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One Month Later

I woke up with a splitting headache that refused to let up, making it impossible to go to work. Yesterday had been hectic—Ibty and I spent the entire day running around the city, ticking off items from her wedding checklist. The excitement of her upcoming nuptials was palpable, but the physical toll had hit me hard.

Muhammad was already at the office, and I found myself upstairs in our cozy living room, curled up in a plush armchair. I had bathed and slipped into a soft purple bubu, my go-to for comfort. Norah sat beside me, flipping through the channels until she landed on Keeping Up With the Kardashians.

As I tried to focus on the show, my phone buzzed beside me. Muhammad's name flashed on the screen. Even with the pounding in my head, his name brought a smile to my lips.

"Hey, wifey," his warm voice greeted me.

"Hey, hubby," I replied, my tone lacking its usual energy.

"You sound tired, Layla. Still fighting that headache?" Concern laced his voice.

I massaged my temple and sighed. "Yeah, it's nothing serious. I just need to rest."

"Okay. If you need anything—anything at all—call me, okay?"

I couldn't help but smile. "I promise, babe."

"I love you, baby," he said softly before hanging up.

His words lingered, soothing some of the ache. I closed my eyes briefly, hoping the pain would subside. But life waits for no one, and the call to prayer reminded me it was time for Asr.

I went to my room, performed wudu, and laid my prayer mat out. After praying, I lingered in dhikr, letting the rhythm of the words center me. By the time I returned to the living room, Norah was still glued to the TV.

"Nuratun Daddy," I teased, flopping onto the couch beside her.

She scowled. "Ya Layla, how many times will I tell you to stop calling me that?"

I laughed, unbothered. "But you call me Hafsatu all the time."

She rolled her eyes, her phone ringing before she could respond.

"Ya Nabeel... evet evdeyiz. Tamam, görüşürüz," she said briskly before hanging up.

"Nabeel is coming?" I asked. She nodded, not looking up from the screen.

I stayed with her for a while, but exhaustion soon pulled me toward the bedroom. Sleep came quickly, a deep reprieve from the day's chaos.

****

"Ya Layla, wake up," Norah's voice cut through my dreams.

I groaned, turning away from the sound. "What?"

"It's Maghrib already. Wake up and pray. Plus, ya Muhammad is back. He and ya Nabeel just left for the mosque," she said, her footsteps retreating.

I dragged myself out of bed, performed wudu, and prayed Maghrib, followed by my nafil prayers. My baby bump caught my attention as I folded my hijab afterward. It was growing steadily now, a visible sign of the tiny miracle inside me. I rested a hand on it, marveling at the changes my body was undergoing.

After tying on a navy-blue turban cap, I headed downstairs. Halfway down, I met Muhammad coming up.

"Hey," he said, kissing my cheek.

"Hi," I replied, smiling weakly. "When did you get back?"

"About an hour ago," he said, pouting in mock annoyance.

I chuckled. "Have you eaten yet?" He shook his head.

I grabbed his hand, leading him to the dining room, where Norah and Nabeel were already seated. The table was set with steaming Chinese spaghetti and a fragrant bowl of ram soup prepared by our chef, David.

"So, Norah, have you decided on your university?" Muhammad asked as we ate.

"Yes, University of Manchester," she replied proudly.

"Oh, nice! What course?"

"Architecture, insha'Allah."

The meal ended, and Nabeel left soon after. Norah retreated to her room, leaving me and Muhammad in the living room. He convinced me to continue Vikings, and I found myself engrossed until his phone rang.

"Hello, Mama, ina wuni," he greeted warmly.

His tone shifted as he listened, his brow furrowing. "She's fine, alhamdulillah. Toh, Juwairah kuma? When is she coming? Okay... Maa, bye."

He ended the call, a visible tension in his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" I asked, resting my hand on his arm.

"Juwairah, Aunty Munira's daughter, is transferring to Nile University because of the ASUU strike. She'll be staying with us until she gets a hostel," he said.

My chest tightened. Juwairah—the same girl who made no secret of her feelings for Muhammad—and her mother, who despised me. This couldn't be happening.

"Muhammad, do you think this is a good idea?" I asked hesitantly.

He turned to me, his gaze steady. "Layla, nothing and no one will ever come between us. You're my wife. End of story."

His words comforted me, but my unease lingered.

****

Excitement buzzed through the air as I scrolled through Ibty's pre-wedding pictures. She and her fiancé looked breathtaking together.
"Ya Allah, Muhammad, look at them!" I exclaimed, shoving my phone toward him.
"Masha'Allah, they look amazing," he said with a grin.

The wedding preparations had been exhausting, and I was grateful for a moment to rest. Norah had left for school, and Muhammad was at work, leaving the house unusually quiet.

A call interrupted my thoughts. The number was unfamiliar, but I answered anyway.

"Hello? Assalamu alaikum."

"Hold back your sallama, yar matsiyata," the voice spat. My breath caught in my throat—it was Aunty Munira. "You bewitched my nephew into marrying you instead of my daughter. But mark my words, Muhammad will marry Juwairah. Just wait."

Her venomous words cut deep, leaving me shaken. I ended the call with a trembling hand. A tear slipped down my cheek, but I wiped it away quickly. Muhammad didn't need to see me like this.

Later at dinner, my stomach churned unexpectedly. I tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness hit me. The room spun, and darkness closed in.

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