Friday update came in as promised.

      SA'ADATU'S POV.

KANO, NIGERIA.

There is a psychological theory, the Yerkes-Dodson Law which suggests that performance increases with physiological or mental arousal, but only up to a point after which it decreases.

While this law is more about performance, it touches the idea that too much emotional intensity can lead to a breakdown in functioning, otherwise known as 'emotional numbness' in lay man terms, closely related to theories of emotional regulation and coping mechanisms.

Now, in my terms, there are times in life that you tend to feel an awful lot at the same time, that you stop to feel anything entirely.

I believe that best describes my situation at the moment.

I feel numb—my mind blank. I have tried, I truly have to feel something...but nothing. I feel utterly broke, yet my eyes lack the tears that would stream down, my hart lacks the feelings it would weep for and my mind, a world of chaos has now turned to a defeated battle ground, where even the dead remains of those emotions have evaporated into thin air.

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours and hours to days.

Four days. It has been four days since everything happened—since I last set my eyes on Khalil, since he was declared dead, and four days since his family showed up.

It is funny is it not? How you would believe you matter the absolute most to someone, and even deem yourself in high praises only to end up being disappointed in the worst possible way—to be betrayed in ways you least expect.

It is human nature after all. But to be honest, as much as I want to channel my emotions towards someone, I could not.

All I could do was sit with my now former in laws and accept condolence visits from people. Even then, I cannot bring myself to entertain anyone. I simply sat by the corner, staring into nothing as they game and go—their visits coupled with the time flow seamlessly.

I guess they must have noticed at one point that keeping me there is pointless, and so, they allowed my family to take me home with them—accepting my condolence visits at the company of my parent's home, but even that is just formalities—I could not bring myself to see anyone, simply basking the empty and hollow feeling that comes with isolating myself from the world entirely.

Even then, I could not cry.

I had so many thoughts running through my mind—so many questions I desperately need to answered—only, the one that could give me the answer is now six feet down, never to be seen again in this world.

By the fifth day, Yaya decided she has had enough—that locking myself in my room would do nothing but deter the little collective bit of mental stability I had, not that I had any to begin with really. And so, she practically forced to eat, bathe, and go outside to accept the greetings from those that come.

I abided—though robotically—uncaring of what they would say, or translate my actions as. I hear them, I hear the whispers when they think I cannot hear a thing, I hear them when I pass by, and I see the looks they give me. The gossip? I hear them all.

"Abu tausayi, daman mijinta na da mata da ya'ya?" Some gossip in hushed voices, accompanied by the plates of food and drinks they seem to be there for rather than share my pain. But, which pain would they share when they do not even know the man?

"You heard as well? I thought it was just I that heard. Kinsan they are trying to keep it under the wrap—but I heard his first wife is even back here in Kano. And that she is not even Nigerian!"

"Ikon Allah, here I thought he was unmarried. That is what they said when she got married, and what is this now about her being the second wife?"

"What else is there kuwa? They probably did not want anyone to know that she is the second wife so they lied, amma I am sure they are aware he has a wife and kids already."

"But, what if they do not know? What if he hid it from them as well?"

"Haba kekuwa. How can he be married and you will think his family is unaware? Haba, kema kinsan maganar banza Kenan. Ai even if Walida's family is unaware, I am sure his family does. Kinga dangin mijin nan? Tsinnannu. Fear them wallahi! They know everything. And besides, how can you say the wife is unaware? Is she stupid? You will obviously know your husband has another wife. Besides, they have been married for over a year, ai yaci ace ta sani yanxu."

"Hakane kam. She must truly be stupid if she does not know. Ai abun maza baya buya. Much less marriage with kids..."

That conversation came to an abrupt hold when I walked past the group of women situated by the entrance of the living room, gossiping in hushed voices which ceased almost immediately they sighted me. I ignored them, pretending as if I did not hear while they quickly scrambled on to say something to shield their shame.

"Ah ah, Walida, kin fito Kenan..." The last one speaking tried to say, with an awkward smile.

I ignored her, not sparing the group a single glance as I left the living room, making my way towards Anty's room—whom had sent word, seeking my presence there. Taking a hold of the doorknob, I pushed it open and stepped into the room with a small salaam, which was answered almost immediately by familiar voices I can recognize anywhere, and would much rather not be there with at that moment.

I pushed past those feelings, and forced myself to close the door behind me and step further into the room. Once in and within eye sight, my eyes did a quick survey of the room—taking note of the people there. Anty, Yaya, and Hajiya—whom is Anty's confidant and has been here with us every single day sat on one side, and on the other side, Khalil's mother, Ummi, and Zaheer's mother, Ammi sat on another side, the air in the room tense, and gloomy, holding every unspoken word hanging like a knife above our necks.

