...

Khadijah.

I heard when he began waking me up before Fajr, but I faked sleep, determined to remain motionless until he had left the room. None of his movements escaped my notice; I remained acutely aware of when he slipped out for the bathroom and then later departed for the masjid.

With quivering lips, I forced myself out of the bed and out of the room entirely, the blanket tightly wrapped around me as tears streamed down my face like a waterfall. Seeking solace, I took a long bath, allowing the warm water to wash away some of my pain. Afterward, I locked myself in a separate bedroom and prayed.

Once I finished my prayers, I recited the thirty-sixth chapter of the Holy Qur'an, the soothing verses enveloping my frantic mind. Finally, I wormed my way back to the bed. Once I was safely cocooned in the blanket, I let my thoughts consume me. It's safe to say that I cried a bucketful of tears before sleep claimed me swiftly.

Thankfully, he let me be.

I didn't wake up until eight AM and even then, the only reason I mustered the strength to leave the room was the relentless hunger churning in my stomach.

Covered from head to toe, I cautiously walked out, fervently praying and hoping I wouldn't run into him along the way.

I should've locked him out earlier.

A curse escaped my lips at the belated realization; if only that thought had come to me sooner, I could have indeed done just that. There was nothing left to be fearful of anymore.

Some days, we wake up on the right side of the bed; other days, on the left. I obviously awoke on the left side this morning because I found Tahir standing outside my door the moment I stepped out.

Impulsively, I turned around, intending to retreat back into my room, intent on ignoring his presence, but he followed right behind me. I felt the steady build-up of an unhinged temper, an emotional storm brewing within me that he had never witnessed before, but I kept walking.

He caught up with me just before I could turn the locks and close the door behind me. Still, I refused to halt my pace until I was wrapped up in the blanket, sitting on the bed with my eyes clenched tightly shut, trying desperately to block out the image of him, and all he had done to me.

"Khadijah," he called out, his voice low. "You've prayed?"

A scoff escaped my lips, quickly followed by an exaggerated eye roll.

He called my name once more, and I battled the overwhelming urge to strangle him, to throw him out the window, to regain my peace. Tahir had done the absolute worst thing I could have expected from him. Our marriage was meant to be platonic—a simple arrangement—nothing should have happened. The recollection of my silent decision pressed down on me, making another bitter tear slide down my cheek. I swallowed hard.

"Khadijah?"

"I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to see you. I don't want you near me." I cried out from within the blanket, shuffling my feet in a futile attempt to throw a tantrum, only to stop abruptly as soon as I started. Even that small show of frustration felt painful.

"I want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. Leave me alone!" I exclaimed, one hand emerging from the blanket, pointing at the wall, hoping it were the direction of the door. "I don't want you here."

"Look, I'm sorry," he began, inching closer to me, but his words only ignited my distress further.

"No, please, please don't come any closer. I don't need your pity. What's done is done. I just need to be alone; please let me be," I pleaded, my vulnerability laid bare before him.

After a heavy silence stretched between us, he finally turned and walked out, leaving me alone with my chaotic thoughts.

I crawled back into bed after counting the alphabet backwards, giving my weary body the rest it desperately needed before fully awakening for the day. Then, I could sit and reflect on what truly transpired between Tahir and me. I wasn't an idiot; I understood what it all meant and what could possibly follow after this, but for now, sleep took precedence and I let it steal me away to la-la-land.

When I next awoke, it was to the relentless chiming of my phone, ringing incessantly like a stubborn alarm bell. In a daze, I fumbled to silence it, quickly activating Do Not Disturb mode without even glancing at the caller ID. As the noise ceased, I checked the time and found it was ten minutes past ten AM, the morning already well underway.

The situation with my stomach remained unchanged—grumbling quite loudly. Unsteadily, I made my way to the bathroom, a sharp hiss of pain escaping my lips as I momentarily forgot the predicament I was in. The sensation was jolting. Carefully, I prepared myself a scorching bath, hoping to ease the soreness that clung to my body.

As soon as I returned to the bedroom, my eyes flew straight to the closet; its door was conveniently situated not far from the bathroom's. I moved to the vanity table first, thanking the Lord for Amna and Ya Aisha, who had taken it upon themselves to tell me where so many of my belongings were located. Without their guidance, I surely would have been utterly lost. After moisturizing my skin and literally marinating myself in softly scented perfumes, I headed to the closet.

