"Is that truly what you want, Jadwa?" Muhammad's voice was calm, but the sharp undertone carried a challenge she wasn't prepared for. His gaze bore into hers, his dark eyes unblinking, as if daring her to confirm the words she'd just uttered.

She froze under his scrutiny, the air between them heavy with unspoken truths. Before she could form a response, he threw his head back and laughed a deep, laugh, that echoed through the room, the sound immediately sent a shiver down her spine.

"You? Me?" he chuckled, the sound reverberating in the room. "Divorce? Wallahi, Jadwa, you surprise me." He folded his arms across his chest, leaning slightly against the wall as though her words were the punchline of an absurd joke.

Her throat tightened, heat creeping up her neck. The amusement in his expression stung more than she anticipated.

"Is this how you deal with every problem? Not giving it time or grace of understanding? Just throwing around words you don't even understand?" His voice shifted, the humor fading into something sharper, more cutting. "Don't ever say that word in my house again," he said in a softer tone, if she didn't see his eyes she'd think he was pleading but he was enunciating every syllable like a blade carving into her resolve.

"Ever." The finality in his voice was unmistakable. He let the silence linger, watching her flinch under the weight of his words before he shook his head, a faint smirk still tugging at his lips. "This childishness... I don't have time for it."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, her chest heaving with unspent frustration and a deepening sense of loss.

Jadwa stood there, her feet rooted to the spot. Beside her, the water she'd thrown earlier had cooled, unlike the storm brewing in her chest. She eventually made her way upstairs, bypassing his room and heading straight to hers. 

She sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard. What she felt in that moment was indescribable a mix of revelation and resignation. She wanted to deny it, to convince herself it wasn't real, but deep down, she knew better. He never joked about serious matters, and he had been unequivocal. 

She stayed like that for long minute, her gaze fixed blankly on the door. No tears fell. Instead, a deep ache settled in her chest, accompanied by an overwhelming numbness. Her thoughts shifted to Khayrah, her mind desperately trying to rationalize her presence in the house. She wanted an explanation, even deserved one, but none had been offered. To him, she felt unworthy of such consideration she thought. Yet, she reminded herself, she was worthy of respect, whether he acknowledged it or not. 

At that moment, she decided she was done trying. Even if she wanted to, she no longer had the strength. 

Her phone buzzed relentlessly, breaking her from her daze. It was Hanan and Zarah. She ignored the first few calls but finally answered when they persisted. 

"Hi," she said, her voice drained. 

"Hi, Jadu!" Zarah greeted cheerfully. 

"You just got back last night; let me breathe," Jadwa said, masking her emotions with light sarcasm, though a sharp pang coursed through her chest. 

"Jadu, what's going on? You haven't done your fittings. Your stylist even reached out to me because you're not responding," Hanan complained. 

Jadwa gasped, realizing she had completely forgotten. She'd seen their calls and messages but hadn't had the energy to respond. Doing even the simplest tasks felt draining. 

"Please, Jadu, I need you all to slay. Why are you slacking?" Zarah groaned. "Asma, Sarah, Aya, and even Ameerah are coming in a few days. Get your fittings done, please!" 

"I'll send her a text now. The stylist can come over for fittings, and we can choose accessories from my collection," Jadwa added. 

"Please do. We're all done with ours!" Hanan exclaimed. 

"Zarah's dresses are insane! You got them all in Jordan, right?" Jadwa asked, scrolling through pictures in their family group chat. 

"Except the Laffaya dress," Hanan confirmed. 

"Gaskiya, what an insane way to close the wedding chapter of our family," Jadwa mused, smiling faintly. All three sisters had found their husbands in the same year. 

The conversation shifted to how lonely Ammi might feel with all her daughters married, though Zarah and Hanan lived close by. Jadwa laughed with them, hiding her turmoil. 

To distract herself, Jadwa invited her stylist and designer over for fittings. She busied herself with organizing her closet, rearranging her perfumes, and meticulously setting up her bakhoor collection. She even tackled the storage room and pantry, anything to avoid barging into his space and demanding for an explanation. 

