...

Tahir.

When I woke Khadijah up before Fajr, the sight of dried tears on her face had me questioning whether what I did was wrong or too much. Knowing I had exercised a lot of restraint made me feel the slightest bit better. But then, seeing her fragile appearance after she had prayed made me feel as if I had swallowed a brick whole.

Then the guilt came crashing down.

She looked so dejected, self-conscious, and scared. Her anger was justified, and I knew I deserved it.

Running my tongue across my teeth, memories of last night flashed before my eyes, causing a faint tremor to run down my spine. My eyes shut tightly on instinct as the recollections returned to me with the force of a barrel.

While I sat waiting for her to come out for breakfast, I tried to come up with ways to make her feel better, hoping to ease her discomfort. Even though I wasn't in any way regretting how our married life started, I was fully aware of everything I had done and the reasons behind my actions.

However, when she finally joined me in the kitchen, only to turn around and face the wall, it dawned on me that Khadijah wasn't merely angry with me; she was also shy and embarrassed by what had transpired between us. I was aware that girls her age were one hundred percent literate about intimacy; she obviously was too, but the fact that the act had rendered her unable to face me stirred a silly feeling within my chest.

Her reaction—the wince after she sat down on the high chair by the kitchen island—didn't escape me. It sent my protective instincts surging to the surface, igniting a desire within me to alleviate her pain. Then, unexpectedly, she burst out crying, spurring me to take her into my arms, fighting against the temptation to revel in how good it felt to have her close.

Soft, small, and smelling of something feminine, she felt so perfect in my embrace, making the blood in my veins run hotter.

Everything she did amazed me, from her tearful sessions to how she reacted to my attempt to kiss away her tears. She had made direct contact with my torso in her vulnerability, and the way it embarrassed her showed just how sheltered she was. I deliberately refused to let go of her afterwards, keeping her close to me for a few more seconds.

I only found a semblance of relief when she began eating in earnest—only for that to be wrenched away by the sound of Kamila's call coming through on my phone.

Kamila was an acquaintance I regretted crossing paths with. Unfortunately for me, she was also a client of the firm I worked with in Kaduna. To her, work hours mattered not. I had made it abundantly clear that any communication between us was to be held strictly at the office or her project site, yet it fell on deaf ears; she had decided not to take me seriously.

During my university days, I had made the devastating mistake of asking her out on a date once. There had never been a repeat of that folly, but the determined African-American woman thought there could be more between us—in some twisted way, she did not believe in marriage at all. Initially, we parted on good terms, but it didn't take long for her to decide otherwise and pursue me relentlessly. Years after we had graduated, we re-met through one of my friends, AbdulAziz Ibrahim, whom we all referred to as AA. Like me, he also worked in Kaduna, and our reunion seemed to spark Kamila's interest, leading her to think our firm would be the best option for her house project.

I couldn't have been more unhappy about it.

According to the plans I had for the day, I was supposed to go out to meet someone for a work appointment, even though I was supposed to be on a two-week break. But the thought of leaving Khadijah in the vulnerable state she was in didn't sit well with me. I quickly made the decision to reschedule the appointment for another day. She seemed in need of ample rest and care, and I took it upon myself to see to her needs for the day.

...

After Khadijah had gone to sleep, I spent most of my time arranging the office I had set up in my apartment, knowing I would be using it during my stay in Kano. I finished everything before it was time for Dhuhr, on my way out of the room, Mukhtar's call came through on my phone.

Mukhtar confused me when he told me that his sister was crying, accusing me without hesitation of hurting her. But I got it; I'd do the same thing too when it comes to my sisters. It was that protectiveness every brother feels for his sister. I reassured him that I had done nothing and decided to check on her myself.

I knocked on her door twice, but there was no response—only the faint sound of her sniffles escaping through the wood. Even before we got married, I cared for Khadijah like a sister. But now, the situation felt different; she was my responsibility. I pushed the door open and found her lying face down on the bed, her body shaking with silent sobs. Impulsively, I walked over to her.

