How is the beginning of my story?

Curious_Al

The wedding was a good month away, and yet preparations had begun for it already. Why Amirah, the eldest daughter of a business elite wanted to marry in a bungalow situated in muggy Pakistan when she had glamorous London at the tip of her fingers, was beyond Zara.
She did not understand Amirah. She was so ahead of Pakistan, so far away from it, and yet she chose it as the place for possibly the biggest day of her life. Zara herself dreamed of places far and beyond the borders of Karachi, Pakistan. The world far and beyond the sweeping bungalow, which seemed to get smaller and smaller the more she knew of it with each passing day. The bungalow was a beautiful place to live in; it had a majestic entrance consisting of a tall, wrought iron gate. A towering wall enveloped the building, with thick green vines clinging to its creamy exterior. Upon entering, the foyer led to a towering staircase, twisting up to the second floor, each bedroom roomier than the next. Zara loved the way the stuffy, humid afternoon slowly turned into a cool, breezy evening, with a single giant palm tree swaying in front of the bungalowâs wide terrace. She loved the way the Shamsi family gathered on the lawn as the sun slowly set behind them, while they sat back in roomy lawn chairs enjoying tea, the smaller members of the family giggling and running over the grass enjoying a game of kabbadi. The way Danya, the bungalowâs head cook moved feverishly throughout the kitchen from morning to night, her plastic flip flops slapping against the shiny tiled floor.

But none of this was hers.

Though Zara spent most her days and nights inside the bungalow, she had no business of calling it home. Her home was a small, dingy shed she shared with her parents and her younger sister, Zoya. Unlike the glittering, three-layered chandelier dangling inside the bungalow, a single, faded out light bulb dangled on a short piece of wire inside her home.
But beside all this, Zaraâs father was happy with what he and his family had, âAllah has given us much to be thankful for, mashAllahâ Heâd say often, âHe gave us the Shamsiâs,â
Zaraâs father was a simple man clearly leading a simple life. He would sleep on the shedâs floor on a pillow stuffed with leaves that left marks on his wrinkled cheeks, âThat is the way the Prophet Muhammad slept,â Heâd beam. Besides his servitude to God, he held servitude to Abdul Shamsi, the owner of the bungalow.
âOur family has served the Shamsiâs for as long as I can remember,â When he was a young boy, he would go to the Shamsiâs bungalow and tend to the garden, do chores, and had been nothing more than a servant, until Abdul Shamsi himself had found him a wife and given him a place to call home, even if it had been just a dingy shed.
âI never wanted to work for the Shamsiâs,â Zaraâs mother, Farida, would scowl to her. âI wanted to do something on my own, all my life and I knew I was capable of it. If I hadnât been forced by my father to marry him, I wouldnât be here today,â Every time this came up, she would knead the dough a little harder, sheâd toss the rice in the air a bit more forcefully, spilling some around. She would teach her two daughters the little she knew, one of them being sewing. When Zara would return after a long day of chores at the Shamsiâs, Farida would be sitting inside the shed, the light bulb glowing directly over her head, she would pat the spot next to her and Zara would skid down next to her mother. After watching her motherâs hands working through the fabric, the shiny silver of the needle poking back and forth, she too would hold the needle in her hand, and she too would make a stitch here, a stitch there.
âWho taught you to sew, mama?â said Zara, impressed by how fluently her motherâs hands worked. If her mother was an expert in anything, it had to be sewing.
She smiled, âJust like you have a Farida in your life, I had one too,â
âNani jaan taught you? She mustâve been very good,â
âShe was,â Farida sighed, âThereâs not much a woman can do here,â
Zara nodded in agreement.
âEspecially women like us, the best we can do is to find something one of us already knows, and then pass it along, hoping to keep the chain going, Iâm only doing my job,â
âYouâre doing a very good job mama, did you see that new blouse I made?â Zara asked.
Farida beamed, patting Zara on the head, âI did, and it was beautiful,â She had smiled so hard that it made her beady black eyes look even smaller than usual, âone day you can open your very own boutiqueâ¦make clothes of your ownâ¦name it after someone specialâ¦â
âIâd like that very much,â
âLike what?â Zaraâs father had just appeared after a long, tiring day at Bata shoes.
âYour daughter would like to own a boutique one day,â said Farida.
Azim frowned. âThere will be no such thing,â
âAnd why not? You want her to rot like the rest of us?â Her voice rose, bouncing off the shedâs thin walls.
âDonât you dare say such things, you evil, ungrateful w

Answer
That was really awesome, are you an author, when you finish you should think about publishing it. you could probably get lots of money from it.

I need some feedback on the beginning my story?

Curious_Al

The wedding was a good month away, and yet preparations had begun for it already.
âBibi, look at these marigolds, you wonât find better in all Karachiâ
âOh, Mrs. Shamsi, name the color and it is yours, however you look stunning in this one right here, and itâs bringing anâ¦an indescribable glowâ
âA waterproof tent? That certainly will require more rupees,â
Flower vendors, food caterers, venue organizersâthe list simply went on, the gates were left open as these people and alike bustled in and out, day and night.
Why Amirah, one of the many daughters of a wealthy businessman, wanted to marry in a bungalow in sultry Pakistan when she had glamorous London at the tip of her fingers, was beyond Zara.
She did not understand Amirah. She was very ahead of Pakistan, so far away from it, and without any second thoughts, she had chosen it as the place for possibly the biggest day of her life. Unlike Amirah, Zara could only dream of places far and beyond the borders of Karachi, Pakistan. The world far and beyond the sweeping bungalow, which seemed to get smaller and smaller the more she knew of it with each passing day. No doubt, the bungalow was certainly remarkable; with its impressive pair of wrought iron gates. A tall, sturdy wall enveloped the building, with thick green vines that clung to its creamy exterior. Upon entering, the foyer stretched to a soaring staircase twirling up to the second floor, which branched off into many bedrooms, each one roomier than the next.
Zara loved the way the stifling, humid afternoon slowly turned into a cool, breezy evening. She loved the way a single giant palm tree swayed in front of the bungalowâs wide terrace as if welcoming and bidding farewell to the many guests coming and going through the wide gates, or how the Shamsi family gathered on the lawn as the sun slowly set behind them, while they sat back in roomy lawn chairs enjoying tea. A pack of children often giggled and ran around the grass enjoying a game of kabbadi, keeping the place alive and careless of the time flying by. Or the way Danya, the bungalowâs head cook moved feverishly throughout the kitchen from morning to night, her plastic flip flops slapping against the shiny stone floor.

But none of this was hers.

Answer
Very interesting and entertaining. (I write myself), but I've always enjoyed others work as well than my own (but people seem to be so interested in mine as well that I don't see much reason to why it is so entertaining).
Now, for me to understand more clearly, you're going to need to give me some background information. (Unless it's a mystery). Like: Where is the story set in, what's happening, or the characters. And also, (this would help me a lot) what time era is this placed in? (I often write in different eras so when I usually read someone else's work I get confused because I'm setting my mind to one place in time and then when the writer tells me it was in a differentt era than what I was thinking I feel like a fool for not realizing it sooner).
But all in all I enjoyed the beginning. Tell hope everything else works out for this story.
P.S. I love how you give wonderful description, by the way.

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Title Post: How is the beginning of my story?
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