Nikkah

The Imam's gold robe shone bright under the glare of the winter sun. He smelled of lilacs and

rose petals. He always paid special attention to his appearance dressing himself to look like a

Saudi Ameer knowing it was more important than the words that came out of his mouth as the

book was ALWAYS judged by it's cover in Pakistan. As he went through the ritual of reciting

the Nikkah formalities his stomach growled, his mind on the delicious lunch he knew awaited

him at Cuckoos which was right across the Badshahi Masjid he was currently standing in right

now in front of Mobeen and Zarrish. Much like the shopkeepers who used to go out of their

way to offer free services to Sergeant Abuzar in Liberty, the owners of the restaurants that

lined the food street next to the Masjid treated the Imam as royalty, as if feeding the Imam will

no doubt entitle them to the 72 virgins that await them in the afterlife.

The End

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