...

Khadijah.

I heard the sound of an engine coming to a stop outside, followed by the unmistakable echo of footsteps walking into the house. A part of me wanted to believe it was just Tahir returning home.

However, a voice in my head warned me to lock the door, whispering that it could be someone else entirely.

Ya Allah, I thought, frustration and fear churning in my gut. I shouldn't have let Noor leave.

I clutched the pillow resting on my chest tighter as the footsteps approached my room, my heart racing in rhythm with my anxiety. On the verge of tears, I felt a wave of relief wash over me when the person knocked instead of barging in as I had feared.

"Assalamu Alaikum, Khadijah, are you there?" Tahir's voice came through the door, bringing a sense of reassurance that doused the fear gripping me.

"Yes, I'm here," I replied, hastily wiping away the tears I hadn't realized had been streaming down my cheeks.

Fear: 1, Khadijah: 0.

I stood up and opened the door, making room for him to enter. He walked in looking exceptionally good in the black outfit he wore earlier. It perfectly complemented his build.

His strong physique.

I gulped, quickly averting my eyes, not wanting him to catch me staring.

After exchanging casual greetings, a burning curiosity nagged at me to ask where he had been, but I reined myself in. We've only been married for a day, I reminded myself; I didn't want him to see me as something I couldn't define.

"I was with Mukhtar; he sends his regards," he said as though he had heard my silent wish.

My Ya Mukhtar. He should've taken me with him!

I frowned, pouting as I glared at him from my peripheral vision. Yes, I was fully aware that he could see me.

Tahir walked further into the room, and I followed suit, bumping into him when he abruptly stopped, my mind elsewhere.

I extricated myself from behind him, feeling embarrassed but unwilling to show it.

Tahir seemed too comfortable in my space, he turned around, appraising me with a critical eye before extending his hand towards me, holding a paper bag. I glanced at the bag and then back at him, hesitation creeping in. However, he stretched his hand further, urging me to take it. Reluctantly, I reached out to collect it.

"What is this?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"It's a phone. Consider it part of my wedding gift to you," he replied, nudging me to accept it.

"But I have one!" I protested, my voice more defiant than intended. To emphasize my point, I held up my phone.

"You need this one. You can use both together. I'll give you your new SIM cards tomorrow," he stated matter-of-factly, as if the matter were settled.

Hold up.

"Oh, but I have one already, two actually," I pointed out, repeating the obvious.

"Well, they'll soon be of no use," he replied coolly. "I'm sure your contacts are saved to your gmail. You don't need your male friend's contacts now, do you? Get rid of them, Khadijah. No non-mahrams," he asserted, gesturing towards the bag in my hand.

Say what?

The bag suddenly felt like a ticket to my doom.

"No." I shook my head with a scoff. "I'm not agreeing to this order. You can't just stop me from using my SIM card," I argued, my voice rising with indignation.

I stepped into his personal space and placed the bag against his chest, ignoring the intimidating look he was giving me. An overbearingly intimidating one.

I refused to be affected.

"Khadijah," he warned.

I bristled, moving away from him and shaking my head frantically. "What does this have to do with my contacts? Okay, so, just because I'm married now, you feel like it means I shouldn't be allowed to talk to other men?"

He stared at me, unwilling to back down. "You're my wife. You don't need to... Accept the phone, Khadijah."

Honestly? I wanted to scream in frustration.

Tahir took my hand in his, his grip firm. I struggled to release my hand from his hold, but he refused to relent. Carefully, as if he had no idea how close I was to losing control, on the verge of everything crazy, he returned the bag to me.

"No," I whispered, unwilling to accept the stipulations that came with collecting the gift. "Definitely no. I'm not accepting this, Tahir. You can take the phone and leave. If I wanted another phone, I would have gotten one from someone else, not necessarily you." After that, I unwound my hand from his grip, plopped down onto the bed, and turned away from him, tears threatening to prick at the edges of my eyes.

Tahir walked closer, as though he were deaf to my protests.

"Well, you have no choice but to accept it. You're married now, and to me. You'll listen, Khadijah. Keep that in mind always," he said, his tone unwavering as he turned and walked out of the room, leaving the paper bag behind.

I groaned aloud, glaring at the closed door, filled with frustration and a sense of helplessness, wishing it was him I could unleash my anger upon instead of the inanimate object.

"Baba didn't sign me up for this!" I exclaimed, rolling over on the bed and clutching a heart-shaped pillow tight against my chest.

I satisfied the hunger raging in my soul by screaming out loud, the sound stifled by the pillow I held against my face, casting a scorching glare at the ugly-looking paper bag that seemed to mock me from across the room.

What did my male friends ever do to him?

...

Have you ever spent hours thinking about one thing until your head feels heavy and confused? I mulled over Tahir's words, the demand, the decision to change my life, incessantly.

At first, the thoughts made me rage in silence. After much deliberation, I began to wonder if my actions had been wrong. No matter the circumstances, Tahir was my husband now, and I would have to give him the respect he deserved.

Like the day before, I cried today as well, the salty tears streaming down my face until my eyes finally shut on their own accord.

When I awoke in the middle of the night, I was met by the stillness surrounding me. I prayed quietly, reciting passages from the Qur'an and beseeching Allah's forgiveness for disobeying Tahir.

After Fajr, I went back to sleep, my mind free of thoughts as I resolved to find a suitable decision for our situation. From what I could tell, Tahir intended to make our married life seem even more real. If that was the case, then we both had to compromise, even though the mere thought of it made me glower at the wall in rebellion.

Why do I need to compromise? He should, he's the older one.

