"Wait… You’re My Husband?!"
Syafzira had thought long and hard — so hard that her brain felt overcooked — about her beloved mother’s request to find her a husband. For nearly a month — every single day, hour, minute, and second — she had been mulling over this matter. Like it or not, she would eventually taste the sweetness of marriage… even if she was forced into it. But was she truly ready to be called a wife? And if she agreed to her mother’s request, who would be the lucky guy to become her husband? Syafzira wondered for a moment.
Her mother was really something else. Syafzira had planned since primary school that she would only marry at the age of 24. Repeat: twenty-four years old. Not twenty. But it seemed her mother couldn’t wait to welcome a son-in-law. Huh… four more years wasn’t that long, right? Blink and it would pass.
The more she thought about it, the messier her head felt. Back when she was 12, she’d made a vow that she wouldn’t be swayed by any man until she turned 23. That was her life principle. She wanted her husband to be someone she truly loved — her own choice — so that they could walk together towards Jannah. But now… her childhood vows had been shattered into pieces, like they’d been hit by an atomic bomb.
She had read novels — not one, but ten — about forced marriages, contract marriages, three-day marriages that ended in divorce, and all sorts of drama. Sometimes she wondered, if she married the man her mother chose, would she end up in one of those storylines? And if it did happen, maybe it would be sweet: strangers who didn’t like each other, slowly falling in love, ending with a happily-ever-after.
Right now, at this very moment, she, Nurul Syafzira Ezlin, had finally decided to follow her mother’s ridiculous matchmaking plan. Her decision was final. No letters of objection, emails, tweets, or Facebook posts would be entertained.
“Zira, how is it? Do you agree to my request?” asked Puan Nazilah for the ninth time.
“Erkk…”
“Zira, don’t make me cry. Think properly before making your decision. Otherwise, you might not enter Heaven later,” her mother warned casually, just to see her daughter’s reaction.
Syafzira’s eyes widened. She bit her lip, waiting for her heart’s final verdict.
Dear heart, can you love a man who hasn’t stirred your feelings for the past twenty years? she asked herself. Sometimes the mind says yes, but the heart says no.
“InsyaAllah… Zi… Zira… agrees,” she muttered, eyes tightly shut. She didn’t dare to see her mother’s face when she said the word agree.
She slowly opened her eyes… but her mother wasn’t there. The sofa in front of her was empty.
“Ibu!!!” she called, scanning every corner of the single-storey bungalow.
Suddenly, a hand gripped her shoulder. Syafzira jumped into a defensive stance like she was about to start a silat match. Puan Nazilah burst into loud laughter, while Haji Amsyar, who had just entered the house, shook his head and smiled at the mother-daughter antics.
After calming down, Syafzira noticed her mother was dressed elegantly in a dark purple baju kurung moden with a matching designer scarf.
“Where are you going, all dressed up?” she asked suspiciously.
“Papa and I are going to meet Dato’ Haizal and Datin Umairah,” her mother replied with a knowing smile.
“For what?” Syafzira’s brows furrowed.
“To discuss your wedding,” Haji Amsyar interjected.
Your wedding? With who? Surely it’s not that soon?
Before she could protest, her parents left, waving goodbye.
And so, without engagement or merisik, the day came. The day her single life of 19 years ended. Today, she would marry a man whose name, age, and face she didn’t even know — in a simple ceremony at the nearby mosque.
She wore a white gown adorned with pearls and diamonds — chosen by him. Perhaps to match his white baju Melayu. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of both families, she still hadn’t caught sight of him.
When the tok kadi arrived, her heart pounded. The name was called:
“Mohamad Nizam bin Dato’ Haizal?”
The voice that answered sounded familiar. Too familiar. And then… the vows were spoken. Just like that, she was legally his wife.
When he finally approached to slip the wedding ring on her finger, her jaw nearly dropped. No way. Not him.
It was Nizam — her old enemy from primary school, the arrogant boy who once called her “a duck covered in flour” in front of the whole school. The very same boy she had reported to the headmaster, causing him to get suspended for a week.
That night, the war began. Armed with scissors, chilli sauce, and a bottle of water, Syafzira held hostage the most precious thing in Nizam’s life — his giant white teddy bear.
“Zira! Put my teddy bear down before you step over my dead body!” he barked.
“Not until you grant all my wishes,” she smirked.
And so began their ridiculous tug-of-war — part marriage, part childhood feud, part comedy — with no one knowing whether it would end in love or disaster.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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