The mosque ground was filled to the brink with people, all of which were there to witness the wedding Fatiha of AbdulRasheed and Zeenah. He was happy, despite the wedding not what he was looking forth to. But there was this beautiful sensation as being referred to someone's husband. He was now Zeenah's husband.
He smiled again as he shook hands with his father-in-law, and then his friends, whom most of them were able to attend the wedding. Not only that, but they also wore identical clothes. A blue caftan paired with black caps and dark glasses. He was proud of them, of what they did. They depict the northern aura around them, and nothing could've made him happier.
Consciously, he took his phone out of his white Babban riga and peered at the picture on his phone for the hundredth time no
