Redefining Tradition: Amina's Awakening

As the sun began to set, its golden rays filtered through the windows of the house, casting a warm glow but doing little to cool the sweltering air. The barometer read 99°F.

Amina had been up early, yet she found herself lying in bed, the sheets pulled to the side. The fan above her whirred at full speed while she was engrossed in reading a book that resembled an old journal. The yellowed pages bore stains—signs of time, perhaps.

Downstairs, Radhya, her mom, had been up for a while. She was busy preparing breakfast, already setting aside some vegetables for lunch and dinner.

From a distance, she couldn’t help but notice Muhammad’s pensive demeanor. He sat by himself on the veranda, a place where the family typically enjoyed breakfast on summer days.

“Here, I’ve made some fresh lemonade and mint tea. The scones will be ready soon,” she said, walking in.

“Thanks, dear. Ouf, can you feel it? The papers say we might hit over 100 degrees this week!” he replied.

“I overheard Martha talking about it. It’s going to be the hottest day of the year. Apparently, the last time we hit this record was in 1954,” Radhya said in response.

“That sure was a long time ago! On another note, I’m expecting some news.” He quickly shifted the subject to explain his mood.

“Oh? What news?”

“You know?! The news about the matchmaker…”

“Oooh, THAT news!”

“I think we might have found the perfect match! Confirmation should come soon.”

Just then, the phone buzzed in the living room, its faint ring echoing through the house as if pleading for relief from the heat.

After wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, Muhammad went in and answered.

“Hello?!” After a moment of silence, a familiar voice emerged.

The Sherifs had been diligently working to arrange a marriage for Amina, their second daughter, with a suitable partner. They hoped to uphold family honor and cultural traditions.

There was already a lot of buzz about the arrival of Ziyad, a prestigious matchmaker in town known for making excellent matches within their small community. Muhammad Sherif had done the necessary groundwork, so he expected a call anytime now.

After a few minutes on the call, he quickly emerged back onto the veranda, all smiles.

“Radhya! Radhya! It was him!” Muhammad exclaimed, his excitement palpable.

She was finishing setting the breakfast table and was puzzled by her husband’s sudden jubilant demeanor.

“What is it? What’s going on?”

“I think we found someone. A perfect match.”

“You mean—” was all she could say.

With a nod, he replied, “An answer to our prayers,” holding his prayer beads tightly in his hand. Although sweat streamed down his face, he looked as if he might burst into tears of joy.

“Really? So quickly?” Radhya asked, curiosity piqued.

“An answer to our prayers,” he repeated, glancing up the stairs as if sensing Amina’s presence nearby.

Before they could fully celebrate, another call came in on Muhammad’s cellphone.

“Don’t want to answer it? I can wait for breakfast,” Radhya offered.

“No, I’ll answer it in a little while. Let’s rejoice for a moment.”

Despite the excitement, Radhya felt anxious. Nervous energy compelled her to pace between the veranda and living room.

The heat thickened the air. After the rush of smiles, Muhammad suddenly looked concerned and confused.

For a few minutes, neither one spoke aloud. It was barely 7:57 AM. The tea was getting cold, and the alarm in the kitchen reminded Radhya of the scones she had forgotten. Amina came rushing down the stairs, still in her pajamas.

“Mom, Dad, everything okay?”

“Yes, dear. I just forgot to turn off the oven!” Radhya replied, opening it to reveal the still-edible scones.

As they all laughed, she quickly returned to the kitchen, knowing the day’s meals needed to be perfect for their anticipated guests. In fact, every meal at the Sherifs was elaborate—a ritual handed down from grandmothers to mothers and now to daughters.

While Radhya enjoyed these tasks, Amina frowned at her mom’s bustling around the kitchen. She often wished household chores could be shared equally but preferred to lose herself in books, especially forbidden love stories.

“Let’s have breakfast. Amina, dear, you should go change and join your mom and me.”

“Okay, Baba,” she replied obediently.

As Muhammad urged Amina to change and join them, he took Radhya aside to discuss the matchmaker's news.

They went into the study, a modest but comfortable room for the family. A desk, an old-fashioned phone, two vintage lamps, and piles of neatly labeled folders filled the space. Behind the desk, a large bookshelf lined with encyclopedias and medical texts framed the wall.

Across from the desk, a modern-looking chair and a loveseat awaited visitors. They were old—the velvet fabric worn, one arm nearly falling off while the other side revealed exposed wood. Despite this, they remained comfortable to sit in, though only for a short while.

From a distance, the study provided a blend of nostalgia, serving as a place for secrets, family plans, and sometimes heated discussions.

Radhya sat next to him, ready to discuss their next steps.

“Do you think—” Radhya began but stopped midway.

“I hope so!” Muhammad whispered, closing the door for privacy.

“Me too. I remember the last time we tried to do this.” Her voice tinged with anxiety.

She cracked a window, hoping to allow a trickle of air to ease the stifling atmosphere. The room now felt stuffy, like a sauna.

As they exchanged worried glances, Amina's footsteps echoed down the hallway, drawing their attention. “Are you guys okay?” she asked, peeking into the study.

“Daddy, Mom, are you okay?” 

“Yes, dear, just finishing up here,” her father replied. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

“Give us a minute; your mother and I are finishing this discussion. We’ll join you shortly, dear.”

“Okay, Dad! I was worried because the house suddenly got quiet. It’s so hot! Can we turn the AC on everywhere?”

Despite the air conditioning's efforts, a thick stillness loomed, leaving Amina uneasy. She sensed serious conversations ahead but didn’t know the subject or why.