Later in the morning, already used to rising early and preparing breakfast for my family, sometimes. I hit the bathroom and indulged in a soothing bath, relishing the sweet scent of roses as my mind ran wild with thoughts of what I could do to keep myself occupied.

At this point, given how little I did in terms of activity, I was at high risk of obesity, or worse—turning into Pom-Pom's reincarnation: fat and lazy. Pom-Pom was the white cat in Cinderella.

I sprayed on an assortment of different perfumes, then slipped into a beautiful dress, carefully tying my headscarf in a simple manner. Quickly, I lined my eyes, dusted my face with a bit of powder, and applied kohl.

Next, I sifted through my accessories. The earrings went on first, followed by the knuckle rings. Then I clasped a plain silver chain around my slender neck. Lastly, I added a toe ring and a fine anklet that Ya Aisha had gifted me as part of my 19th birthday present.

Yes, all that.

I took several mirror selfies, swooning at how good they turned out, and shared the best five with Amna, posting two on my Snapchat story before making my way out of the room, humming along to Beyoncé's "Flawless."

For some reason, I woke up feeling good, as if there was something I was looking forward to.

Khadijah, 1; finally scored a point against life's endless challenges.

Despite knowing that Ammi was sending someone over with breakfast, I made my way to the kitchen. I took my time going through the groceries, inspecting every nook and cranny of the pantry, the kitchen, and the adjoining room that housed my gara. The refrigerator was stacked with the essentials, and I decided to prepare something simple yet satisfying for Tahir and I.

The sight of a huge loaf of fresh bread made me squeal in delight. Timing myself, I quickly whisked up some eggs and made French toast sandwiches stuffed with fluffy scrambled eggs and gooey cheese. On the side, I prepared deep-fried sausages that sizzled enticingly in the pan, filling the kitchen with a mouthwatering scent.

I finished in tandem with Tahir stepping into the kitchen.

"Good morning," I greeted him, presenting his share before sliding towards the door, doing my best to balance my own plate and a steaming cup of tea while attempting to leave the kitchen.

Tahir stopped me in my tracks, glancing behind him from his spot beside the coffee maker, his expression curious. "Morning, Khadijah. Where are you going?" he asked.

"My room," I replied tersely, not wanting to engage more than necessary while trying to maintain a cool atmosphere.

"Well, you can sit here and eat. And I hope you know that Ammi is bringing breakfast over," he stated, his eyes piercing as if probing for more than just my reply.

"Yeah, I know," I replied, trying to brush off any further conversation.

"Okay then," he dragged out, his voice flat.

To prove that I was unaffected by his insistence—and that I could really do as he said depending on the tone he used—I took a seat at the island, placing my food in front of me with a determined air.

Tahir busied himself making his coffee, the rich aroma filling the air as he poured it into a mug. He then took the seat opposite me and stared, unwavering, until I finally met his gaze.

"Thank you." He gestured at the plate before him, lowering his head to focus on his food, the sincerity in his voice reassuring.

I cleared my throat, and decided it was now or never; the best moment to confront the issue looming over our heads. "About last night... I'm sorry, and thank you for the phone, even though I'm still not accepting it. Thank you," I said, mustering every ounce of courage I had within me to voice my thoughts clearly.

Voicing the apology made me feel as if my tongue was being scraped with a pitchfork.

Tahir raised a brow and took a gulp of his coffee while studying me intently. When he finally set the mug down on the table, he responded to my thank you, but no.

"I'm accepting no apology unless you accept the phone. Consider it an apology," he explained, his expression serious.

"But there's no—" I began, wanting to steer the conversation away from whatever he believed warranted an apology, because I didn't want us to delve into that territory. Anywhere but there.

I couldn't lose my big girl armour to shyness. I had to stay strong.

"Khadijah. We both know there's a need for me to apologize. Even though it means nothing compared to what I took from you," he interjected, his honesty almost disarming.

Talk about blunt! Can he be any more straightforward? Tahir has this suave way of speaking his mind that has me reeling. Blood rushed to my ears, and I found myself unable to hold his gaze. I lowered my eyes, tracing the shape of one sausage on the plate as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. I fancied its slight curve.

"If you're not comfortable discussing this, then it's fine, we can talk about something else," he began, a hint of gravity infusing his tone, before clearing his throat.

I wrapped my fingers around the tension in the room. Yes, I could literally feel it in my grasp. Tough.

"Okay. Umm, about the SIM card..." I hesitated, still trying to process the enormity of our conversation, my mind racing as I searched for the right words.

"You need a new one, Khadijah. It's done; you know that. I know we just got married and you might be wondering why I'm being so insistent on this. I trust you, I swear I do. But Khadijah, I want you to understand that I'm not the only man who won't tolerate such a thing. I'd rather you take your family, important contacts and female friends' numbers to your new phone and make your current SIM obsolete." He explained, gauging my reaction. "I thought long and hard about everything last night, and I believe it would be better if we compromised and approached it this way," he paused, his eyes fixed intensely on my frozen form.

"Accept the phone, keep your line. I know you have several important things attached to it, but I need you to get rid of your male friends, including your ex-boyfriend. I don't want any memories of him lingering in our home, let alone anything else that belongs to him—not even his contact information."

His words left me gaping like a fish out of water, overwhelmed by the realization that my life had already been mapped out by Tahir, each decision seemingly charted without my input. A part of me longed for autonomy, fiercely resisting this sense of control, while another part felt strangely comforted by his decisiveness,

Comforted? Now I understood why Amna swore I was weird, because what could be weirder than this?

I couldn't think of a single thing.

...
AN
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