Dating : Courage Is The Dress Code

Aasira had decided to attend her ex-lover’s wedding, having convinced herself that this was the closest thing to closure she would ever receive.

Her presence was also meant to demonstrate her own steely mettle to his mother, the dagger-tongued woman she had assumed would one day be her own in-law.

This was the same woman who had so willingly handed over Aasira’s heartbreak to her in the form of an unexpected wedding invitation, all with a cold smile on her face.

Aasira still remembered holding the delicate envelope in her hand. It had surprised her how something that fragile could wield the strength to shove her heart into her stomach.

She clutched her belly now, feeling anxiety flopping around like a fish out of water. There was no way to predict how she would react to seeing him engage in this final act of leaving their love.

Before she began the involved process of getting ready, she ran her fingers over the invitation once more.

Ahmed weds Mahira.

She repeated the words out loud.

There it was, the proof that Aasira was Ahmed’s past. She looked at her naked face in the mirror, trying to will herself to see something other than a has-been ghost.

She next picked up the ornate gown, beaded and covered in tiny glittering mirrors. It had been purchased just for this event, and its flashiness was purposeful.

“Seems like you’re going to a fun party,” the saleswoman had exclaimed, wrapping up Aasira’s purchase in soft tissue.

“Something like that,” she had replied.

Regardless of the sorrow she experienced in the privacy of her heart, Aasira intended to demonstrate jubilance at the occasion, from the attention-grabbing dress she would wear to the glistening smile she would flash.

Ahmed and Aasira had carried on their relationship largely in secret, with only his mother having discovered the truth. Pre-marital relationships were frowned upon in their community. Aasira’s own parents, who were also attending the wedding, had no idea of the emotional toll this event was set to take on their daughter.

She zipped the back of her outfit, carefully lined her eyes with kohl, and applied a dark rouge to her lips.

When she was ready, she examined herself once again the mirror.

“Stunning,” she whispered, flicking the dangling diamond earring she had borrowed from her mother’s jewelry box.

None of this was inspired by a mission to regain Ahmed’s love.

What a shoddy love that was, anyway, disassembling at the first sign of someone else’s disapproval.

All Aasira wanted was to look back at this night, when the passing of years had emancipated her from heartache, and remember that she had not cowered.