“Mommy, please—don’t worry about anything. I’m going to work. All the hard times are behind us. From now on, you’ll be a lady of the house.”

“What do you mean…?” she said, recalling bitter memories—how he had once promised her the same thing, and how it had ended.

“Exactly that. Samad and I are taking on all your burdens now. You’ll focus only on yourself—and maybe our kids someday.”

“God willing,” she whispered, glowing with joy as he embraced her. Damir understood what she feared.

“From now on, everything will be different, Mom. I’m not alone anymore,” he said quietly.

Everyone loved Aaliya—even Samad. Surely it was the blood connection—she was Tatar too. From his warm gaze and smile, it was clear he admired her—her modest appearance, her attentive manner. She constantly poured tea, asked if anyone needed anything. The Iranian mother kept murmuring in Farsi, stroking the girl’s hair and shoulders, and Aaliya responded with shy smiles, eyes lowered. Damir was beyond pleased. He was bursting with pride. Good choice, he thought, silently thanking God—and his mother, who had insisted on it.

The following night, dinner was held again—but this time at Aaliya’s home. The Saidi family met her parents, and through two translators—Saher and Damir—Mrs. Emine, smiling conspiratorially at Zulfiya, once again formally asked for Aaliya’s hand. She presented the girl with a beautiful set of jewelry: a necklace, earrings, and bracelets—from both herself and Omer. She had shown the gift to Zulfiya in advance, making her blush with embarrassment. She couldn’t afford even a quarter of such a present, but they quickly reassured her, insisting she had already repaid everything many times over. Zulfiya eventually agreed to play her part in the engagement.

Aaliya’s parents were also modest, ordinary people. They accepted the proposal, thanked them for the gifts, and gave their blessing for their only daughter to move to another country. But they made Damir promise that he would cherish their daughter and take good care of her—and allow her to visit them whenever she wished. Everything moved quickly, just as Damir had planned.

Within two weeks, they had secured a wedding date at the civil registry, booked a banquet hall, bought everything they needed, and on July 18, 2015, Damir and Aaliya officially became husband and wife.

The wedding banquet was modest—just a few relatives, a couple of close family friends, and a handful of the bride and groom’s childhood companions. Damir danced the wedding waltz with his new wife, unable to take his eyes off her beauty. She had flawless makeup, her hair styled like royalty, and the jewelry she’d received the night before added a glowing aura to her look. When it was Samad’s turn to give his blessing—having agreed on it with his parents—he presented an original gift: the keys to a small truck for Aaliya’s father.

On their first visit to her home, Samad had noticed an old delivery truck in the yard. Later, he learned her father used it for work to support the family. Now, they had decided to replace it. After the heartfelt congratulations and cheers, Samad joked,

“Now I’ll have to marry a girl from Iran—just to keep up with Damir.”

Everyone laughed and cheered the idea. Tatar indeed! He said. And proud of my blood!

“I never thought I’d be celebrating my son’s wedding in the very town where I gave birth to him,” Emine whispered to her husband as they stood together watching the couple walk away.

“It was a beautiful wedding,” Omer added. “Simple, in a Russian style we’re not used to—but I liked it. And you, darling?”