Five years ahead of time after the incident, Roselle bloomed beautifully. She had learned, forgiving doesn't mean she needs to have them with her at all cost. Forgiving is freeing them from the guilt of not being forgiven, forgiving is freeing ourselves from the cage we put ourselves into.
Counting days, for the day she and Hakeem will finally be companions. Her house was filled with new decorations and furnitures. It seemed like a whole new chapter. Her grandfather had bought her the house that she used to live in when she was little. Although filled with unforgiving memories, that was the place her mother had once loved. The house was just around the corner, not too far from her grandparent's house.
Roselle stood in the middle of her newly furnished home, fingers running along the edge of the dining table, the scent of fresh wood and jasmine lingering in the air. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting soft golden hues over the space. It felt warm now, lived in, loved.
She had spent the past five years rebuilding, not just this house but herself.
The walls that once held whispers of pain now carried laughter, framed pictures, and shelves filled with books that once comforted her on sleepless nights. The old, worn-out furniture was replaced, but she kept small things, her mother’s favorite vase, the embroidered cushion that used to sit on their couch, tiny reminders of a love that once existed within these walls.
And now, in just a few days, this house would no longer be just hers.
She smiled to herself as she traced her fingers over the lace fabric of her wedding dress, neatly hung by the window. The thought of finally becoming Hakeem’s wife brought a warmth to her chest that she never knew she could feel again.
Her phone vibrated on the kitchen counter.
Darren: Is everything ready for the big day?
A small chuckle escaped her lips. Darren had remained a constant in her life, though from a respectful distance. He had his own life now, pursuing his career, traveling, building something for himself, but he never failed to check in.
Roselle: Almost. Just need to double-check a few things. You’re still coming, right?
His reply was instant.
Darren: Wouldn’t miss it for the world.
She put the phone down, letting out a deep breath.
Her heart felt light.
She had learned that forgivenes wasn’t about forgetting. It wasn’t about erasing the past or pretending the wounds had never existed.
It was about moving forward.
And she was finally doing just that.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
Her grandfather.
His face, now adorned with more wrinkles, held the same warmth as always. He stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room before settling on her.
“It looks beautiful, child,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “Your mother would have loved this.”
Roselle swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. “I’d like to think so.”
He walked over, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready?”
She smiled—soft, sure.
“Yes.”
For the first time in years, she truly was
_____
The days leading up to the wedding felt like a dream—one filled with soft laughter, warm embraces, and the quiet hum of happiness settling into every corner of her heart.
Roselle spent her mornings at her grandparents’ house, sipping tea with her grandfather, going over last-minute details with the wedding planner, and responding to endless messages from friends and family. The anticipation in the air was almost overwhelming, but it was a kind of overwhelming she welcomed.
One evening, as the sky bled into shades of orange and pink, she stood in front of the mirror in her childhood bedroom, the delicate embroidery of her nikah dress glistening under the soft light.
She reached for her phone.
Roselle: Hakeem, are you nervous?
A moment passed before the familiar three dots appeared.
Hakeem: More than ever. But mostly, I just want the day to come already. I want to call you my wife.
Her heart stuttered.
Roselle: I feel like I might cry when I see you.
Hakeem: Then I’ll spend forever making sure those tears are only ever from happiness.
She pressed the phone to her chest, exhaling deeply.
A gentle knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.
Her grandfather stepped inside, his gaze soft.
“Can I come in?”
She nodded, smiling as she turned to face him. He stepped closer, holding out a small velvet box.
“This belonged to your mother,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “She wanted you to have it one day.”
Roselle hesitated before taking the box, her fingers trembling as she lifted the lid. Inside sat a delicate gold bracelet, simple yet beautiful. She traced the intricate design, feeling the weight of her mother’s love in the metal. And her eyes holding in the tears, she giggled and looked at ber grandfather dearly. Showing him, the thing she had kept all these years. It was the golden necklace and a pair of ruby earrings, she had kept it safe all these years. And to find out that there's another of her mother's belonging, it made her feel safe. As if her mother is watching over her.
Tears burned her eyes.
“She’d be so proud of you, Roselle,” her grandfather murmured. “Of the woman you’ve become.”
A single tear slipped down her cheek, but this time, it wasn’t from pain.
It was from gratitude.
For the love she had lost.
For the love she had found.
And for the love that awaited her in the days to come.