Beneath my breath, I mentally arranged the words I would choose to tell Tahir when I saw him next. My eyes landed on a beautiful Moroccan dress, its minimal designs catching my attention as it hung in the closet. I knew immediately that it was the perfect choice. First, I slipped on a turtleneck shirt beneath to protect my hands and neck before shrugging on the dress, feeling lost in the soft fabric as it sifted gently between my fingers.

Returning to the bedroom, I applied kohl and lip balm, then wrapped a jersey veil around my head before stepping out of the room, calming the hammering of my heart with each deliberate breath.

I decided to venture into the kitchen to feed the growling monster that was my stomach. Much to my displeasure, Tahir was sitting at the table, a chair pulled out as he seemed to be lost in thought, his expression far from the carefree man I had known. The instant he sensed my presence, I instinctively tried to slip back to my room unnoticed, but unfortunately, he caught sight of me.

"Khadijah," he called out, his voice deep and mellow, reverberating through the room.

I wasn't ready to face him. Not yet.

With my back still turned to him, I attempted to create distance with my body language, as if that would shield me from the memories of our last encounter.

Memories of everything he had done to me the night before surged back, each recollection sending a wave of sensation from the tips of my toes to the crown of my head. It scalded. Tahir was one hell of a rotten man, far from the trustworthy man I had relied upon.

"You must be hungry," he offered, his tone warm despite the tension. "Ammi sent breakfast for us. Come take a seat, and I'll serve you."

"No, I can do that myself," I replied, a little too sharply, my voice quivering. My back still stubbornly turned towards him.

I heard the sound of Tahir's chair scraping against the floor, and the realization that he was approaching made me walk a few steps closer to the door without turning around. The words I had arranged in my head to hurl at him had flown out the window the moment I had stepped into the kitchen and caught sight of him.

See, more evidence that I had woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

He seemed a lot different from the Tahir, Ya Mukhtar's friend, that I had always known. This version of him was way meaner.

"Have a seat, Khadijah."

"I can serve myself," I insisted, blinking rapidly.

"Facing the wall?" he asked, a hint of teasing and sarcasm lacing his tone, making me see red.

Yeah, so?

He was just being polite, my conscience muttered.

Well, he shouldn't be, I snapped back at myself, frustration simmering just beneath my skin.

Okay, I thought, I'm nuts for talking to myself, shaking my head as if that would make the thoughts scatter.

"Do you want coffee or tea?" he asked, breaking the thick atmosphere with his question.

"Tea, thank you," I responded, a little more consistently this time.

Forcing myself to step away from the wall, I slowly turned around, avoiding his gaze as I approached the table, fervently hoping he would take the hint and leave the room, granting me the privacy I absolutely needed.

Tears blurred my vision as I took a seat, fighting back a wince. Tahir noticed, our eyes met briefly, and as though a dam had broken, the floodgates opened. I couldn't help myself; I couldn't halt the torrent of emotions that engulfed me, and before I knew it, I was bawling my eyes out as the realization fully hit me.

I wasn't a maiden anymore.

He walked around me, pulling me into his arms as the tears began to pour. I sobbed noisily against him, calling out my mother's name in search of salvation, clutching tightly onto his shirtfront, my fingernails digging deep into the fabric, and the skin beneath. He rubbed his hand soothingly over my back while the other held my head securely against his chest.

Tahir let me cry for several minutes, cradling me in his arms until I lost track of time. Throughout my breakdown, he didn't refrain from whispering soft, encouraging words against my ear.

It'll be alright. Everything will be fine. You're going to be okay.

Says who? I couldn't be okay. I couldn't even stop the tears from falling anymore. Hell, I couldn't raise my head from his chest—doing so would mean I would have to meet his gaze, and I simply wasn't ready for that.

I wasn't ready to meet his gaze. I wasn't ready to act strong. I wasn't ready to simply exist today, if that made any sense at all.

It all boiled down to the fact that Tahir's words of comfort felt far from the truth. Nothing was alright. I couldn't see any indication that things would be fine in the near future.

A sob wrenched from the deepest part of my chest, prompting him to hold me tighter.

"It's me, ko, Khadijah?" he whispered softly, "I hurt you, kiyi hakuri, kinji?"