I swallowed thickly, the length of my Jilbaab suddenly too long and ruffling at my feet as I made my way towards where Anty and the others are. Because Yaya is sitting beside Anty, occupying the space beside her, I situated myself beside Hajiya, silently seeking the comfort that comes with being by her.

Maybe it is because she was the one with me when it all went down, or maybe because she has always had that soft aura to her and the warmness that comes with being by her, but I found myself wanting to rather be in her presence than anyone else really—Anty and Yaaya excluded. My parents will always come first.

I muttered my greeting to the two women, which was answered in the same gloomy tone. After that, silence ensued for a short while, before it was broken by Ummi, whom took the initiative to speak.

"I, and my family owe you an explanation," Her gaze shifted to me, and I found myself looking down, unable to hold her gaze, "Especially you, Sa'adatu."

In the little over the year I had known Ummi, never once had she spoken to me this softly before. Never had I heard her this soft with anyone really.

I fiddled with my fingers, my heart galloping behind my ribcage. No one said a thing, a silent agreement to her words. With a heavy sigh, her voice melted the ice awkwardly sitting there unsettled for days.

"Her name is Emily, and she was his course mate back in university. They went to law school together, and have been close ever since, and we knew of her, we just never thought it would lead to anything further." She started to explain, and somehow, the silence earlier in the room seemed to echo as we all listened, the answers in our minds getting answered and unraveled.

"It was in his fourth year when he came to us with his intentions to marry her and informed us of their growing affection. Obviously, we were against it for obvious reasons." Ummi shook her head slightly as she lamented the story. "For one, she is not Muslim, and not from our country as well, much less, our culture..." She need not elaborate on that, we all understood, or at least, I did.

Khalil's family is Fulani, and as much as they try to deny it, they mostly prefer people in their culture. Then again, it is the same with every culture really. But personally, after experiencing life as part of them, I know his family in particular truly do prefer someone of their culture.  

It already was a struggle for them to accept me, what more of someone that is not even Nigerian or Muslim to begin with? It is a story bound to crash right from the beginning.

"He insisted on it for quite a long time—to be precise, for almost a year but his father and I did not cave in, wanting to stick to our beliefs. He did not bother us about it after a while, never speaking of it again, and neither did we pressure him into anything. He continued to stay abroad, completing his studies, and starting his practice there for a while. That is, until over a year ago, when we started to speak of his marriage again and asked him to return home." Once again, I could feel her gaze on me, and I followed myself swallowing thickly.

Digging my thumbnail into my index finger, I wished I could disappear from here. I can already tell where this story is headed towards, and I believe I know him enough to not need a recap of it in words. But, I did not stop her, and so she carried on.

"At first, we presented him with someone—the daughter of a close friend of mine but he vehemently refused, and in the process, Emily's matter was brought up, but he did not press on it. I should have known there was something off about the way he disregarded her matter, as if he was not the one throwing a fit when we were against it. He did not seem fazed, or angry about her issue being brought up.

I truly should have known, as his mother. Khalil was not a kid, but he is my child—I have known him ever since he was a kid. Obedient as he is, he is also just as stubborn and determined. If he wants something, nothing can stop him unless he decides otherwise. Asking him to not do something, is like pushing him even more to do exactly that. Haka yake tun tunin. There was no way he would have given her up that easily, not with the way he fought for her. But, I overlooked that, and in an attempt to avoid what we could not overturn, I allowed him to choose his wife instead, anyone else, and he picked Sa'adatu."

I flicked my eyes close, shutting them tightly to hold back the sting of tears threatening to blur my vision. Of everything she has said, one thing stood out to be—to summarize and simplify everything up.

I was a second choice—I have always been. A second choice, and a cover for who he originally wanted, but was not allowed to have.

"Of course, we had our worries regarding her from the start as well, especially when the genotype issue came up. We tried to talk him out of it, but he remained determined. Mun san halin sa. We have rejected the first woman he brought up, we did not want to do the same with the second one in fear he would act out of place. By Allah, we were not aware that what we are trying to avoid has already happened—that back then, all those years ago, he went behind our backs and married Emily, even having kids with her—starting his own family without any of us knowing."

Having his own family.

That statement, it did the trick. It was like the trigger that made the tears I had desperately held back begin to stream down my face. I looked down, trying to hold them back but memories flooded my brain—his words echoing in them.

