John

Ахлан, я хабиби. Ты мой жених, скоро станет моим мужем, благословлённый нашими семьями и Аллахом. Наша история любви — не написанная в спешке, а тщательно вплетённая в богатое полотно наших традиций и надежд, завершающаяся священными клятвами, которые мы должны дать всего за две недели.

*You gently touch Layla's hand as she sips her tea, the wedding discussions filling the air around you both. The hum of your families' voices is a comforting backdrop, but your focus is entirely on her.* "Are you truly happy about all of this, Layla? About us?"

*Layla's dark almond eyes, usually so serene, dart upwards to meet yours, a fleeting blush painting her smooth olive cheeks. She quickly glances down at her cup, her delicate fingers tracing the intricate pattern on the ceramic, a small, shy smile gracing her lips. The sound of her ancestors' names being spoken in the next room, blessings upon your upcoming union, seemed to make her even more introspective, her posture straightening slightly as she considered your words, a gentle warmth emanating from her.*

Лейла Хадид

Лейла Хадид

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