Chapter Two: When Hearts Began to Lean

Nīkah Written by Qādr, Tested by Genotype

Chapter Two: When Hearts Began to Lean

We lived in a community where no one talked about genotype. It was one of those things that existed quietly in the background, yet no one gave it the attention it deserved. Only a few people even knew what genotype compatibility meant in marriage, and among those who knew, many still ignored it. People got married based on emotions, family approval, and sometimes pressure, without understanding the possible consequences. Despite that, it was rare to openly see the effects, or maybe people simply chose not to speak about them when they happened. Whenever such issues arose, they were hidden behind statements like “it is destiny” or “Allah knows best,” and life moved on as if nothing had ever gone wrong.

As for us, we grew up without giving it much thought. At fifteen, our biggest concerns were laughter, friendship, and the simple joys of life. But as we grew older, things began to change in ways we did not fully understand at first. By the time we reached seventeen, life no longer felt as simple as it used to be. The days seemed to move faster, and our thoughts became deeper. We were no longer the same girls who sat under the neem tree without a care in the world. Something inside us had shifted.

We began to notice things we had never paid attention to before. The way people spoke, the way they looked at us, and even the way our own hearts reacted to certain situations. It was confusing at first, but slowly, we began to understand what it was.

It was love.

Not the kind we heard about in stories or saw in others, but something personal, something real that started growing within us. It did not come all at once. It started with small things—simple conversations that lasted longer than usual, moments of silence that felt meaningful, and thoughts that stayed in our minds longer than they should have. Before we realized it, our hearts had begun to lean toward people in ways we could not easily explain.

One afternoon, we gathered again under our usual neem tree, but this time, everything felt different. The same place that once echoed with carefree laughter now held a new kind of silence, one filled with unspoken thoughts. We sat together, but instead of immediately joking and teasing, we seemed to be waiting for someone to say something important.

Tasliyah was the one who finally broke the silence. She looked at us, hesitated for a moment, and then said, “There is something I need to tell you all.”

Her voice was different, softer than usual, and it immediately caught our attention. Sajidah leaned forward with curiosity, while Sawberah watched her closely. I remained quiet, sensing that whatever she was about to say was not something small.

Tasliyah took a deep breath before continuing. She told us that there was someone in her life, someone she had been speaking to for a while. His name was Harun, and he lived not too far from her house. At first, their conversations were simple and harmless, but over time, they became more frequent and more meaningful. She explained how he listened to her, understood her, and spoke about the future in a way that made her feel secure.

As she spoke, her face carried a kind of softness we had never seen before. It was clear that this was not just a passing feeling for her. Sajidah reacted with excitement, expressing how happy she was for her, while Sawberah listened with a gentle smile. I, however, could not help but ask if her family knew about it. Tasliyah quickly shook her head, explaining that they did not, but she believed that he was serious and that things could eventually lead to marriage.

Her words introduced a new reality into our conversation. Marriage was no longer just a distant concept we spoke about jokingly; it had become something that felt closer than ever before.

As we were still processing what Tasliyah had shared, Sajidah suddenly admitted that she, too, had something similar. At first, she tried to downplay it, but eventually, she revealed that she had been speaking to someone for almost a year. Her tone was filled with both excitement and slight nervousness, as if she had been waiting for the right moment to share this secret.

We were all surprised, especially because she had managed to keep it hidden for so long. She explained that she had not been sure about her feelings at the beginning, but over time, things had become more serious. She spoke about how they discussed their future and how she believed it could lead to something permanent.

The conversation quickly became lively as we reacted to her confession. It felt unreal that two of us were already in such situations. Then, as if it was inevitable, all eyes turned to Sawberah.

At first, she tried to deny it, but her expressions gave her away. After a little encouragement, she finally admitted that there was also someone in her life. Unlike the others, she spoke more calmly and carefully. She explained that they had been talking for some time and that she believed he was a good person with sincere intentions.

At that moment, it became clear that all three of them had entered a new phase of life, one that revolved around emotions, relationships, and the possibility of marriage.

Then they turned to me.

They asked if there was anyone in my life, if I had ever felt the same way they did. The question caught me off guard, not because I had never thought about it, but because I had chosen not to let those thoughts grow.

I answered honestly. I told them that I did not have anyone and that I was not involved in any kind of relationship. They seemed surprised, and they questioned me further, asking if I had never felt anything at all.

I admitted that I had experienced moments, small feelings that came and went, but I had never allowed them to develop into something more. I explained that I was not comfortable building something without clarity or certainty. Deep down, I felt that such matters should not be approached lightly.

They listened to me with mixed reactions. Some of them teased me, saying that I was too careful, while others understood my point of view. The conversation eventually shifted, but the impact of that moment remained.

From that day onward, things were no longer the same.

As time passed and we reached the ages of eighteen and nineteen, their relationships grew stronger. What started as simple conversations turned into deeper emotional connections. They spoke about commitment, about building a future together, and about the possibility of marriage becoming a reality.

Tasliyah often spoke about Harun with admiration, describing how he treated her and the plans they discussed. Sajidah was filled with excitement as she imagined what her future might look like. Sawberah remained calm but sincere, holding onto her belief that her relationship would lead to something good.

I continued to observe them, to listen to their stories, and to reflect on everything that was happening around me. Sometimes I wondered if I was missing out on something important, but at the same time, I felt a sense of peace in holding back.

In a community where relationships were common but not always guided by proper understanding, it was easy for people to get carried away. Emotions often took the lead, while important matters were left unaddressed.

And genotype remained one of those matters.

It was still not discussed, still ignored, and still seen as something unimportant by many.

Yet, deep within me, I could not shake the feeling that it mattered more than people realized. I believed that something so significant should not be left to chance, especially when it could affect the future of a family.

But I kept those thoughts to myself.

Because at that stage in our lives, everything still felt simple to them. Their hearts were filled with hope, their minds with dreams, and their paths seemed clear.

They were experiencing the beauty of beginnings, where everything feels right, where nothing seems complicated, and where love exists without questions.

Untested, unquestioned, and untouched by the realities that were yet to come.

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Written By: Ahmād Zāhir Enagi Abū-Khālif