A co-wife? She laughed at the thought then pressed her head on the wall. The house felt stifling. Her mind betrayed her, conjuring vivid images of him with another woman. The thought made her nauseous, and the following days dragged on in agony. She avoided him at all costs, steering clear of his room, the kitchen, and any shared spaces. 

At night, sleep evaded her. She tossed and turned until Subhi prayers, then fell asleep on her prayer mat, only to be awakened by her ringing phone. It was Grace, pulling her back into the present. 

Jadwa freshened up quickly before their arrival, setting her room meticulously. She lit some bakhoor, the soft fragrance wafting through the air, but she didn't leave her room, unwilling to step outside until the guests arrived. When they finally did, she called Jessica to usher them into her room. 

The refreshments were served, and the fittings began. Jadwa tried on her dresses, starting with a stunning laffaya dress for the wushe wushe. Next was a wine-colored lace skirt and blouse tailored to perfection for the nikah. Excited but composed, she FaceTimed Hanan to show her the outfits. 

"Wow, Grace! You've outdone yourself," Hanan exclaimed, her enthusiasm loud even over the call. "Oh my goodness, Jadwa, this is beautiful! Please tell me there's a matching veil?" 

"There is. A big one," Jadwa confirmed. 

"Good, because this fit is snug. If your husband doesn't complain, Ammi will definitely say something," Hanan teased, chuckling. Jadwa forced a smile, handing the phone to Grace. 

She changed into her final outfit, a breathtaking lilac cape dress. The front hugged her perfectly, while the back flowed with elegance, with long, cascading capes extending from her arms. The dress was detailed with delicate emerald embellishments, and she knew it would be a showstopper. 

After the fittings, Jadwa led Grace into her closet to pick out accessories. She trusted her stylist implicitly, so while Grace selected jewelry, Jadwa's thoughts wandered. The wedding was close, friends were arriving, and she knew she'd have to go to the family house soon. But the idea of asking for permission from him? She'd rather endure anything else. 

Once the stylist had finished, they chatted for a while longer before Grace packed the chosen jewelry into a box. As they talked, Jadwa couldn't help but notice the wallpaper on her phone a memory of their post-wedding shoot. It stared back at her, mocking her with the happiness they once shared. She recalled his gaze during the shoot, his intense gaze, his tenderness, the flowers, the handwritten card, his smile. How had everything shifted so drastically? How had he switched so easily? 

After grace and Amanda the stylist walked out of her room, Jadwa heard his voice. He was in her living room, exchanging greetings with them. She lingered in her room, not wanting to see him, but not wanting to leave them hanging she stepped out.

When she finally stepped into the living room, she felt his presence immediately. He never sat there unless they were together. His cologne filled the space, unmistakable and distracting. She descended the stairs not acknowledging him and bid them goodbye.

The moment she went back upstairs and into her living room, his eyes were on her, and as she moved past, he spoke. 

"How are you?" 

She paused, staring at him before finally responding. "I need to go and help Ammi and Hanan with the wedding preparations." 

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for more, but she offered nothing else. 

"You don't need to ask for my permission, Jadu," he said calmly. "You can do whatever you want." 

Jadu
The name echoed in her mind, a name he'd never called her before. Jadu.

The weight of it stopped her in her tracks. She turned away quickly, retreating to her room before he could see the vulnerability in her eyes. She closed the door behind her, replaying the moment. He had called her Jadu a name he had never called her by, even when they fought or whatever situation they were in he never used it, not even in front of her parents. The name is one that hinted at their broken connection. It felt like an unspoken acknowledgment of where they stood. 

In her room, Jadwa moved with quiet determination. She packed two large sized suitcases to fit her dresses and jewelry for the wedding and throwing in regular clothes without much thought. She added the dresses Grace had delivered, her makeup bag, perfumes, and anything else she thought she might need. She retrieved her laptop, iPad, medications, and supplements, placing them carefully in her bag. 

Then, she hesitated. She stepped back into her closet, opening a drawer she had avoided for weeks. Inside was a gift box she'd hidden before everything fell apart. A lump formed in her throat as she took it out. She didn't dare look inside, not now. She placed it in her suitcase and zipped it shut. 

