From Silence to “Yes, I Do” (A Love Marriage in Pakistani Culture)
Introduction : Every love story begins with a spark, but in Pakistan, love marriages aren’t easy—they demand courage, patience, a touch of mischief, and a whole lot of heart. Yet when our love is finally accepted by our families, and the two hearts come together, it feels like pure magic—like the world paused just for us. From being strangers on a park bench, to friends who shared laughter, to husband and wife bound by prayers and love, this poem reflects the humor, sweetness, and struggles behind love marriages in our culture—a playful, heart-fluttering journey with Maryam, the real person who stole my heart and became my answered prayer.
From Silence to “Yes, I Do”
(A Love Marriage in Pakistani Culture)
Islamabad’s evening blazed gold, the world paused to stare,
I sat with a book, but my thoughts were elsewhere.
Then she appeared, a shadow that stole the light—
My heart forgot to beat; she rewrote my night.
She walked with her cousin, two books in her hand,
a purple frock flowing, serene as the sand.
Her smile was a lantern, her eyes like a blaze,
my breath disappeared as her smile lit the flame.
That night I prayed, “O Allah, if You will,
let me walk as her shadow, her steps to fulfill.
If fate has inscribed her as part of my line,
then let her tomorrow be bound up in mine.”
One evening her bottle was left on the seat,
I carried it back with a heart skipping beat.
She smiled, “Oh thank you”—a sentence so small,
yet it echoed inside me, the greatest of all.
The next day she asked, “Have you seen my cousin here?”
I teased, “She’s yours —you should know if she’s near!”
She laughed at my words, “Maybe you’re right,”
and the bench grew brighter, the day turned to light.
“By the way, I’m Shahzad,” I spoke, feeling new.
She answered, “I’m Maryam,” with a smile that grew.
From small talks to laughter, the hours would fly,
I watched how her kindness would color the sky.
When exams made her worried, her face lost its cheer,
I said, “Mary, don’t worry—you’ve already passed here.
Forget what the grades say, forget all the rest,
you’ve already succeeded in my heart’s test.”
She laughed till her eyes filled with tears from the start,
“Shahzad, you’re crazy,” she said with her heart.
“Yes crazy,” I answered, “but only for you,”
and the smile that she gave was a promise come true.
On a rainy day path came a man selling flowers,
I bought roses for her in that soft, silver hour.
I said, “Mary, there’s something I wish to confess,
but don’t slap my face if it fails to impress.”
She laughed that time, “Go on, take your chance,
I promise, dear Shahzad, no slap, just romance.”
Then down on one knee, I offered the bouquet,
while raindrops and laughter kept rhythm that day.
“Mary, you’re my angel, my heartbeat, my prize,
the only dream shining before my eyes.”
She blushed then started yelling, “Get up, you silly guy!”
People are watching, the whole park’s nearby!
I grinned in the rain, “I’ll get up, it’s true—
but only when Mary says, ‘Yes, I do!’”
She laughed through the drops, “Yes, I love you, I swear—
now please, stand up, the whole park’s aware!”
Then she said, “Bring your parents to my house”,
and ask my father for my hand, without a pause.”
Because love in our homeland is never just two,
and after all the thinking, her father said, “Yes, we do.”
The wedding was firelight, music and song,
cousins all teasing, the nights running long.
She sat dressed in red, her eyes lowered low,
my bride, my Maryam, in a heavenly glow.
The car ride was heavy, her tears wouldn’t end,
she wept for her parents, her home she must send.
I teased, “Mary, your crying could water the land,
Pakistan’s rivers would bloom from your hand.”
She struck me in jest, “Oh really, you clown?”
“You think it's funny, if my tears trickle down?”
I grinned, “Even crying, your beauty brings peace.”
She smiled through her sorrow, love’s gentle release.
So ends the beginning—my Mary, my wife, my song,
answered prayers wrapped in jokes, where both hearts belong.
She rested her head on my shoulder that night,
we made a life from small things: roses, prayers, and light.
—Shahzad Sulaiman
Author’s Note (Summary) :
Islamabad evenings have a special beauty. One evening, I was sitting on a bench under a tree in a park, reading poetry from a book. The weather was calm, and the air moved lazily around me. Just then, I noticed her. She was walking with her cousin, holding books. Her smile was light, her eyes gentle and alert like a deer’s, and she wore a long purple frock. The moment I saw her, I forgot how to breathe, and my heart whispered, “That’s it—this is the one, just perfect for me.” I froze, clueless about what to do, so I pretended to read my book.