That made me sink my nails even deeper into his shirt.

I cried harder.

Several minutes passed before my sobs began to lessen, though my body still shook from the force of it. I vehemently refused to raise my head from his chest, instead choosing to flatten it against the hardened part of him until I regained some semblance of sanity. Alternatively, I fantasized about the idea of turning and running to my room, if my legs wouldn't give up on us.

Tahir pressed a gentle kiss on the top of my head, then placed his fingers on my chin, intending to raise my head.

My eyes remained tightly closed.

I felt him inspecting my face. Then I felt the warmth of his lips kissing a trail of tears on my cheek, an intimate gesture that sent chills down my spine.

I ducked instinctively.

Shoving my hands under his shirt, I used the fabric to wipe away my tears. The unexpected heat of his bare chest smacked me in the midst of my action, jolting me to the realization of what I was doing. Like a deer caught in headlights, I began to slowly retract my hands from his shirt, but he held me in place, his hands resting gently over mine.

"It's okay, you can wipe your tears with it."

With his hands guiding me, I complied, unable to escape the sensation of grazing the skin beneath his shirt. Unlike me, Tahir wasn't bothering to avoid making contact with his bare chest; he wasn't being careful at all. In fact, if I was in possession of all of my senses, I would've assumed he was deliberately trying to make contact.

Once my face was void of tears, I shuffled around him to the sink, splashing cool water on my face as I struggled to process what came next.

Food.

"You should sit in the living room; you'll be more comfortable there." He suggested.

Alright floor, swallow me whole. Swallow me whole!

I fought the urge to twirl my finger around my ear, a gesture to ask if he had gone crazy for voicing that out. Still avoiding his gaze, I silently acquiesced to his suggestion and walked out, knowing I was in the capable hands of the man who had promised he wouldn't hurt me last night, but inevitably did.

Oh, he said and I quote, "Khadijah, I won't hurt you, not deliberately."

I should've read between the lines and fled before it was too late. But, I had to believe a man. Now look what it cost me.

A few minutes later, Tahir joined me in the parlor, placing a plate of fries and loaded scrambled eggs in front of me while he took one for himself. I accepted a steaming mug of tea from him, added milk and sugar before taking a much needed sip—a gulp to invigorate myself.

The gentle clinking of plates punctuated the peaceful silence as we ate together, disconnected from the chaos that surrounded us, until his phone rang. His eyes flicked to mine and then back to the phone, and before I could stop myself, I raised my eyebrows, my curiosity piqued, as he took the call.

"Hello... Kamilah," he answered, and my brow shot up; it was a woman.

While I chewed on fries, a good part of my attention drifted to his conversation, trying to catch snippets of what was being said, but my attempts were futile.

Hey! I was a naturally nosy person.

"I'm actually busy," he sighed, sounding irritated.

More chatter came through the phone, then he ended the call, muttering something under his breath.

I stood up with my plate in hand, recalling how wobbly I felt on my feet, I decided to sit back down. He understood the situation, and graciously took my plate to the kitchen.

After he left, I returned to my room, looking around at the furniture and décor, admiring everything in the space I had come to call my own, albeit reluctantly.

A soft knock echoed on the door, prompting me to clear my throat as I permitted the person outside—most likely Tahir—to enter. Before he could open the door, I quickly slipped beneath the covers, my back plastered to the headboard, and my gaze fixated on my fingers.

"Get your rest, zamu shiga gaida su Abba later when you're ready," he began after settling on the edge of the bed, his tone gentle, and filled with an authority that left no room for dispute.

"Okay," I replied softly, feeling confounded by the thought of meeting his parents. "I can get ready now. I'm okay."

Could I really? I couldn't even meet his gaze. What about his parents? I might drop to the floor and lose my eyes the moment they appear in my view.

"No. You need your rest first; everything else can come afterward." He spoke firmly, his resolve unwavering as he emphasized the importance of my well-being.

I nodded, grateful for his insistence on prioritizing my comfort. But then again, it was all his fault. If he had kept his hands to himself, none of this would be happening. Instead, I would have probably been smiling. Or brainstorming an easy way out—a viable option for both of us: a platonic marriage.

My lips trembled at the thoughts that had once felt feasible.