"Khadijah, are you crying?" I asked softly, repeating the question when she remained silent. Deep down, I already knew the answer to my question—I was the cause of her pain.

"Talk to me please," I implored, concerned.

"I'm not crying. I wasn't crying," she breathed out, her words laced with anguish.

I kept silent after that, listening to the obvious sound of her sniffles and sobs, a contradiction to her denial. Of course she was crying. Taking the space beside her on the bed, I wrapped my arms around her and gently pulled her up, cradling her like a baby.

Khadijah sniffed, her voice barely above a whisper. "It was supposed to be a platonic marriage."

The blood running through my veins froze to ice at her breathless admission. I inhaled a deep breath, wondering if I had heard her right or wrong.

A platonic marriage: non-sexual.

I fought the urge to scoff, wondering where and how in the world she got the idea that marriage between us could be platonic.

Forcing the true emotions I was feeling out of my voice, I asked her, "When did you decide on that?"

Khadijah absentmindedly pulled at the sleeve of my kaftan top, nibbling her lower lip between her teeth, and drawing my attention to the swollen part.

She'd definitely cried enough for the day.

"Before our wedding date was set. I had always planned to let the person my father chose to be my husband know my wish for a marriage in name only, nothing beyond that." She cried, looking up for the barest of seconds to meet my gaze, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

I released a deep breath, trying to steady my own emotions. "Khadijah, that could never have been possible, you know that, right?"

"It could!" she exclaimed, her voice rising with indignation, visibly bristling at my words. "I've been meaning to let you know from the first day you came to visit before the wedding, even yesterday too. But... but now..." Her voice trailed off, and she stared into the distance, seemingly out of words.

Shaking my head at her naïveté, I slowly tilted Khadijah's head up to meet my eyes, wanting her to see the honesty and finality in my words. Thankfully, she acquiesced to my silent request.

"No man could be married to you and not consummate the marriage. In this case, I'll be speaking for myself. I'm sorry for hurting you last night; I'm sorry for every discomfort and for making you feel uncomfortably shy around me." I paused, wanting her to assimilate the meaning behind my words before continuing, "I won't lie to you to make you feel better, and neither will I deny us the pleasure that comes with intimacy. But Khadijah, last night was only the first, and it won't be the last, In Shaa Allah."

She suddenly escaped my arms and fell onto the bed, then proceeded to show me what it meant to throw a tantrum, her animated frustrations a mix of childlike innocence and adult disappointment.

A smile wormed its way over my lips as the reality hit me—I had truly married a bratty child-woman endowed with mood swings and unrealistic expectations.

Platonic my foot!

I backed away, letting her have the space she so desperately needed. Exiting her room and stepping out of the house, I called Mukhtar to appease him that there was nothing to be concerned about, Khadijah was just missing her family and needed time to adjust to the new environment.

But then he said something that made my heart feel heavy with guilt.

"I know if there's anyone I could trust with my sister, it's you, Tahir. And I trust you not to hurt or let any harm come to her. I know she's in your care now, your responsibility. But please, Tahir, treat her like the gem she is. Khadijah is only a little girl."

His words made my conscience nag at me,  incessantly, making me feel the weight of my actions and drowning me in guilt.

With a renewed zeal to right my wrongs, I turned around and walked back to her room, knocking gently on the door. I tried to open it, but it was locked. Giving up as my efforts proved futile, I made the move to leave. However, the door clicked open, and I turned around to see her wearing a beautiful outfit. In all my life, I had never truly pondered how breathtaking she was until now. I had always seen her as a little sister, but now, I could sense a shift in my perception of her.

"Feel better?" I asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

"I do," she replied, brushing past me, her demeanor still a bit distant. Just then, a knock sounded from the main entrance, and I hurried toward it, instinctively wanting to stop her from opening the door in case it was a man. It was a reflex driven by that male instinct, that innate possessiveness that surged deep within me.

