Long closed dress.
Hijab.
Her face concealed behind a delicate veil.
When she came downstairs, Zayd’s family was already waiting.
A man stood near the window with his back toward her.
“Zayd,” someone said, “this is Layla.”
He turned around.
Layla nearly stopped breathing.
It was Amir.
The man she had spent the previous night with.
Only Amir wasn’t his real name.
He was Zayd.
Her future husband.
Marriage
But Zayd looked at her politely.
No recognition.
Layla suddenly understood why.
Her face was still covered.
He doesn’t know.
If I keep my face covered, he won’t know.
They sat down.
Zayd’s mother smiled.
“We wanted a modest girl who has saved herself for marriage.”
Samira immediately replied:
“You don’t have to worry about Layla. She has never had a man in her life.”
Then, with obvious pride, she added:
“My daughter is still a virgin.”
Layla’s blood went cold.
Only hours earlier, the man sitting across from her had known a very different version of her.
And now her mother was proudly calling her a virgin in front of him.
Then Zayd’s mother smiled.
“Well… our son should at least see the face of his future wife.”
