Dubai: Our first destination: Story

 

Dubai: Our First Destination

After receiving our marriage certificate and, of course, the blessings of our elders, we finally felt that the chapter of us had officially begun.

Well, to be completely honest, Liam's family had been a little reluctant about our relationship in the beginning. They had their reasons. They knew I had flown to China alone for work, and later travelled to Venice by myself, where our relationship had unexpectedly begun to take shape. To them, perhaps, I was a woman who was rather too comfortable crossing borders on her own.

But eventually, hearts softened.

Our families not only accepted our relationship, but wholeheartedly participated in both the Pakistani and Chinese wedding ceremonies. Two cultures, two traditions, two families, and one rather spectacular celebration. There was food, laughter, rituals, photographs, and enough relatives offering advice to last us several lifetimes.

And then, finally, came the part we had both been waiting for.

We flew to Dubai.

Dubai was not simply our holiday destination. It was going to be our first home together.

Liam's work had shifted to Dubai, so the city became the place where we would begin building the ordinary little life that comes after all the extraordinary celebrations.

And since both of us had officially taken fifteen days off, we had grand plans.

We were going to explore.

We were going to roam around the city, discover hidden cafés, walk along the waterfront, see the sights, eat good food, sleep late, and generally behave like two newlyweds who had absolutely no responsibilities.

Except...

We went grocery shopping.

And then we bought household essentials.

And then more household essentials.

And then something else that neither of us remembered we needed until we saw it.

By the end of the day, our romantic Dubai vacation had somehow transformed into a full-scale expedition to furnish a house.

We were exhausted.

Very exhausted.

But there was something strangely beautiful about it too.

These were no longer things we were buying for my home or his home.

They were things for our home.

Our first home.

Once we had finally dragged ourselves, along with our collection of shopping bags, back to the apartment, I decided that if we were going to build a life together, we might as well establish a few rules before life established them for us.

So, sitting together, I announced my first four marriage rules.

Rule number one: When we both came home, especially after a long day, our phones and laptops would be put aside before bedtime. We would talk about our day instead. Even if the day had been boring. Even if one of us had nothing interesting to say. We would still talk.

Rule number two: Weekends would include a date.

This was, without question, my favourite rule.

And there was an additional clause attached to it:

No cooking on date day.

Cheers.

Rule number three: Household chores would be shared.

If I cooked, Liam would wash the dishes.

Fair was fair.

Rule number four: Whenever we argued, we would take at least fifteen minutes, preferably thirty, to cool down before continuing the conversation.

No shouting competitions.

No saying things simply because we were angry.

No turning a disagreement into a courtroom drama.

We could be angry.

We could be hurt.

But we would eventually sit down and talk.

Liam agreed to all four rather surprisingly easily.

At the time, I remember thinking, This marriage thing might actually be manageable.

I had no idea how quickly Rule Number Four would be tested.

The very next day, we went out to buy a few more essentials for the apartment.

We left in a cheerful mood, walking through the store together, comparing things we probably didn't need and debating things we definitely did.

While we were looking around, something caught my eye.

A beautiful cutlery set.

It had an artistic design but still retained something wonderfully traditional about it. I loved it immediately.

I turned to Liam.

"I'm just going to have a look. I'll be back."

And I walked away.

When I returned a few minutes later, I found Liam talking to a woman.

Not talking in a formal, passing, excuse me, do you know where the coffee mugs are? sort of way.

No.

He was chatting with her in a remarkably relaxed and familiar manner.

My internal alarm system went off immediately.

There are moments when the brain needs a whole committee meeting before deciding what it thinks.

Mine apparently didn't.

It reached a decision in approximately three seconds.

I was furious.

I didn't say anything.

I simply walked over, handed him the cutlery, and carried on shopping with the emotional temperature of a freezer.

The journey home was quiet.

Very quiet.

Once we reached the apartment, the silence followed us inside.

Liam tried asking me what was wrong.

I didn't answer.

He asked again.

Still nothing.

By midnight, we had barely exchanged a handful of words.

I knew I was being unreasonable.

I also knew I was too angry to admit it.

Eventually, Liam looked at me and said something that stopped me in my tracks.

"You know our fourth rule, right?"

I stared at him.

He continued, almost patiently.

"We said we'd talk after cooling down."

I wanted to argue.

Instead, I sat there for a moment.

Then another.

And reluctantly, I had to admit he was right.

So I finally spoke.

"I don't understand your behaviour today. That kind of casual conversation isn't really like you. Who was she?"

Liam became quiet.

For a moment, he seemed unsure where to begin.

Then he finally told me.

She was someone he had known during his school days.

Someone he had once liked very much.

Apparently, he had imagined that after college he might confess his feelings and perhaps even propose to her.

But life had other plans.

She went abroad.

They lost contact.

Years passed.

One year became five.

Five became ten.

And somehow, more than fifteen years had disappeared without either of them knowing where the other had ended up.

Until that day.

In a supermarket.

In Dubai.

Of all places.

And there was another little twist to the story.

She was happily married.

With twins.

I listened quietly.

The anger that had been burning inside me slowly began to dissolve.

Suddenly, I wasn't looking at a husband casually talking to another woman.

I was looking at a man who had unexpectedly encountered a small, forgotten chapter of his own past.

A chapter that had never really received an ending.

I felt terrible.

Not because I had been jealous. I think jealousy is sometimes simply the heart's way of saying, This person matters to me.

But because I had judged the situation before asking the story behind it.

"I'm sorry," I finally said. "I was being unreasonable."

He smiled.

And somehow, the entire ridiculous episode became something we could laugh about.

That night, lying beside each other in our new home, we created Rule Number Five.

If either of us ever experienced something embarrassing, awkward, uncomfortable, or simply too difficult to say out loud during the day, we would tell the other person about it later.

But there was one condition.

We would switch off all the lights first.

Because, honestly, if something was already embarrassing enough to confess, the least we could do was remove the witness called eye contact.

And perhaps that was when I began to understand something about marriage.

The rules weren't really about phones, dates, dishes, arguments, or darkness.

They were about creating a safe little space between two people.

A space where we could say:

"This hurt me."

"I was jealous."

"I was embarrassed."

"I don't understand."

"I'm sorry."

"Tell me what happened."

Dubai was our first destination.

But it wasn't really the city that mattered.

It was the apartment we were slowly turning into a home, the grocery bags scattered across the floor, the ridiculous arguments, the late-night conversations, the rules we invented, and the tiny moments in between.

We had arrived in Dubai expecting a vacation.

Instead, we had begun learning how to live together.

And perhaps that was our first real adventure.