“Actually, breakfast will be in thirty minutes,” Radhya interrupted.

“I’m starving!” Amina exclaimed before retreating back upstairs.

When they heard her bedroom door close, Muhammad’s phone rang again.

“Hello?!”

“Can you talk?” came a voice from the other end.

“Yes, what do you have?” He answered, his expression shifting to concern as he listened.

“She is alive, man!”

At those words, Muhammad motioned for Radhya to leave. He looked ghostly pale as he processed the implications and took a seat at the desk.

“Why don’t I go set the table,” said Radhya, leaving the room. She always stood by his decisions. They made choices together, and she typically went along with whatever he decided. She gently closed the door behind her and walked back to the kitchen.

The call that caused Muhammad to ask her to leave the study was from an old acquaintance—a detective—informing him that Alia was alive and wanted to return home.

During breakfast, Radhya and Amina sensed Muhammad's distant demeanor. He barely touched his food before retreating to the study once more, leaving the women to share anxious glances.

While thinking about sharing his conversation with Ziyad, Muhammad wrestled with memories of Alia’s disappearance. The fear of their family’s deep secret and its potential effects on Amina’s arranged marriage weighed heavily on him. The summer heat provided no relief. More importantly, his friend, the detective, had called to inform him Alia was well and wanted to come back home.

As he sat down, he couldn’t help but think about the upcoming confrontations. The last one had not gone well with his first child; he replayed the conversation in his mind.

He remembered, “She is fine, man! She has been in town all this time. All she wants is to come back home, with your blessings, of course.”

“I would love to see my daughter again, you know that!” Muhammad had told the detective. Sweat poured down his face as he fanned himself, anxiously adjusting the AC for faster relief. But cool air wasn’t coming out fast enough.

“Well, I can reach out to her. We can arrange for her return. Soon.”

But would Alia’s return jeopardize their carefully arranged plans for Amina? Muhammad didn’t know if his older daughter still harbored any animosity towards him. She had left under contentious circumstances that the family had kept hidden.

The more he thought about that evening and how he and Radhya had announced the arranged marriage with the son of a family friend, the more he felt the air in the study thick and stifling—even though the air conditioning was working overtime.

Just as he contemplated his next steps, he heard the front doorbell ringing insistently. He had forgotten that Ziyad, the matchmaker, had planned to come by.

“Radhya, it must be our guest! I’ll get the door to welcome him in,” he called out. Consumed by so many things happening simultaneously, he hadn’t even had the chance to inform his wife that the matchmaker was on his way.

As the family gathered, Amina walked in. She had overheard her parents whispering to a stranger in the living room. Sensing that the discussion might have been about her, she asked, her heart racing, “What news? Who?” The air thickened with expectation.

Gradually, Amina’s disbelief morphed into determination. “Maybe we don’t have to follow the same path! We can choose our own futures. We can redefine these traditions!”

Little did Muhammad and Radhya know that several months prior, Amina had found a hidden box containing letters from a certain Hassan to Alia. She also kept a journal. All this time, she had been busy reading the entries and learning more about her sister’s fears and apprehensions about marrying a stranger. Alia felt unprepared to embark on that journey. She had also lacked the courage to reveal her feelings for another person. This was why, that awful night, she had run away from home.

The Sherifs and Ziyad, the matchmaker, were stunned to hear Amina speak. She knew the family secret and far more than they had expected. A rush of emotions surged through her. “Let’s not rush into decisions based on others' expectations. Let’s create our own.”

Her parents nodded slowly, starting to absorb this shift in family dynamics. The arranged marriage for Amina still lingered on the table, but one thing was now clear: love could not be forced; it had to blossom in its own time.

Seizing the moment, Amina suggested, “What if we reshuffle the narrative? Instead of insisting on paths that bind us to the past, let’s allow our stories to intertwine and create something new. When Alia comes back, let’s celebrate that as a family.” Taking a deep breath, she continued, “Perhaps it’s not just about me. We can redefine what family means and how we honor our traditions. Those traditions can evolve, just as we do.”

“Exactly,” Radhya agreed. “The question is, will you have the courage to break free?”

Clutching her fingers tightly, Amina felt her resolve deepening. “I want to explore what true love means—for me and for all of us. But it requires honesty about our desires from everyone.”

Upon hearing those words, Ziyad added, “This is about more than just a marriage proposal. It’s about freedom—the freedom to shape destinies without the weight of the past crushing two people.”

“I will not be a pawn in anyone’s game—not my parents’, not society’s. It’s time for me to write my own story—one where I take control.” Amina felt a wave of relief wash over her.

As discussions began to unfold, the air filled with laughter and shared stories. Amina felt cultural barriers crumble. In that moment, she also realized they hadn’t just rewritten her arranged marriage narrative; they had forged a new path for the Sheriff family—a path of connection, authenticity, and a deeper understanding of love’s many forms.

As the sun reached its peak, casting warm light into the room, Amina glanced at her parents, disbelief mingling with hope.

“We did the right thing!” Radhya mused softly, glancing at Muhammad, who nodded in agreement, relief flooding his features.

"But what about the other arranged marriage? What does this mean for Alia when she returns?” Amina asked.

But just then, another ring at the doorbell announced their neighbors, eager to learn the good news. They had seen Ziyad’s car and wanted to know if celebrations were in the plans. The joyous commotion of traditional sweets and laughter echoed through the house, washing away any remnants of anxiety.

Welcoming the neighbors inside, Amina felt an unexpected sense of calm wash over her. In this moment of chaos turned celebration, she understood that this was not just the end of one story but the vibrant beginning of many.