We had been married just over 24 hours and had just finished dhuhr prayer when a friend of the family, my mother-in-law’s dearest friend, kneeled in front of us and grasped our hands in hers, with a look of tenderness and concern.
“Now I need to tell y’all something. This right here, right now? You think this is the love but I have to tell you, this isn’t the love.”
We looked at each other, eyebrows raised, knowing smiles on our lips, the wisdom of those in their early twenties (which is to say none), and indulged her speech.
“This isn’t the love,” she said again. “The love comes later.”
That was all she said, but I took it in and stored it away in the back pocket of my mind, something to pull out from time to time and smile about.
Of course I disagreed with her. We were in love. The shy smiles, the touch here, the kiss there; I had found my happily ever after.
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