Assalamu Alaikum Wa Rahmatullah wa Barakatuh, Welcome to Khadijah's story,
Dear Reader.
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Khadijah.

I ran straight to Ya Aisha's house, fully aware that Mama had nothing reassuring to say to me. Beneath my breath, I kept muttering, "dead meat," understanding that I was, if not worse, exactly that.

I knew I looked horrendous, but at that moment, I couldn't care less about my appearance; all I wanted was to find someone who could truly hear me out. Baba's words were always serious, and I knew that no matter what mischief I had been up to, he never raised his voice at me. His reprimands were always laced with gentle scolding, but nothing compared to the gravity of today's outburst. It was scary.

Barging into her house without knocking or even saying Salaam, I called out my sister's name in desperation. "Ya Aisha! Where are you, please?" I cried, my voice wavering and breaking as it battled through the hiccups that seemed to swallow my words.

"Khadi! What happened? Why are you crying?" She asked, rushing towards me, her expression filled with concern.

I simply flung myself into her arms, hugging her tightly, surrendering to the waves of emotion as I continued to cry, even as she guided us to a nearby sofa, where she sat with me almost fully seated over her laps.

"Tell me, mana Khadijah, do not leave me in the dark. Haba Khadi, please stop crying and talk to me," she urged, her voice filled with worry.

"It's Baba fa Ya Aisha. Wai, he's getting me married," I managed to choke out between the fits of hiccups.

She narrowed her eyes at me, silence following after my words. A minute later she released a huge breath. "Ahh, what did you do this time around? You must have done something to provoke him." She paused, heaving a sigh. "Anyway, go and wash your face so that we can talk without tears streaming down your face, kinji, zakici Waina?" She offered, her voice gentle, the words laced with genuine care.

My ears perked up at the mention of the delicious meal and I immediately nodded, gratefully accepting her suggestion as I made my way to the nearest toilet, eager to follow her instructions.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I took note of how my eyes had turned to a shade of crimson red and how tiny they looked, it was mirroring my emotions. Sensing the arrival of a mighty headache, I held my chin and whispered, "I'm in deep trouble," to myself.

After a while, I turned the door knob and silently walked out of the toilet. As I made my way to her kitchen, the alluring aroma of Ya Aisha's miyan taushe wafted through the air, it was a scent I was all too familiar with. Believe me when I say I can identify every single soup I know from its aroma, well, maybe not all of them, but you get the idea, right? I'm a foodie.

I settled onto one of her dining chairs, patiently waiting for her to finish what she was doing in the kitchen because no way was I gracing that part of her house with the emotions coursing through every single part of me. Neither did I possess the energy to stir the soup, nor could I serve myself.

The only thing my brain knew we could deal with was the actual eating process. Thankfully, she served me herself and sat until I began eating.

Once we had eaten, Ya Aisha encouraged me to share my troubles with her, and I did, pouring out my heart to the one person I knew would truly understand.

FlashbacK.

I was sitting on Mama's one-sitter sofa, engaged in a lively conversation on the phone with my 20-year-old boyfriend, Zayd.

"But Zayd, you know I missed you more, right? There is no way you could say..."

"That's because you don't know how I feel, knowing I can't come over to see you tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after. How I wish we never left, babe. I miss you so much!" He replied. The longing in his voice tugged at my heartstrings.

"Baby," I cried out, feeling sorry for the both of us. "When are you coming over? Har wani fever nikeji (I'm feeling feverish) all because of your absence." I admitted.

"Babe, I feel much more feverish than you do. We will meet soon, don't worry," he reassured me, his words wrapping around me like a cozy love-filled blanket.

"Allah ya kaimu," I said, smiling from ear-to-ear even though he couldn't see me.

"Amin, we'll talk later. I love you."

"I love you too," I pouted, my voice taking on a whiny tone as I spoke.

After ending the call, I raised my head with a triumphant smile, only to be met with a shocking sight.

Could you believe that Baba's very contorted, very much furious face was staring right back at my soon-to-be-dead one? I didn't even realize when I slipped from the sofa to greet him, my voice shaking with absolute terror.

"Babe? Miss you? I love you? In my house?!" He scoffed, his expression a mix of disbelief and rage. "Khadijah, are you out of your mind?" He asked, glaring at me. "Tell whoever was on that phone to send his parents over. I've repeated this over a thousand times in this house, I do not accept this nonsense, this insolence. Since you cannot get what I told you straight into your head, then that does it."

"Alhaji..." My mom intervened, trying to get rid of the tension. I had no idea when she had joined us.

"No, Hajiya! Let me deal with this girl. She thinks she's above reprove in this house. Let me prove to her that what I say is final, not what she says!" He thundered, angrily.

All I knew was that tears streamed down my face as I profusely apologized, but Baba heard none of it. When I saw him grabbing a charger, panic surged through me, and I immediately stood up, racing over to Mama, attempting to hide behind her back while continuing to rain down tears in bucketfuls.