After praying Asr, Jadwa peeped out of the window and noticed his car was gone likely at the mosque. Taking advantage of his absence, she grabbed her keys, picked up her bags, and left the house without looking back. 

The moment Jadwa stepped into her family home, she instinctively carried her box to her old room. It wasn't the same anymore. The soft, feminine touches she had once adored were replaced with neutral tones and sterile guest-room décor. The faint scent of perfume hinted at visitors who are staying there. Before she could dwell on the changes, a maid appeared and quietly kept one of her boxes in her old room and the other  to Ammi's room.

As she entered, the room buzzed with activity. Relatives filled every corner, their chatter and laughter creating a lively atmosphere. Jadwa greeted everyone warmly, offering a Salam and embracing her Ammi tightly.

"My dear, are you staying over already? From today?" Ammi's eyes flicked to the suitcase now stationed by her side, her tone teasing.

Feigning mock offense, Jadwa quipped, "Are you sending me away already?" Her playful tone earned a round of laughter from the aunts gathered around.

Ammi shook her head with a laugh. "No, no, it's just that since you got married, you've only visited a handful of times. I thought you'd just stop by like a guest."

The comment drew more laughter, and Jadwa groaned in protest. 

"Her husband must be taking good care of her, MashaAllah," one of the women chimed in with a knowing smile. Jadwa responded with a polite, shy smile. 

"But how could she abandon me?" Ammi teased, narrowing her eyes.

"Ammi, I'm here now," Jadwa reassured her, leaning in to kiss her mother's cheek. "Where's Zarah?" she asked, eager to shift the focus. 

"Hanan just went downstairs with her. They said they were heading to the salon. You should catch up with them," Ammi said, motioning toward the door. 

Relieved to escape any potential questions about her marriage, Jadwa hurried downstairs. She found her sisters in the private living room, but what stopped her in her tracks and elicited a loud scream were the familiar faces of her friends, Asma, Sarah, and Aya. 

They screamed back, mirroring her shock. 

"We were planning to surprise you, but you beat us to it!" Sarah exclaimed, enveloping Jadwa in a tight hug.

"I can't believe this! I missed you so much!" Jadwa said, her voice breaking as she hugged her friends. 

"We missed you even more!" they chorused, pulling her into a group hug. 

"Don't touch me, Anaya," Jadwa joked, glaring at one of her friends. "You stopped coming to my house after baby Hassan. Where's my love, Rahma?" she asked with mock indignation. 

Anaya chuckled, raising her hands in mock surrender. "I'm sorry, Jadu! I promise it's not like that. Rahma is with him, but I'm here. See? Who loves you more?" 

Jadwa rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. "You're just here for your bestie Zarah. Don't try to sweet-talk me." The room erupted in laughter. 

As the laughter settled, a fleeting shadow crossed Jadwa's face. The mention of Hassan although she did it herself, brought back memories of her miscarriage a wound still fresh, though softened by the kindness her friends had shown during her hardest days. 

"Are we going to the salon?" she asked, slipping her veil back over her head to change the subject. 

"You should join us!" Zarah insisted, and Jadwa nodded. 

At the salon, the air was filled with the hum of hair dryers and chatter. Jadwa watched as Sarah, whose natural light-brown hair glimmered under the salon lights, consulted with the stylist. 

"I want my hair darker," Sarah said.

The stylist's eyes lit up. "We just got a new glossy hair tint. It's a low-commitment color that washes out in two to three washes. Perfect for a quick change!" 

Sarah's face brightened. "I wanted to try this with my mom, but I've been so busy. Let's do it!" 

"You'd look amazing with this shade," Sarah said, as Jadwa held sample next to her face.

Jadwa hesitated, her hand instinctively brushing over her long red locks. Her husband had always loved her hair. But that didn't matter now, did it? 

"Does it really wash out quickly? Some glosses linger," she asked, examining the sample. 

Sarah nodded. "My mom uses this brand. It's amazing and her only complain is  about how fast it fades!" 

