That morning, the aroma of garlic sautéed with chilies filled every corner of the house. From the kitchen came the clatter of a wok and spatula, echoing back and forth beneath the sound of a cooking show playing on the television.
"Rania!" Her mother's voice rang all the way up to the second floor.
"Wake up! It's eight o'clock!" her mother added.
Behind the still-closed bedroom door, the woman only stirred lazily. Her hand groped around for the phone that had been vibrating on her nightstand for several minutes.
The time on her phone read 8:05. She let out a long breath. Today was Sunday—the only day she could sleep in after spending six straight days leaving for work before the sun had even climbed high into the sky.
But her hopes of enjoying a lazy morning vanished when her mother's voice rang out again.
"Rania! Hurry downstairs! We have company!"
"Who comes this early?" Rania grumbled as she threw off her blanket.
With her eyes still half-closed, Rania finally got up and sat on the edge of the bed. Her long hair was a mess, and the gray T-shirt she slept in was wrinkled too. She rubbed her face several times before standing and walking to the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, she came downstairs wearing a simple long dress patterned with cherry blossoms. She put on the mocha-colored instant hijab hanging behind her bedroom door without caring whether it matched her dress. Her clear, fair face was free of powder and makeup. She only applied a little pink lip tint so she wouldn't look pale.
The moment she reached the living room, she stopped in her tracks.
"Oh, here she is."
A middle-aged woman sitting on the sofa immediately broke into a wide smile.
"Mashallah, Auntie's niece is still as beautiful as ever."
Rania returned the greeting with a polite smile.
"Peace be upon you, Auntie Irma."
"And peace be upon you."
The woman slid a gold paper bag toward Rania.
"Here. I came specifically to give you an invitation."
Rania accepted it with both hands. The gold lettering on the front was immediately clear: Wedding Invitation. Without realizing it, her fingers stopped moving.
"Oh, right," Auntie Irma chuckled softly. "My daughter is finally getting married next month."
"Thank God. Congratulations, Auntie."
"Thanks."
Rania's mother, who had been sitting beside their guest, smiled proudly.
"Friska and her fiancé really got lucky, Ma."
"Yeah, Sis," Auntie Irma replied. "They only got engaged recently, and now all that's left is the wedding ceremony, Ran."
Rania kept smiling—the smile she had used so many times whenever a conversation began drifting toward a subject she actually wanted to avoid.
And sure enough...
"What about Rania...?" Auntie Irma turned to her. "When are you going to follow suit?"
The question sounded light and simple. It had probably been asked without any bad intentions. And yet, for some reason, every time she heard it, something inside her chest felt tight.
Rania drew a slow breath. "Just pray that the best comes my way, Auntie."
"Exactly," Auntie Irma said with a small laugh before delivering her next line. "Don't be so busy working all the time. You'll hit thirty before you know it."
Her mother chuckled too, though she glanced at her daughter. "Yeah, Ma. I tell her that all the time too."
Rania only gave a small nod. She didn't defend herself or argue. She already knew all too well how conversations like this ended.
Someone would say a woman shouldn't be too picky.
Someone would say that time kept moving. Someone would tell her to accept anyone as long as the man was good. As if marriage were a race she had to win as soon as possible.
Fortunately, the conversation didn't last long. After a few more minutes of small talk, Auntie Irma finally said goodbye. After that, the house seemed peaceful again—until her mother's voice rang out once more.
"So?"
"So what, Mom?" Rania asked, even though she already knew where her mother was going with this.
"Friska's getting married next month, and she's four years younger than you."
"So what if she's four years younger than me? That's fine. She found her match and is getting married. That's a good thing, Mom." Rania answered as calmly as she could.
"That's not what I mean, Rania."
Rania, who was carrying the guest's used glass toward the kitchen, paused for a moment.
"Then what do you mean? That I'm twenty-eight and still not married?"
Her mother let out a long sigh. "I'm just worried."
She took the glass from Rania and set it in the sink. Water flowed over the clear surface. Its gentle trickling sounded more soothing than the conversation they'd just had.
"I know, Mom."
"You're twenty-eight already."
"I know."
"Your friends already have two children."
"I know."
"You..."
"Mom." Rania cut her off gently—not in a raised voice or with an irritated expression, but in a quiet tone weighed down by exhaustion.
"I don't want to talk about this right now, Mom," Rania added as she collapsed onto the sofa near the kitchen.
Her mother fell silent. The middle-aged woman watched her daughter for a while before deciding to stop washing the glass and sit beside Rania.
"I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know."
"I just..."
"...want me to be happy?"
Her mother nodded slowly. She dried her hands with the small towel hanging beside the sink, then sat down next to Rania.
"I want to be happy too, Mom."
The words sounded completely sincere. And yet, for some reason, they made her mother's heart ache even more. The woman lying before her had stopped telling anyone about her life a long time ago. She had stopped crying in front of anyone long ago too. And that was what worried her most.
Rania's bedroom was on the second floor, facing the front yard. Once she closed the door, she let out a long breath, feeling dizzy from the question that had once again filled her thoughts.
She sat at the study desk, which was now more often covered with elementary school children's books than novels. In one corner lay several drawings made by her students. Some had drawn houses or landscapes, while one showed a woman wearing a headscarf with large lettering drawn in red crayon:
"Pretty Teacher Rania."
A small smile finally appeared on her face. Her students were probably the only reason Monday mornings never felt difficult. When she was with them, no one cared whether she was married or not. They only cared about what Teacher Rania was going to tell them.
Rania opened her laptop. Tomorrow, she had to teach her first-grade students the syllable beginnings "Ba, Bi, Bu, Be, Bo." She began putting together picture cards.
Balloons.
Stars.
Birds.
Ducks.
Balls.
Her hands moved deftly as she cut the colorful paper. This small task always managed to calm her mind. But the peace didn't last long. Her phone rang.
The name on the screen made Rania reach for it immediately.
Ms. Santi – Principal.
"Peace be upon you, ma'am."
"And peace be upon you, Ms. Rania. Sorry to bother you on your day off."
"It's okay, ma'am."
"Could you come in a little earlier tomorrow?"
"God willing, I can."
"A new transfer student will be joining first grade. Since you handle the first-grade class administration, please help process the re-enrollment and complete the paperwork when they arrive."
"Of course. Have the parents sent all the documents?"
"They've sent some of them. They'll bring the rest tomorrow when they come in."
"Okay. I'll check everything then."
"Thank you, Ms. Rania."
Rania gave a small nod, even though the person on the other end couldn't see her. After ending the call, she looked again at the picture cards on her desk. She had no idea that the arrival of one new student would slowly change her life.
And without realizing it, someone somewhere else was also struggling to carry out a role they had shouldered alone for years.
To be continued...