A Vow across the Borders

The next morning, the tension was already brewing like strong tea in a copper kettle.

Noor sat in her sunlit living room, legs crossed, dressed in a soft lilac kurti and ivory palazzos, sipping from a delicate porcelain cup. Her parents sat beside her, visibly anxious. Across from them sat Murtasim's entire family - the parents, Beegum in her obnoxious emerald sari, and even the younger cousins, silent and watchful.

Murtasim stood, leaning against the doorway, hands tucked into his pockets, his shawl draped across one shoulder. His eyes never left Noor.

"So we've decided," Mehnaz began, "the wedding will be in Lahore. Our ancestral haveli has hosted generations of Khans' weddings. Murtasim's brothers, uncles, cousins - all were married there. The traditions must be followed."

"We've already contacted the Qari saab," Beegum added, lacing her fingers, "the nikkah should be held in our mosque. And of course, you'll wear the Khan bridal colors-deep crimson and gold. None of that... pastel nonsense."

Noor blinked once. Twice. She smiled politely, setting her teacup down.

"Lahore sounds beautiful," she said softly.

Everyone exhaled in mild relief.

"But," Noor continued, lifting her gaze, "so does Jodhpur."

Mehnaz frowned. "Excuse me?"

"I said," Noor repeated, straightening, "Jodhpur sounds beautiful too. And if we're talking about generations, then know this: my mother wore maroon Banarasi on her wedding day. My grandmother was married under a canopy of marigolds. And I've dreamt of walking under a mandap since I was a little girl."

Beegum scoffed. "This is not a fairy tale, beti. A marriage is about becoming his wife. You follow his home, his name, his customs."

Noor chuckled. "You mean give up mine?"

"You'll wear what we say, wed where we say," Beegum snapped.

Noor stood now, her spine straight, her eyes gleaming. "No. I'll wear what honors both our roots. I'll wed where our love feels respected. And I'm not here to erase myself just to belong in someone else's story."

Murtasim's lips twitched.

"Such ego," Beegum hissed. "That's what independence does to girls. No humility."

Noor stepped closer to the center of the room. "Humility doesn't mean silence. I'm not asking for grandeur, Beegum Sahiba. I'm asking for equality. There can be two weddings."

"Two?" Jameel repeated, brows raised.

"Yes," she nodded. "A Hindu wedding in Jodhpur, with sindoor and mangalsutra. With my people, my prayers, my rituals. And then a Muslim nikkah in Lahore, with your customs, your people, your celebration. Two cultures. One union. That's fair."

"And if we say no?" Mehnaz asked.

Noor smiled, the softness in her voice betraying the steel beneath. "Then I don't marry."

The room went still. Even Beegum's breath faltered.

For a second, it felt like the world was waiting.

Then, from behind them, Murtasim's deep voice finally broke the silence.

"I agree."

Everyone turned.

Murtasim stepped forward, his eyes only on her. "She deserves her moment, her rituals, her culture. She's not becoming mine. We're becoming us."

Noor's eyes flickered with something unreadable, something softer.

Beegum began to object, but Murtasim raised his hand.

"It's final. Two weddings. One love."

Noor arched a brow. "One love?"

He smirked. "A dangerous one."

The room had no choice but to fall silent. Mehnaz looked away, biting her tongue. Beegum huffed, crossing her arms, clearly offended. But for the first time, Jameel said nothing.

Noor turned to her parents and smiled, her father giving her a proud nod, her mother's eyes moist.

She had claimed her place - not in their shadow, but beside Murtasim, as an equal. Not a compromise. A collision of legacies.

And maybe... just maybe... the devil wouldn't be the one doing the conquering this time.