Tahir continued speaking after I was done making faces. I realized he'd caught me when an amused expression crossed his face. "After that, I'm going to show you around the house, or we can do that tomorrow," he said, his eyes darting down to my feet and he sighed, appearing to sense my discomfort.

"No, it's okay; you don't have to. I can get one of the girls to do that with me," I said cautiously, feeling increasingly conscious of myself as I flexed my toes subtly beneath the covers.

"I insi—"

"Honestly it's no problem; Haifa can do it. You don't need to," I interrupted, my neck heating up.

"Alright," he conceded, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

A not-so-comfortable silence settled over us. Tahir insisted that I lay in a more comfortable position on the bed, and being the good girl I was, I complied. With him in the room, his presence both comforting and unnerving, I eventually drifted off to sleep.

...

When I finally awoke from my nap fully this time, the first thing I did was grab hold of my phone. Deciding to check missed calls first, I found three from Amna—thought as much—along with three from Ya Mukhtar, one from Bashir, and four from Zayd.

Four missed calls, Zayd. Really?

A surge of irritation coursed through me at the thought of Zayd. The idiot knew I had just gotten married; what could he possibly want?

I moved on to check the messages. One was from Ya Mukhtar, three from Amna, and one from Zayd. I opened Zayd's message first, and it read:

Zayd: Hey! Heard about your marriage. Wishing you the best.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, then appreciated that he was being polite, despite the fact that he had initiated this whole ordeal. I replied with a simple "thanks," before moving on to the other messages.

Ya Mukhtar: Khadi, good morning! How are you guys? Regards to Tahir. Call me when you're free.

Amna: Heyya! How does it feel waking up as a married woman?

Amna: Feels good, or just meh?

Amna: Or am I disturbing/being a distraction? If yes, then do not, I repeat, do not reply me. If no, call me.

Shaking my head, I chuckled at her silly predictions. But suddenly, everything came crashing down on me like a volcano erupting with hot lava, the reality of my situation hitting me like a freight train.

I was truly a married woman in every sense of the word.

I wouldn't be living with Mama and Baba again.

Ya Mukhtar wouldn't knock at my door for breakfast anymore.

Ya Bashir wouldn't grumpily take me out to run errands.

Ya Ayshaah won't be able to call me over to look after her kids, leaving them at my mercy and laughing at their antics while I tried to juggle all their little demands.

I won't be able to wear any sort of clothing and take silly selfies with Amna anytime I wish to, or showcasing our goofy moments on social media without a care in the world.

All hell broke loose at this point. It felt as though my eyes had transformed into a wonderland of tears, overflowing uncontrollably. I cried and cried and cried for what felt like an eternity, then shifted my position to allow the fresh wave of sorrow to wash over me once more.

The hatred for Zayd surged within me, and I desperately yearned to call him and unleash a torrent of profanities on him, but part of me knew it was my fault too.

This is what Allah (SWT) has planned for me.

After calming down, I decided to call Ya Mukhtar first. He picked up on the second ring.

"Khadijah Abubakar Bello. You had me worried. How are you doing?" he began, the sound of his voice making me feel a knot forming in my throat.

"Ya Mukhtar, I'm fine, Alhamdulillah. What about you?" I managed to say, forcing the words out while fighting hard against how tight my throat felt with emotion.

"I'm fine, Khadijah. Were you crying? What happened to you?" His concern enveloped me like a warm blanket, and it made me burst into another chapter of tear-shedding.

Overwhelmed, I immediately cut the call and laid on my stomach, squeezing my eyes shut tightly to block out the world around me.

Several moments later, the sound of the door getting opened reached my wars. It closed softly, and for a second, I thought Tahir had just peeked in and left, but no, he approached me from behind.

"Khadijah, are you crying?" he asked softly, repeating the question when I remained silent.

"Talk to me please," he urged, his voice gentle yet persistent.

"I'm not crying. I wasn't crying," I managed to breathe out, the words escaping like a whisper of frustration.

Tahir didn't respond after that; instead, I felt the dip in the bed as he settled beside me. He wrapped his arms around me, cradling me close against him, soothing me with silence and the steady brush of his palm over my back.

"It was supposed to be a platonic marriage," I whispered under my breath, unsure whether he heard me or not.

A deep breath from him alerted me that he had indeed heard, and I braced myself for whatever response might come next.

...