"Alhaji, calm down! Let's not handle this issue like this," Mama said, knowing just how to soothe her husband's temper.

"Toh, Khadijah, sit here," she pointed to the floor between herself and Baba. "Tell me the rules your father imposed on dating in this house."

After a few moments of silence on my part, she pressed, "Don't test my patience, Khadi."

"He said," I began, then paused, taking a glance at him. His eyes on me had me lowering mine and I forced myself to continue. I gulped hard. "No frivolous relationships, either I marry immediately after secondary school or after graduating university."

"And?" She urged me to continue.

A minute passed without a word from me. I doubt if I was even breathing at all.

My father, not one to condone trivialities and my blubbering turned to his wife. "Hajiya, let me deal with this girl right now." He interrupted, surprisingly calm and controlled this time.

"Khadijah!" The room reverberated with the anger in his voice. His tone, unyielding. "I expect you to present to me this boy or his family in a week. In any case it passes the time I gave you then you leave me with no choice." He ground out.

Gritting hard on his teeth, he casted a dark look on me. I fought a shiver. Then, his attention moved to my mother and in a tone brokering no room for argument, he spoke, his words ringing loud and clear with a finality that could not be contended with.

I knew he recognized the confusion on both my and Mama's faces, which was why he added, "To marry you off to the person of my choice in the time of my choosing, and no one has a say in this."

My heart pummeled to the ground.

Baba rose up his seat, the finality in his words echoing in the silent room.

My gaze strayed to Mama, the pain flickering through her eyes flying away with the breeze after her first blink and with nothing but flatness in her eyes, she shrugged at me.

Like myself, she was helpless against Baba's command.

I took a glance at the retreating figure of my father, then my eyes moved to Mama who was massaging her forehead with a pinched expression on her face, her eyes tightly shut.

Bewildered to the point of freezing in my spot, I shook her head once, then twice before forcing all of my energy into my legs, letting them carry me as far as they could, straight to my sister's marital home situated within the walls of the Bello Mukhtar's family home.

                 End Of FlashbacK.

"Kinji fa Ya Aisha, talk to him, please!" I pleaded, desperately tugging at her shirt sleeves.

She made a humming sound. "Khadijah Abubakar, it's as if you don't know your own father. Once Baba says something and finalizes it, you know just how utterly serious he means it. So you have no choice now but to speak about this with your Zayd."

My eyes widened to the size of ring donuts. Zayd. Marriage. I snickered.

"Ya Aisha, Zayd is 20 years old!" I exclaimed. "He's just a year older than me, and he's in his third year too. There is no way..." My voice trailed off into a hushed whisper at the end, confusion and uncertainty whirling through me.

Her brows met the top of her head and with a little laugh, she affectionately rubbed her hands around my arms, urging me to meet her gaze.

"Khadijah habibti, honestly speaking, you have no way out. Baba will never consent to marry you off to a child, an undergraduate that is even if this Zayd of yours is ready, I highly doubt that ma." She paused, thinking. "A 20 year old boy Khadijah? Seriously, what in the world possessed you?"

I squirmed in my seat wanting to explain to her how it all started. Zayd pursued me and he knows the right words. I love my boyfriend. But at the moment, I was bleedin' doomed if I do not fish a way out for myself. Baba wasn't one of those people who make decisions in the heat of the moment and back down when they are back to being level-headed. No. When he says it, he means it.

And, I know he meant it when he said he would marry me off to someone if I didn't present Zayd to him.

It wasn't even possible. I know all about Zayd's plans for graduation and marriage and they come in this exact order: graduate school, get a job..

Wait. It occurred to me that we never made actual marriage plans. Yes, we have plans for when we marry but not plans on when we get married.

My shoulders sagged.

Could I marry a total stranger? Someone my father chose?

"I need to look for a husband." I blurted out after minutes of silence.

I know Ya Aisha probably thinks I'm being irrational, but come on. Marriage to a total stranger is a total nightmare. I couldn't stomach the thought of it.

Ya Aisha narrowed her eyes, huffing loudly. "Khadijah what you're talking about isn't easy at all. In my opinion, I suggest you let Baba make a decision. That is the only viable way out, Baba will never marry you off to an irresponsible man, he'll choose the best man out there for you." She paused, looking into my eyes and squeezing my fingers softly. "Just look at Ya Kabir and I, we weren't even close before we got married, we only used to exchange pleasantries, nothing beyond that. Look at us now, aren't we happy? Alhamdulillah, Allah has blessed us with peace and three wonderful, albeit naughty kids and I am always grateful for that. For Baba's choice."

She ran a hand gently over my head, her voice soft. "Think about this habibti, and turn to Allah for his guidance."

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Assalamu Alaikum Habibtis.

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