🌸🌸🌸

A week later, I was lying on my bed, my headphones on, the soft melody of Ed Sheeran's Photograph playing, filling my room with its bittersweet tune. I closed my eyes, letting the lyrics wash over me. It was late—almost eleven-thirty—and I should have been asleep, but my thoughts wouldn't quiet. I'd been feeling restless all week, unable to shake the strange tension I felt from the conversation I'd had with Daddy the other night.

"Leyla?"

I opened my eyes and saw Norah standing by the door, her expression unreadable.

"Naber?" I asked, pushing myself up on the bed, glancing over at her.

"Daddy's calling you," she said, her voice unusually soft. I raised an eyebrow, sensing the undercurrent of something being off.

"Tamam," I replied, my stomach tightening in a knot.

What could he possibly want at this hour? I felt a strange unease settle in as I quickly grabbed a silk scarf to cover my hair. It wasn't unusual for Daddy to call me at odd hours, but something about tonight felt different. It was almost like the calm before a storm.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, before walking out of my room and heading down the hallway to my parents' room.

"Salamu alaikum," I greeted them as I stepped into the room, my voice a bit more tentative than usual.

"Wa Alaikumsalam," Mammy and Daddy chorused, both sitting in their usual spots. Mammy was seated on her prayer mat, while Daddy sat at the head of the room, his serious expression already in place.

I walked over and sat at Mammy's feet on the floor, offering my traditional greeting. "Daddy, Ina wuni? An dawo Lafiya?" I asked, though the words felt hollow in my mouth. Something wasn't right.

"Lafiya, Alhamdulillah," Daddy replied, but his voice lacked the usual warmth.

I tried to smile, but it felt forced. Why was he calling me at this time of night?

"Hafsa," he began, his tone turning more serious.

Dun dun.

That tone, the one he used when he was about to deliver something heavy. My heart skipped in my chest, a wave of dread crashing over me. I braced myself for whatever was coming.

"Na'am, Daddy?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it any louder would make it worse.

"Innalillahi wa innailaihi rajiun," I thought, repeating it over and over in my head, bracing for what he would say next.

"You know my friend Alhaji Ibrahim Yerima, right?" Daddy asked, his gaze unwavering.

"Yes, I know him," I replied, my throat suddenly dry.

"Very well, he and I had a discussion about something very important." Daddy's voice remained calm, but I could sense the weight of his words. "He asked for your hand in marriage to his oldest son, Muhammad, and I agreed. We've been talking about it for a while now. You and Muhammad will make a fine couple, Hafsa. I personally can't think of anyone else who would be more perfect for my daughter. He's an intelligent man, respectful, religious, successful, and a fine young man. He's everything a father could hope for."

My heart stopped. The world around me blurred, and my ears rang with disbelief. I couldn't process what I was hearing. My thoughts spun wildly. This wasn't happening. Not now. Not like this.

My voice was barely a whisper. "Daddy, aure kuma?"

Innalillahi wa innailaihi rajiun. This can't be happening. Please, let this be some kind of dream.

But Daddy's expression remained unchanged, his words unyielding.

"This can't be real," I thought, my mind in a daze. "I'm just nineteen... I'm not ready for this."

"Leyla, at what age do you expect to get married?" Daddy's voice was firm now, with an edge of frustration creeping in. "Twenty-five? Thirty? You're already at the right age. Twenty is the perfect age for a woman. You're done with school, and you've started university. Leyla, you're not getting any younger, and neither am I. You should be thinking about your future."

Tears began to well up in my eyes, my vision blurring as I struggled to keep my composure. "Daddy... please," I sobbed, my voice thick with emotion. "I don't want to marry him. I don't even know him. Please, Daddy, don't make me do this."

The words came out in a rush, pleading. But Daddy's response was cold, final.

"I wasn't asking for your opinion, Leyla. I'm telling you this."

A wave of devastation hit me, and I felt like my world was crumbling beneath me. Every inch of me screamed in protest, but I couldn't find the words. I didn't know what to say anymore.

I remained silent, tears now streaming down my face, as the weight of the moment pressed in.

"You can leave now," Daddy said after a long pause, his tone unchanged.

Without a word, I stood up and walked out of the room, my heart shattered in a thousand pieces. This can't be happening. Ya Allah... what did I do to deserve this?

💛

I stumbled back to my room, my sobs choking me as I collapsed onto my bed. How could he do this? How could Daddy, the man I'd trusted more than anyone, just give me away like this? Why me? Why now?

Norah was sitting at the foot of my bed, her eyes wide with concern. She didn't say anything at first, but then she whispered softly, "Don't cry, Leyla. Everything's going to be alright, inshallah."

"No, Norah, it's not," I cried, my voice breaking. "Why me, for Allah's sake? Why?"

I pulled the covers up around me and buried my face in my pillow, unable to stop the flood of emotions. My entire future had just been handed to me without my consent.

After a few minutes, I stood up shakily, needing to escape the whirlwind of my thoughts. I went to the bathroom to perform wudu, my hands trembling as I washed my face and arms, trying to regain some semblance of control. I prayed two nafils, hoping and pleading for guidance, for comfort, for strength.

When I returned to my room, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I glanced at it, the dread growing as I saw the caller ID. It was Ya Meena.

I answered the call with a shaky voice. "Ya Meena, naber?"

"Lafiya Layla, nasılsın?" Her voice was soft, soothing, but I could hear the concern in it.

"İyiyim," I managed, though it was clear from my tone that I wasn't. "How's my baby?" I asked, needing a distraction, even if it was just for a moment.

"She's fine, Alhamdulillah. Se dai kukan banza," Ya Meena sighed, clearly exasperated with Nasreen's tantrums.

I couldn't help but smile at the thought of my niece. But as the conversation continued, Ya Meena revealed that Mammy had already told her about the proposal. And surprisingly, Ya Meena was happy about it. She was excited, even.

Can you imagine? My sister, married at 26, with a husband she adored, a love story of her own. But me? I felt like my whole life was slipping through my fingers.

We bid each other goodnight, and I hung up, feeling more lost than ever.

I walked slowly back to Mammy's room. The house was eerily quiet, and I felt like I was walking through a dream. I knocked lightly before entering.

"Salamu alaikum," I greeted.

"Wa alaikumsalam," Mammy and Norah chorused.

"Norah, Ya Meena said you should call her about the laces you're taking to the tailor," I said, sitting down on the couch beside Mammy.

Norah nodded. "Okay, I'll call her tomorrow, inshallah."

Mammy turned to me, her voice softer now. "Leyla'm, Kuzum, I want you to know that whatever happens, happens for the best. Your father only means well, and he wants you to be happy. He wouldn't have chosen Muhammad if he didn't think he was the right person for you. Just trust that he is doing what he thinks is best."

She paused, seeing the turmoil in my eyes. "Beni anla, canım," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Understand me, my dear."

I nodded, but it didn't ease the pain. The weight of the decision hung over me like a dark cloud.

Mammy spoke for a while longer, but my mind was elsewhere, lost in the storm of thoughts swirling inside. Talking to her did help a little, but not enough to ease the burning ache in my chest.

I left her room, feeling a bit lighter, but not nearly enough to feel like myself again.

vote🤎

comment💞

share❤️

Love you always🥰

deedah💙