Misfit in Love (Saints and Misfits #2) - S. K. Ali Page 0,48
in life is born then it dies
After the storms the rooted plants do rise
So let pain die and plant yourself deep
Till this whole wide world falls down at your feet
* * *
Mom comes over with Auntie Maysa, who spends thirty minutes draping me in a sari and making sure I know how to walk in it. It’s a good thing that the henna party is all women, because the black top I’m wearing is midriff baring and has a scooped back, and shows a lot more skin than I’d like.
Auntie Maysa declares me proficient in walking, adds a ton of black and silver bangles on both my wrists and long glittery earrings to my ears, and Mom approves the way I did my hair (in a bun with two curled tendrils on either side of my face), and so they allow me to go check on Sarah, who’s moved on to getting her makeup done. Linda said the makeup artist has been hired to make over me, her, and Mom, if she wants, as well.
The master bedroom is full of Sarah’s friends, including Zayneb, Khadija, Dania, and Lamya. Everyone’s outfits make a cacophony of color and shine and shimmer, but Sarah, sitting in a chair by the window, is just the most beautiful vision of all.
Her jilbab is peachy pink and hangs down to the floor, laden with heavy beading and embroidery in matte gold and gray. It’s cinched at the waist with a matching, similarly embellished belt that’s tied at the left side, the long golden-tasseled ends reaching her hem. The neck is scooped low to allow all her jewelry—several traditional necklaces and a heavy set of earrings—to shine. Atop all this, her hair lies in descending waves framing her happy, beaming face.
Sarah usually goes without makeup, and is stunning bare, but now, with the help of the makeup artist’s touches, she looks utterly amazing.
She reaches out a hand when, in the mirror in front of her, she sees me enter. When I go over, she squeezes my hand and comments on how beautiful I look.
“Sarah, stop. This is YOUR day. You look unbelievable but also believable because you’re you.” I give her a hug—carefully, since she’s crusted with gold and her face is done. “Can I take a picture? Muhammad’s going to want to see this.” Once she nods, I hold out my phone and snap several while Deirdre, the makeup artist, adds a layer of powder to her face. After she finishes, Sarah stands so I can take full-length pictures of her.
And then all of us girls in the room gather around Sarah, and Deirdre takes more pictures with our various phones and cameras.
“Hey, remember, everyone! No posting pics anywhere! Most of us here are hijabis!” Zayneb calls out. Her long curly hair is in ringlets all the way down to her waist. She looks amazing.
Khadija grabs me to exclaim over my “sophisticated” outfit, but I can’t stop from squeeing over her. She’s in a deep burgundy sheath dress that hugs her belly proudly and falls off her shoulders. It’s a shimmery fabric with an underlaid orangish sheen to it, so when she moves, it’s like another dress. Her hair is tied up high and then falls in thin braids that skim her bare shoulders, which are grazed by long—super long—twinkling, gold earrings.
Dania and Lamya, in matching suits, Anarkali as well, but in pink and orange respectively, come to fawn over Khadija with me.
EVERYONE LOOKS SO GOOD.
“I confirmed that the house is free of male presence right now. So we can go practice in the basement before Sarah comes down.” Zayneb speaks low so that Sarah, near the window still getting pictures with Linda and Mom, doesn’t hear. “She’s only going to appear downstairs when her mom, aunts, and cousins have arrived, so we have time.”
“How am I going to practice in this?” I indicate my sari to Zayneb. “You said I can’t.”
“Just don’t do the feet movements. We’ll be mostly just going over our placements anyway. And guess what? We got someone for the middle.” She ta-das her hands toward Khadija. “Khadija’s going to be the seated queen at the center.”
Khadija nods. And does the screw-lightbulbs move for me as Zayneb goes to gather more dancers.
“And we’re going to drape pink and orange dupattas on her so she matches,” Dania says. “We already tried it out and it’s perfect.”
Khadija nods again and spreads jam on her face, then on her belly, before speaking. “This is Maysarah’s