As she passed by, the calm wind caught her hair, and I thought, SubhanAllah, this girl has pierced my heart like an arrow. Of course, she didn’t notice me—she only saw a random guy in the park—but my life was already changed. Later that night, I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking about her. I whispered, “O God, if it’s written for me, let me walk by her side, just like her shadow.”
Days passed, and I began visiting the park more often. One day, fate helped me. When I reached the bench, she and her cousin were sitting there. I pretended to just walk by, but as I neared the bench, they stood up and began walking away. That’s when I noticed she had left her water bottle. I picked it up and ran after them. “You left your water bottle,” I said, handing it to her. For the first time, she properly looked at me and said, “Oh, thank you.” Even though our eyes met for only a few seconds, that was enough for me.
The next day, I was sitting on the bench with my poetry book, pretending to read. She approached and asked, “Excuse me, have you seen my cousin walking by?” I closed my book and said calmly, “No, I haven’t seen her. She is your cousin, after all—you should know where she is.” She smiled and replied, “Maybe you’re right,” then asked if she could sit on the bench. I said, “Please, sit.” When she did, I introduced myself: “By the way, my name is Shahzad.” She smiled and said, “I’m Maryam.”
Slowly, our small talks turned into friendly conversations. Maryam discovered I wasn’t just any boy—I was respectful, positive, always joking, and had a habit of quoting poetry at the wrong time. One evening, when she was stressed about a college exam, I said dramatically, “Mary, if you fail, don’t worry—you’ve already passed my heart’s test.” She laughed for two minutes straight and said, “You really are crazy.” I grinned and replied, “Yes, crazy—but only for you.” When I first called her “Mary,” her face lit up, and my heart bloomed.
At first, she only saw me as a friend, but time worked its magic. She began noticing the small things—how I listened without interrupting, how I always found ways to cheer her up, and how I respected her boundaries. Then, one rainy day, as we walked through the park, I saw a man selling flowers. I bought roses and Then I said, “Mary, I want to tell you something—but if you don’t like it, please don’t slap me on the face.” She laughed and replied, “Go on, I promise I won’t.”
I knelt on one knee, holding the roses, and said, “Mary, since the day I saw you, my heart beats only for you. You are my heartbeat, my angel from the heavens. I only dream about you. I love you more than the entire world. Will you marry me—accept me as your husband and be my wife?” She was confused and happy at the same time, saying, “What are you doing? All the people are looking at us—please get up!” I smiled and said, “Answer me please Mary, and I will get up.” In a soft, playful voice, she said, “Yes, I do! Yes, I love you too! Now please, get up.” I held her hand and promised, “I will always walk by your side, just like your shadow, and never leave your hand.” Her face lit up, and she smiled, “Then bring your parents to my house and ask my father for my hand.”
The next day, I spoke to my mother about Mary. Marriage in Pakistani culture isn’t easy, and she said, “Son, love marriages aren’t simple. Are you sure?” I replied, “Yes.” After a lot of thinking, she agreed, and we visited Maryam’s house. Her family had concerns too, but with patience, respect, and sincerity, I won their hearts. After months of discussions, prayers, and tension, her father finally said, “Yes, we accept.” That moment remains the happiest of my life.
On the day of our wedding, chaos and beauty mixed perfectly—days and nights of dancing, teasing cousins, flowers, lights, and nervous smiles. Maryam sat shyly on stage, draped in red, eyes lowered, and I couldn’t stop staring. On the car ride afterward, she cried as she left her parents and siblings behind. I handed her a tissue and teased, “With the way you cry, Pakistan’s water crisis would be over.” She hit me lightly, still sobbing, and said, “Oh really? You think this is funny?” I grinned, “Even when you cry, you look cute.” She smiled through tears and rested her head on my shoulder.
And so my dream came true—Maryam finally became my wife.
Disclaimer:
This poem is inspired by real-life experiences and written from one heart to another. It is meant to capture the humor, emotions, and journey of love marriages in Pakistani culture. It is not intended to target, offend, or misrepresent any individual, and should not be used inappropriately. This is a heartfelt story shared in the spirit of love, laughter, and culture.
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