Chapter 3 Dreamy Love

Amir's Pov:

I stood on Tala's doorstep, my heart thrumming a rhythm far more complex than any business deal. In my hands was a large, breathtaking bouquet of white orchids and pale pink roses. I had to get this right.

Her parents answered, their expressions a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "Come in my boy," her father said, his voice cautious. I smiled gently and noded my head slightly, the picture of respect.

"Mr. and Mrs. Haddad, thank you for allowing me to visit on such short notice," I said, my voice polished and sincere. I could see the immediate impression it made. Her mother's stern facade softened ever so slightly.

Then Tala appeared, looking pale and shocked, her hair a mess. She'd been unwell, but to me, in that moment, she was the most real thing I'd seen in years. She was speechless, her eyes wide, first at me, then at the flowers.

I didn't waste time. This was the moment. In front of her family, with her looking far from her "best," I wanted to show her that I wanted her, not a perfectly curated image. I got down on one knee on their living room rug, the movement practiced yet suddenly feeling incredibly genuine. I pulled out the velvet box.

"Tala," I began, my voice clear and steady, capturing the room's complete silence. "All these years, the memory of your smile was the one honest thing in my life. You are the smartest, kindest person I have ever known. You were my savior then, and you are my hope now. Will you make me the happiest man alive? Will you marry me?"

She clapped a hand over her mouth, tears instantly welling in her eyes. A choked "Yes!" was all she could manage before she burst into full, happy sobs. Then, in a whirl of mess and emotion, she turned and ran upstairs, crying uncontrollably. Her mother shot me a look I couldn't quite decipher, some mixture of shock and approval-before hurrying after her.

Her father stood for a moment, then stepped forward and took my hand in a firm grip. "Congratulations, son," he said, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "Welcome to the family."

The wedding was a month later. I was meticulous in my planning. I found a cobbler to craft dress shoes with the most significant, yet discreet, lift possible. We rehearsed everything. We practiced our first dance for hours, finding a way to hold each other that felt natural and prevented her from having to stoop or me from being stepped on. We choreographed the photos, with me often standing on a slightly elevated spot or us sitting down, ensuring I didn't look like a dwarf next to her statuesque frame. I was determined that our wedding album would not be a source of mockery.

Throughout it all, Tala's parents were endlessly supportive. "You two look so cute together," her mother would coo. Her father would clap me on the shoulder and say, "There's absolutely nothing wrong with a couple where the woman is taller. It shows a confident man."

The morning of the wedding, I overheard her mother telling Tala, "Your inner beauty, my dear, it always shines on your face. It makes you the most beautiful girl in the world."

I peeked in and saw Tala, looking stunning in her gown, giving a dismissive little shake of her head. "Oh, Mom," she whispered, "that's just something all mothers say."

But as I looked at her, standing there so radiant and strong, I knew it wasn't just something mothers say. In her case, it was actually true, her kindness and pureness made her stand out and it highlighted her natural unique beauty, I've seen many women and met many women in my life, I admit...I would have gone for a different kind of woman if I was searching for looks. And my original plan was to get close to Al Nassir CEO's daughter, but my plan's changed, and now Tala was who I needed and she's the woman I chose.

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Tala's pov:

I was drowning in a sea of my own misery, wrapped in a stale blanket and convinced my life was a tragic epilogue to a story that never really began. Then, he appeared...

Like a miracle summoned from my deepest daydreams, he was just there. Standing in our living room, holding a bouquet so beautiful it looked like it had been plucked from a celestial garden. My brain short-circuited.

After four years of silence, after I had carved his name on my heart with a blade of regret, he was here. And he was more handsome than even my memory had allowed, his smile a beacon that instantly vaporized the gloom I'd been huddled in.

My parents were there, their eyes wide, but the world had shrunk to just him and me. He was so polite, so charming with them, and I was a speechless, disheveled mess in my pajamas. I wanted to vanish. But then... he did the impossible.

He got down on one knee.

My heart stopped. The air vanished from my lungs. Time folded, and it was just us, back under that college tree, but now he was here, in my present, making every foolish hope I'd ever clung to real.

"Tala," he said, his voice the most beautiful symphony I'd ever heard. "All these years, the memory of your smile was the one honest thing in my life."

He remembered my smile. He'd been thinking of me! All this time!

He called me the smartest, kindest person he'd ever known. He said I was his savior then and his hope now. Every word was a balm, a spell, a key unlocking a happily-ever-after I'd thought was reserved for silly soap operas.

When he asked, "Will you marry me?" my "Yes!" was a sob torn from the very core of my being. The joy was so violent, so overwhelming, it was a physical pressure behind my eyes and in my chest. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. The sheer force of my happiness was terrifying. So I did the only thing my overloaded heart would allow-I turned and ran, crying uncontrollably, fleeing up the stairs as if I could escape the intensity of the bliss that was chasing me.

The following month was a blur of rose-colored delirium. My Amir, my prince, was so wonderfully attentive to every detail.

He was obsessed with finding the perfect shoes for the wedding. It wasn't about his height, of course not! It was so poetic! He wanted to be just tall enough to look directly into my eyes without me having to look down. He wanted to see my soul more clearly. He told me my eyes were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he wanted to see them more clearly on the day of our wedding.

And the photo rehearsals! Oh, we must have tried a hundred different poses. He was so determined to get everything perfect. I knew why. He wasn't worried about being made fun of; he was an artist crafting our masterpiece! He wanted every picture to be a flawless testament to our epic love story, a symphony of angles and light that would capture the fairy tale we were living.

He'd hold my hand and say, "Just a little more to the left, my love," and I'd melt, knowing he was ensuring our album would be as perfect as our union.

When my mother would say, "There's nothing wrong with the woman being taller," I'd just smile indulgently. She didn't understand. This wasn't about "right or wrong." This was about Amir wanting to create a perfect, harmonious picture, a visual sonnet for the world to see.

On the morning of the wedding, my mother told me my inner beauty made me the most beautiful girl in the world. I brushed it off as a mother's duty, but a part of me wondered if maybe, just maybe, that was what Amir saw too.

Maybe he saw past everything, my height, my awkwardness, my tears, maybe he saw a beauty that only his love could truly illuminate. He saw the storybook heroine, and he had finally come to claim his queen.