The gentle hum of quiet conversation filled the Khan residence as the final preparations drew to a close. Outside, the night was still and clear, lit by a bright crescent moon that hung softly over the garden.
Inside, Sumayya sat on her prayer mat in the corner of her dimly lit room. Her henna-stained hands rested lightly in her lap, intricate floral patterns trailing down her wrists—a traditional touch her mother and Layla had spent hours applying earlier that evening amid soft laughter and joyful tears.
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