"Alright, I'm doing it," Jadwa finally said, and Sarah's eyes widened. She knew Jadwa's hair color meant too much, and it wasn't something done solely because of impulse but she kept her mouth shut and the stylist got to work. 

An hour later, as the stylist straightened the last strand of hair, Jadwa caught her reflection in the mirror. For the first time in weeks, a genuine smile spread across her face. The rich brown tint softened her features, adding a mature, sultry edge. Her friends' excited cheers filled the salon. 

"This is stunning!" Anaya exclaimed, clinging to Zarah for dramatic effect.

"Jadu, this is my wedding, and you're stealing all the attention! Stop being so beautiful!" Zarah teased, earning another round of laughter. 

"Should I cut it next?" Jadwa joked, only to have Hanan lightly smack her arm. 

"Don't you dare! This isn't a midlife crisis!" 

Jadwa laughed, a real, full laugh that bubbled from deep within at the irony of her words. Anaya pulled out her phone to capture the moment, snapping selfies and videos as the girls crowded around her. 

Just then, Rahma entered the salon, letting out a delighted shriek. "Jadu, oh my God! This is gorgeous! Is this for him, or should I make some money out of this transformation?"

Anaya and Rahma quickly broke into a playful argument about who would tell Imran about her new look first . Though the chatter filled the room, Jadwa's smile faltered. She pretended to be engrossed in her phone, nodding absentmindedly at their jokes. 

"Stop fighting, you two," Hanan interjected. "You can both make your case to him!" 

The room erupted in laughter again, but this time, Jadwa nudged Sarah to converse with her about school just to block out their words from her ear. She was at the verge of breaking down, and it's just now that she realized how much of her life revolved around him.

After their salon session, the girls decided to extend the fun with dinner at a nearby Thai restaurant. The warm, savory aroma of lemongrass and coconut milk surrounded them as they laughed and savored every bite, forgetting time until Ammi's call interrupted. Her sharp voice on the line was laced with scolding as she ordered them to return home with her precious bride. 

Back at the house, after Zarah's gyaran jiki session, the sisters settled into bed. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on the walls as Sarah nudged Jadwa, leaning in to whisper, "Are you okay?" 

Jadwa forced a smile. "Of course," she replied, her tone too breezy to be convincing. 

"Hmmm," Sarah teased, a knowing grin spreading across her face. "Hubby hasn't called since we got home. Couple's fight?" 

Jadwa let out a laugh, but it lacked its usual warmth. "Something like that," she said, waving the comment off. 

Just then, her phone pinged. Jadwa glanced at the screen, expecting a message, but instead saw a bank alert. The amount was absurd, almost laughable, and of course, it was from her husband. Though she was already on a generous monthly allowance, he often sent her additional sums, unprompted. She barely spent from her own money, using his cards for nearly everything. 

Sarah's curious eyes flicked to the screen, catching a glimpse. Meanwhile, Jadwa stared blankly at the notification. Even during their ongoing fights, he had continued to send her money particularly for Zarah's wedding without her asking as usual, but this... this was too much. She always sent polite thank-you messages, but they were met with silence. 

This time, she didn't bother. She locked her phone and set it aside. 

"That right there is enough to fix everything," Sarah joked, giving her a playful high-five. 

Jadwa shook her head, managing a faint smile. If only Sarah knew. Money wasn't the balm for everything. To him, these gestures were nothing routine, detached. If only she knew that her marriage was hanging by the thinnest of threads, a thread Jadwa's heart clung to despite the cracks. No matter how hurt, angry or frustrated she felt, her heart refused to let go. The heart wants what it wants.

Switching off her phone, Jadwa turned to Sarah. They spent the next few hours talking about everything and nothing until sleep finally claimed them. 

The next morning dawned with the bustling chaos of preparations. It was the day before Zarah's wushe wushe, and the house buzzed with energy. Guests arrived in waves, laughter echoing through the halls as Zarah was prepped for her big day. 

Jadwa and Hanan were at the heart of the action, juggling vendors, event planners, and an endless stream of logistical details. There was no room for rest. Between finalizing details for the ceremony and ensuring Zarah's happiness, Jadwa plastered on a polite smile, pushing through the exhaustion that weighed on her like a heavy cloak. 

