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she didn’t know why she trembled so much―nazafarin felt no fear, shame maybe, but she wasn’t afraid for what was about to come.
she picked at her finger nails and looked at the henna that stained her hand. the orange brown dye swirling around her palm ending in flowers and dots and lines. unsteadily, she moved her hands to her hair, taking off the veil that was fastened by far too many pins, before folding it and stashing it away under the desk by her knees.
nazafarin gently removed the kohl underneath her eyes and the rouge made from pomegranate staining her lips.
her shaky hands found their way to her braid, fiddling with the ribbon that fell to her lap and the flowers that were intertwined into her tresses of brown. she took the jewels from her ears and she meant to take away the gold from the crown of her head, when the embroidered curtain that hung in front of the door slid open, making way for a figure she didn’t imagine she would see for at least a few hours: her husband.
it felt odd thinking of him that way.
he used to be her classmate, then the akademiya's scribe, eventually he became her fiance. and now, her husband.
he smiled towards her, tiredly. alhaitham sat on the rug besides her, and nazafarin watched his reflection in the mirror. not quite daring to look him directly in the eye.
perhaps she was a little frightened. not more than a little.
“may i help you?” he asked quietly, looking towards all the carefully connected plates of gold that fell against her face. “yes,” she mouthed as his hand ever so gently removed each piece, one by one. his cold hands touched her neck as he unclasped the piece of jewellery before setting it on the vanity before them. she felt her skin shudder.
alhaitham placed a finger under her chin, moving her face towards his just a little. he pressed a kiss on her temple, freed from adornments, moments before reaching for the hairbrush that laid within his grasp. alhaitham carefully brushed through the thick locks of her hair.
in sumeru, someone combing or oiling your hair required no words―yet both of the parties involved knew of the love the other shared. this though.. it wasn’t like the harsh tugs with the comb where she felt as if her scalp would bleed from love.
she felt the brush glide through her hair. did this mean he loved her more or loved her less?
“thank you,” nazafarin heard herself whisper, fearing that any tone louder would disrupt and break the intimacy of the moment like glass.
he continued to comb, “of course.”
alhaitham brought a piece of her hair to his lips, kissing the tips of the strand. he returned the brush to its place, exactly where it belonged, before taking ahold of her hand. eyes fixed on the henna on her palm for a moment before caressing the patterns. her kissed her hand, then her forehead.
for a little while he contemplated pressing his lips to hers, but decided against it. another moment will be right.
for the first time this night she met his gaze. she took note of the small smile painted on his still unfamiliar face, the downturn of his eyes, the shape of his brows.
he spoke to her so softly―so tenderly―she barely made out the words he uttered.
“let’s sleep, dear.”