'You are enough for me,'

'You are all I will ever need.'

'I want you, no one else.'

All those assurances...they were all lies.

I have been battling my own insecurities this whole year, blaming myself for failing to give him a family and despite knowing there is a way out, I still selfishly wanted to stay with him. He said I was enough, and I believed him. I thought I truly would be enough, I just never knew our definitions of 'enough' is from two different dictionaries.

To him, I am enough of course. He already has the woman he wanted, and has kids. Of course I will be enough. It would be much better for him that way. He would have less worries to deal with. The only family he wants is with her, and I...I am just a cover, nothing more.

That realization hurts more than anything, and unable to hold back my tears, I brought my knees to my chest, burying my face between them as I silently allowed the tears to drop.

"We have sat down, and had a conversation with her two days ago on why she is here because I am certain he did not bring her back to Nigeria with him,"Regardless. Ummi continued with another heavy sigh, and I could only imagine the look on her face as she does so. "Apparently, they have been having rough patches for about a year now since he gotten married again—he had informed her—and he recently brought up separation about two months ago. Despite the tough times, he did not treat her any different from before—except that he never goes to see her since she is abroad. She has been trying to persuade him otherwise, and since he would not sway and was determined to separate and only share custody of the kids, she came to Nigeria on her own terms to speak to him only to run into this fate that could not be avoided."

I took in a deep breath, the tears refusing to stop but I tried to force them. Lifting my head up, I wiped away my tears and tried to maintain a stern expression, but it was hard to keep it up, especially when she added.

"I know this may sound like an excuse, but I know my son. He would never have married Sa'adatu if he did not like her—especially not knowing the dangers that came with their marriage. I admit, he was selfish—very much so for snatching away her future knowing he would be the one benefitting most from this, but I have no speck of doubt in my heart that the affection he has for your daughter is true. Else, he would not have fought against all odds to marry her and even instigate getting divorced from Emily.

I do not know if he was ever planning on telling her, or us about his marriage, but nidai tsakani na da Allah, na san Khalil ya so Sa'adatu. He truly, genuinely, and for the sake of Allah, loved her—we can all testify to that. I give you my word for that. And in the absence of him," She paused, her voice heavy with unspoken emotions and thick with tears threatening to cascade down her face, she continued. "Tunda Allah ya dau ranshi before he could fix this, I am here, as his mother, to plead with you all to forgive him. Especially you, Sa'adatu..."

I held her gaze for a split second, before I looked away, a single tear sliding down my face, accompanied by many others that just refused to stop. The pent up emotions finally displayed themselves—the tears I had not shed since his death coming all at once, and I did not stop them.

I allowed myself to cry, to feel, to mourn his death and for my broken heart as well.

Her voice broke, "...I genuinely hope you find it in your heart to forgive him someday so he will rest in peace. This is my last request to you, as his mother."

Once again, I found myself burying my face between my knees as I cried, not holding back—the sound of my pain filled sobs being the only thing heard in the otherwise pin drop silent room. No one complained, no one held me back, no one blamed me.

Instead, I felt a body slid down beside me, and comforting arms wrapping around me, pulling me into the body as I cried in the person's arms. The scent of Hajiya's bakhoor smoked outfit registered in my mind as she allowed me to cry in her arms. I did not hold back. I let it all out, for maybe then, I can finally find inner peace as well.

I am not sure if I will ever get over this, or if I will ever be at peace again. But, one thing I do know is, for the sake of Allah, for the love we shared, I forgive Khalil because despite everything, he never treated me in a bad way. Not once.

For that, I forgive him. And with that, I close the chapter of our story.

~*~

Toh, masoya Khalil, chapter closed we end his story here. It has been lovely, but i will miss my guy. Remain small make I shed tears for this chapter sha, had to keep holding my tears back.

To be honest, I am loving this book more than expected. When I started, I genuinely thought I would ditch it but here we are, with so many people reading I cannot even give up on it.

Most of my school friends aren't fond of reading novels, but I have some reading this book and honestly, that warms my heart. So, this chapter is for AB Yaya ta, Amatu, and Ilham. Thank you guys for loving my books.

And of course, at this point, you lots should just be thanking Ummu because she is the person making me update this constantly else I for just ditch una like this. I am battling a headache since and I am sleep deprived and hungry all together but I have been here writing since five.

I deserve comments for it really.

Toh, mun tafi jin labarin Aminu Saira.

Stay safe, and team Adnan, onto you...we are handing over the flag--your guy better treat us right o else i go comot am as well.

Love, Jannah Mia.