her without fearing her judgment.