Later in the day, Ameerah and Ahmad arrived with their newborn, a baby girl named Iman. The family's excitement was through the roof as they welcomed their first grandchild and niece. Baba and Ammi's faces glowed with pride, and the joy in the room was infectious. 

The baby rested on jadwa's chest, since she held Iman she refused to let her go because she just felt so attached to babies now, she yearned for hers, she wanted one so obsessively that she scolded herself for it. After the miscarriage, it was like there was a switch, after having a taste of what being a mother could be like she couldn't turn back, she buried the feeling but now with the baby in her hand she refused to let go. Jadwa felt an ache that she couldn't put into words. Her arms tightened protectively, since her miscarriage, she'd buried the overwhelming yearning for motherhood deep within her, but holding Iman brought it all rushing back. 

She was still cradling Iman when Rahma entered the room. 

"Jadu," Rahma said gently, "Ya Moh is here, and Ya Ahmad asked me to tell you to come down. He also said I should take the baby." 

"I'll get my veil and head down first," Zarah said, her voice tinged with excitement. But Jadwa didn't follow. Instead, she quietly slipped away to her room where  Zarah had chosen to prepare in for the wedding.

Jadwa sank into a plush chair, her mind distracted, her heart heavy. The henna artist who had adorned Zarah's hands now beckoned her to sit, a quiet invitation to indulge in the same tradition. Jadwa hesitated, her fingers momentarily stilling. She could easily decline, but the truth was, she needed a reason not to face him even if Ammi called for her. There was an odd, tense feeling in her chest that made her avoid even the possibility of an encounter. Reluctantly, she lowered herself onto the cushion, her body stiff. She murmured to the artist, her voice soft, "Just a simple, natural red design, please."

The henna artist nodded and began, the cool paste swirling across her skin in delicate patterns. The soft brushstrokes were strangely soothing, almost distracting her from the thoughts swirling in her head. But her peace was shattered when Ameerah entered with a message from Ammi. "Ammi said you should take food to your husband and Ahmad," she said, her voice teasing with a smile.

Jadwa stiffened, eyes darting to the door. She didn't want to see him not now, not after everything. Thankfully, the henna artist had already started her design, her feet a canvas of the henna paste. Jadwa's heart steadied as she watched the intricate patterns unfold. She could avoid him, and she would.

"You take food to Ya Ahmad, isn't he your husband?" Jadwa said jokingly and Ameerah shook her head laughing before heading out.

The hours passed, the wedding lights dimming as the evening unfolded. Jadwa, lost in her thoughts, drifted off to sleep. Zarah's gentle nudge woke her hours later. "It's time," she said, her voice a whisper in the stillness of the night. Jadwa carefully peeled the dried henna from her feet and hand now stained a deep maroon from the long hours. She barely noticed, her mind elsewhere.

Later, when the house had quieted, and the last whispers of conversation faded into the silence, Jadwa rose. She moved through the darkness with quiet intent, performing ablution. Once done, she stood in prayer and once her head touched the floor in sujood, the words flowed from her heart, raw and desperate, as she cried to Allah to ease the jealousy and pain knotting her heart. She poured out the aching sorrow of her soul, until the tears dried and her body gave in to exhaustion, and sleep finally claimed her.

The next morning, Jadwa was up at the crack of dawn, coordinating with the event planners to ensure every detail was flawless. The house buzzed with activity, but she moved through it with quiet efficiency, double-checking decorations, confirming arrangements, and smoothing over any last-minute hiccups. By noon, her duties paused, and she returned to her room for a much-needed shower. 

After freshening up, she joined Ammi and the girls for a light meal. Laughter filled the dining room, a welcome reprieve from the chaotic energy of the preparations. But the calm didn't last long her glam team arrived, ready to transform her for the day's festivities. 

Jadwa's hair was styled first, soft, voluminous curls cascading down her back, perfect for the intimate, all-girls event at home. Her makeup was as understated as ever, her natural beauty accentuated with soft tones. But today, a bold red lip added a touch of glamour. She slipped into her stunning Laffaya dress, the intricate embroidery catching the sunlight streaming through her window. 