Upon opening the door, I came face to face with one of my cousins—Surayya— and Haifa, both clutching two baskets filled with warmers of food and fresh fruits. I stepped aside to let them enter, closing the door firmly behind me.

"Khadijah!" I called out, hoping she would at least respond from wherever she was hiding.

"Na'am," came her reply as she walked in, this time with a veil wrapped around her face, cascading down to her waist.

Haifa greeted both of us with a playful grin while Surayya stood there, nastily chewing gum, her disinterested bearing obvious. Haifa nudged her, prompting her to greet me reluctantly.

"Greet her," I commanded gently, but she simply looked away from me and  mumbled under her breath.

"Sannu, amarya." The girl was mannerless and had a knack for getting under my skin, and at that moment, she was doing an exceptional job; I felt a surge of irritation rising from within my chest. Disrespecting my wife wouldn't sit well with me, no matter how close to a person I was.

Haifa, however, stepped closer to Khadijah, engaging her in a hushed conversation. I turned in time to catch a wide smile spreading across Khadijah's lips, one that enhanced her beauty. Then Haifa hugged her for a brief moment before retreating to the doorway.

"Thanks for the food. Haifa, tell Noor or Sa'eedah to come over," I said decisively as I closed the door behind them.

Turning around, I noticed that Khadijah was no longer in the room. But as soon as I stepped out into the hallway, we collided, and I instinctively steadied her to prevent her from falling.

"Let's go eat. It's masa, and I know you love it." Anyone who knew this girl could attest to her obsession with masa. Yet, to my surprise, she declined this time.

"I'm not hungry; I'll eat later," she responded, scanning the room with a distracted gaze.

"You need food, Khadijah. I won't accept that," I insisted gently but firmly. "Noor or Sa'eedah will be coming over to give you a tour of the house, so let's eat before either of them arrives."

Khadijah nodded reluctantly and walked past me again, a hint of resignation in her movements.

We sat down at the table and ate separately in minimal silence, though she picked at her food as if it lacked appeal—despite the fact that Ammi had taken her time preparing it just for her.

A minute later, Noor arrived in her signature lively style, bursting into the room with an energy that was hard to resist.

She ran over to Khadijah and wrapped her arms around her tightly, and I noted the levels of familiarity between them—a sure sign of their close bond.

"Nooriri, ya kike?" Khadijah playfully inquired, a flicker of her former self shining through the distant mood she had adopted.

"Adda Khadijah, I missed you so, so, so much!" Noor declared, hugging her again, excitement lacing her actions.

"We saw each other yesterday fa," Khadijah exclaimed, feigning surprise.

"Well, I still missed you, and I think I might even transfer from there," she said dramatically, pointing at their roof, "to here," pointing at the floor with an exaggerated huff.

"You're welcome, but you are supposed to be touring me around the house and introducing me to everyone. I'm yet to meet Al-amin," Khadijah mentioned, completely forgetting about her uneaten food.

"So you haven't met dan autan Ammi?" Noor exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Don't mind me; he hates that name! I just can't seem to stop calling him that!" she shrieked gleefully, wrapping her arms around Khadijah once more.

That was the third time Noor had embraced Khadijah, and I was still yet to be acknowledged. I wasn't even complaining, I loved the fact that they were so close already.

"But Aunty Khadijah, you're not eating Ammi's masa! She made this specially for you. Or don't you—no, no, no—you said it's your favorite!" Noor raised her eyebrows in playful accusation, treating Khadijah as if she were a child being scolded.

"It's just that I have no appetite right now. I'll eat it later, In Shaa Allah, I promise," Khadijah reassured her, her voice steady but dispirited.

I just sat there, watching the two, feeling a mixture of confusion and concern. This was not the Khadijah I knew; this one was too calm, almost detached.

Where was Amna's fiery friend? What have I done to the real Khadijah?

I wanted that version of her back.

...