By the next evening, after some rest, everyone gathered around a festive table that was nearly bursting with food—like a true celebration. Zulfiya and Aaliya, fluttering with love and excitement, bustled around serving the guests. That night, Damir returned to sleep at his family home. He invited Samad to come with him, and Samad, unable to refuse, followed him to their biological mother’s house. He returned to the guest house just before bedtime. The three of them spent the evening wrapped in a warm embrace, sipping green tea. Zulfiya stroked one son, then the other, unable to stop gazing at them. She kept crying and smiling through her tears, mumbling apologies. Damir observed Samad—clearly overwhelmed. He blushed and paled, stumbled over his words, repeatedly asking about her health and needs. His arrogance had completely melted away. It was as if Samad had finally woken up—felt the truth of who he was. He looked around: the poor but spotless little house, painfully humble. It frightened his imagination. This was supposed to have been his life. This home, this bed, this table and spoon—all meant for him. He was afraid to look Damir in the eyes. Now he truly understood how foolish he had been.
In truth, he should be thanking Damir for switching places—not resenting him. Damir read all this in his eyes—and his heart softened. Before parting, he placed a hand on Samad’s shoulder, gave him a brotherly pat, and wished him goodnight—as if he really were his younger brother.
The next morning, Aaliya quietly slipped into Damir’s room, eager for just a glimpse of her beloved. He heard her voice as she chatted with his mother, and soon the scent of her perfume announced that she was standing at the door. Without opening his eyes, he reached out a hand toward her. Aaliya hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He was covered with only a sheet down to his bare chest—more tempting than anyone she had ever seen, even in pictures. But her upbringing didn’t allow her to stare, even though he had been her fiancé for almost six months.
She sat silently, hands folded, smiling shyly.
“I’m covered,” Damir said with a husky voice, pulling the sheet higher up to his neck. Though from the knees down, his muscular legs were exposed. He took her hand.
“How are you, my baby?”
“I’m fine, thank you. And you?” she murmured, still not turning her head.
“Look at me,” he asked gently.
She couldn’t disobey her future husband and turned her eyes toward him, her cheeks burning with blush.
Damir laughed—he adored her modesty, such a rare quality these days.
“Today I plan to ask your parents to let you come with me to Canada. Maybe we’ll even get married in a hurry.”
Her eyes widened, and she flushed even deeper. Damir couldn’t resist anymore. He sat up and pulled her close. His lips found hers, and with a firm motion, he parted them with his tongue, kissing her deeply. Waves of sweetness shot through her body.
She missed him terribly. Damir knew she had been madly in love with him since childhood. Now, at twenty-five, she longed for his kisses and touches just as much as he did for hers. They had kissed before, but always carefully. Now his passion overflowed.
His hands caressed her back and hips, slowly driving her into ecstasy. His lips moved from her mouth to her neck—and when she moaned, he returned to her lips, whispering, “Shhh.” He smiled at her closed eyes and kissed her again. What felt like an eternity later, he finally released her. Her lips were swollen, her head spinning. She stood and adjusted her scarf and hair, nearly stumbling. He watched her, barely holding himself back from pulling her into his arms again. The sheet had slipped completely off, baring his muscular torso. When she noticed, she turned away and covered her face. He laughed quietly, leaning his head back. Then he stood, wrapped himself in the sheet again, and approached her from behind. He kissed her softly on the neck and whispered in her ear, “Soon you’ll be my wife… and I’ll be your husband. Do you know what that means?”
Over a late breakfast, Damir officially introduced his fiancée to the new family.
They decided that tomorrow they would all go to her home to ask for her hand in marriage and discuss the wedding and details. Emine, while still in Canada, had already anticipated this and discussed it with the family. Zulfiya, on the other hand, was embarrassed—she didn’t have the financial means for such an event and bit her lip anxiously.
After the meal, Damir took his Tatar mother aside and said:
“Mom, now that I’ve returned to my blood family, Father has opened a bank account for me. I have money—don’t worry. It’s enough to take care of everything right now.” She looked at him nervously, then over his shoulder at the others. He sighed, searching for the right words to reassure her.
“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.
Chapter 9
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