“Oh yes, me too. May Allah grant them happiness—that’s the most important.”

“May Allah grant it,” he echoed.

“And our Saher danced so much—did you see the way the local boys were staring at her?”

“No, I didn’t. But don’t worry. With Damir’s reputation, no one’s getting near her,” he said with a proud laugh, pulling his wife into a hug.

Damir’s childhood friends pitched in and booked the couple the best suite in the city’s top hotel as a wedding gift. They decorated it with flowers and rose petals on the bed, and the hotel staff set up a small table with sweets and drinks.

Following tradition, at the entrance of the banquet hall, Aaliya threw her bouquet. Girls—and even some boys—scrambled for it in a chaotic scuffle. In the end, the bouquet landed in the hands of the strongest guy there. The whole scene was hilarious. On their way to the hotel in a limo decked out in white flowers and wedding rings, Damir couldn’t stop laughing.

“The girls wanted your bouquet so bad, it almost turned into a wrestling match!” he joked. Aaliya laughed too.

“And that clever one who caught it—‘also a girl,’ apparently. Wants to get married just as much!”

They kept joking the whole ride until, red-faced from laughter, they arrived at the hotel. Moments later, standing in front of their suite, Damir turned serious. He bent down, lifted his bride into his arms, and carried her inside. Then he stopped.

The room was dimly lit, glowing with candlelight. Soft romantic music played in the background. Aaliya gasped. Damir smiled at her reaction and asked gently,

“Do you like it?”

But without waiting for a reply, he leaned in and kissed her, pressing his lips to hers in a long, passionate kiss. Still kissing, he carried her toward the bed, gently laid her down, and leaned over her, his lips never leaving hers. Then he paused, looked into her eyes, smiled, and said, “You’re so beautiful… You drive me crazy.”

“I’m thirsty,” Aaliya blurted out.

Maybe she really was thirsty—or maybe she was nervous. Damir froze for a second, then pulled her into his arms, sat down beside her, and reached for the juice. She sipped slowly, sometimes looking at him, then lowering her eyes, drinking and drinking. Something wasn’t right. He stood up and gently helped her to her feet. Taking the glass from her hand and setting it on the table, he pulled her close. Placing one hand on her waist and the other in her palm, he led her in a slow, romantic dance to the soft music playing from the speakers. Aaliya lit up. Seeing the joy in her eyes, Damir felt deeply happy.

The entire next day, they didn’t leave the suite—just basked in each other’s presence. Damir extended their stay for five more days and told the family they had gone on an impromptu honeymoon. Samad later brought them a bag packed by their mother with clothes and necessities. When he knocked, Damir answered the door—his hair tousled, wearing only a loosely tied bathrobe. Samad burst out laughing.

“Shhh,” Damir said, stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

“Sorry—I can’t invite you in.”

“It’s fine, I get it.”

Samad handed him the bag, then asked with a grin,

“So… how’s married life treating you?”

Instead of answering, Damir just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Samad laughed again. They stood there like real brothers—as if no bad blood had ever passed between them. Damir took the bag, thanked him, and slipped back inside.

“Why was he laughing?” Aaliya asked suspiciously, standing by the window in her own plush robe.

Damir set the bag down and walked over. In one smooth move, he let the robe slip from his shoulders and kissed her on the neck.