Her stylist arranged a dazzling selection of jewelry before her. After some deliberation, they chose a heavy gold necklace that rested elegantly on her collarbone and down to her bust. With a final glance in the mirror, she looked every bit the glowing older sister. 

Before heading downstairs for pictures, she returned to her room to grab her supplements. Opening the drawer by her mirror, her hand paused mid-reach. A large bouquet of white roses sat on the corner of her dresser. Naturally she assumed they were sent by Zarah's fiancé, Abubakar. And as her eyes scanned the branding on the wrapping, her chest tightened. It was from the same flower shop Muhammad Imran always used, the one that delivered fresh roses to her weekly or whenever her previous bouquet began to wilt. 

Her throat constricted as she swallowed her pills quickly, a wave of bittersweet nostalgia washing over her. She leaned against the dresser, closing her eyes, willing the memories to stay at bay. But they came rushing in: his laughter echoing through their home, the comfort of lying on his chest as he worked, their shared meals, spontaneous drives, dances, the late-night jokes, and the endless video calls during his travels. Now, days had passed without a single word between them. 

Blinking back tears that threatened to fall, she straightened, took a steadying breath, and walked out of the room. 

Downstairs, Zarah stood at the center of the grand sitting room, posing for pictures, a vision of elegance and tradition as a radiant Shuwa Arab bride. Her red laffaya shimmered with intricate golden embroidery, catching the light with every slight movement. The delicate gold coins, painstakingly arranged on her head like a regal cap, jingled faintly as she moved, their soft melody blending with the distant hum of women singing. The coins adorned her neck and ankles as well, their gleam amplified by the glow of her fair skin, while massive,  gold jewelry rested on her collarbone down to her belly button and wrists like treasures from an ancient story. Zarah looked ethereal, almost otherworldly, and far more beautiful than any bride Jadwa had ever seen. Pride swelled in her chest, mingling with a bittersweet ache that tugged at her heart.

She crossed the room toward her sister, brushing through a sea of admiring relatives and friends. When she reached Zarah, Jadwa kissed her cheeks, whispering heartfelt prayers, the words catching slightly in her throat as emotion surged. Zarah beamed at her, eyes glistening, and in that moment, their bond felt unshakable, a timeless thread connecting past and future.

Ammi and Hanan soon joined them, their laughter and grace adding to the warmth of the moment. All three looked stunning beside the bride, their laffayas glowing with vibrant patterns that harmonized with the red and gold of Zarah's attire. Their familial closeness was evident, their eyes speaking volumes with each shared glance.

The event unfolded in the large enchanted set up and decorated backyard in a symphony of tradition, joy, and nostalgia. The women gathered to perform the age-old ritual of washing Zarah's feet with milk, a poignant act symbolizing purity and blessings for her new life. Jadwa knelt beside the other women, her hands trembling slightly as she helped pour the milk. Her vision blurred with unshed tears as the weight of the moment settled heavily upon her. How had time passed so quickly? The little sister she once protected, whose hair she had braided with ribbons and whose laughter had brightened her days, was now a bride.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the air outside grew cooler, and the celebration grew livelier. Laughter and music filled the room as the women began their traditional dances. Clad in their colorful laffayas, they twirled and moved their necks with practiced grace, their movements full of joy and pride. The rhythmic beat of drums and the melody of traditional songs carried through the air, pulling everyone into the spirit of celebration. Zarah, their ever cheering and shameless bride, grabbed Jadwa's hand and dragged her into the circle. At first hesitant, Jadwa eventually gave in, her heart lightening as she spun with the others, laughter spilling from her lips. For a brief moment, it was as if time had paused, leaving only the joy of the present.

As the night wore on and the music softened, guests slowly began to depart, leaving behind an air of lingering happiness. Jadwa retired to her room, her emotions raw but cathartic. The sound of Zarah's laughter and the vibrant energy of the evening echoed in her mind. Sitting on her bed, she let out a deep sigh, her heart full with the bittersweet joy of seeing her sister step into a new chapter.