Zainabscrib

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗥𝗜𝗗

Chapter Three

Hanif pushed her onto the bed; she lost her breath trying to sit up.

“What's the meaning of this?” She blurted out when she regained her voice.

“Hmmm,” Hanif sighed.

Still in shock, Zakiyyah stood up from the bed and rushed to the door, but before she could open it, his hand gripped her again, as he carried her to the bed, his whole body now covering her.

“Come here,” he said dangerously, his eyes red.

Zakiyyah fidgeted under his hold.

“Bro. Hanif, please let me go. Please, this is not right,” she said, her voice trembling. She tried to push him off, but he grabbed hold of her with a strength she hadn't expected.

She struggled desperately to free herself, but his grip tightened.

She tried to scream, but his hand covered her mouth before any sound could escape.

He stripped her of her garment violently and took away her pride.

___

The room was so quiet that even their breathing seemed loud.

Zakiyyah sat motionless at the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on the floor. Time had become meaningless. She could not tell whether seconds or minutes had passed. Her mind refused to accept what her eyes had seen, what her body had felt.

A tear escaped the corner of her eye.

Then another.

Before long, silent sobs shook her shoulders. She cried without sound, as though even her voice had abandoned her.

Her throat burned.

Her chest felt unbearably tight.

She wrapped her scarf around herself with trembling hands, clutching it close as though the thin fabric could shield her from the pain that now seemed to consume every part of her.

Brother Hanif.

The words echoed relentlessly inside her mind.

How many times had she spoken those words with pride?

How many times had she told her closest friend, “Brother Hanif is just like my blood brother. I always feel safe whenever he's around.”

Safe.

The word now felt foreign.

A fresh wave of tears blurred her vision.

Nothing felt safe anymore.

The room, once ordinary, had become suffocating. Every object seemed frozen in place, silently bearing witness to a moment she wished she could erase.

The shattered pieces of a drinking glass still lay scattered across the tiles. A few sheets from her JAMB past questions had drifted across the floor, some folded, some crumpled.

She stared at them blankly.

Only a few minutes earlier, she had been solving English language past questions and praying for admission into university.

Her biggest worry had been whether she would score high enough to study nursing.

How quickly life had changed.

She bent slowly and picked up one of the scattered pages.

The words stared back at her, but they no longer made sense.

The ink blurred beneath her tears.

She gathered the remaining pages one by one, as though finishing the task would somehow return the evening to what it had been.

It didn't.

Her legs felt strangely heavy as she walked towards the door.

Her hand reached for the handle.

Then she stopped.

Something inside her compelled her to look back.

Hanif had not moved.

He lay where he had collapsed, breathing unevenly. His face had lost its warmth. His eyes were open now, but they looked empty, like someone trying desperately to wake from a nightmare.

She searched his face.

Confusion wrestled with anger.

Pain struggled against disbelief.

How?

How could the same man who had encouraged her to study harder...

Who had reminded her after every prayer to never lose hope in Allah...
..be the same man lying before her now?

It made no sense.

None of it did.

“I trusted you…”

The words escaped her lips so softly she almost didn't hear them herself.

Hanif turned his head.

Their eyes met for only a moment.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came.

His lips trembled.

“I'm…”

He couldn't finish the sentence.

Whatever explanation existed had become trapped beneath the crushing weight of what had happened.

Zakiyyah looked away.

There was nothing left for her to do.

She opened the door quietly and stepped into the corridor before gently closing it behind her.

The click of the door echoed through the silence.

___

Hanif remained motionless.

He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts scattered like fragments of broken glass.

His head pounded violently.

Every attempt to remember the previous hour ended the same way, in darkness.

"What have I done?"

His voice cracked.

The words sounded unfamiliar, as though someone else had spoken them.

He slowly sat up, wincing as another wave of dizziness washed over him.

His breathing became shallow.

Images flashed through his mind.

His heart began to race.

“No…”

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to remember.

There had to be something.

Anything.

But there was only darkness.

His gaze drifted toward the broken glass on the floor.

He frowned.

He couldn't remember dropping it.

He couldn't remember entering the room.

He couldn't remember why Zakiyyah had come to his room.

Then her face came rushing back.

Not the events.

Only her face.

The fear.

The tears.

He covered his mouth with both hands.

“Astaghfirullah…”

His voice barely rose above a whisper.

“What have I done?”

He looked around the room as though hoping someone would tell him this was all a terrible misunderstanding.

His eyes fell upon the stained bedsheet.

His breathing stopped.

A cold wave swept through his body.

He stared at it for what felt like an eternity before shaking his head violently.

“No…”

His voice broke.

“No... Ya Allah…”

His hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

He buried his face in them and wept.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just the quiet, broken weeping of a man whose world had collapsed within the space of a single evening.

When the tears subsided, he forced himself to think.

What was the last thing he truly remembered?

He searched carefully.

The drink he had.

Then the room began to spin.

His legs had felt strangely weak.

After that...

Darkness.

Hanif slowly lowered his hands.

His expression changed from confusion to disbelief.

“The drink…”

He whispered the words as though afraid of hearing them aloud.

“I lost consciousness after the drink.”

His mind refused to accept the possibility forming within it.

“Kashif…”

He immediately shook his head.

“No... no…”

Yet the thought refused to leave.

The last clear memory he possessed was accepting that cup from his elder half-brother.

He closed his eyes.

“If Kashif did this…”

His voice faltered.

“..then he has not only destroyed my life.”

A tear rolled down his cheek.

“He has destroyed Zakiyyah 's as well.”

For a long while he sat in silence.

Then, with trembling hands, he reached for his shirt, which lay rumpled across the bed.

His fingers fumbled with the fabric. They refused to obey him. He slipped one arm into the wrong sleeve, cursed under his breath, pulled it off and tried again.

His head still pounded.

Every heartbeat sent another wave of pain through his skull.

He forced the buttons through their holes one after another, his vision blurring every few seconds. Sweat gathered on his forehead despite the cool evening breeze drifting through the half-open window.

His eyes wandered back to the bed.

He froze.

The stains were still there.

His stomach churned.

“No…”

He looked away immediately.

He couldn't bear it.

He dragged both palms over his face and shut his eyes.

“Astaghfirullah... Astaghfirullah... Astaghfirullah…” He chanted continuously.

The words came out in broken whispers.

His lips trembled.

He wanted to wake up.

He wanted someone to shake him and tell him he had fallen asleep after the long journey.

He wanted the room to disappear.

Instead, the silence mocked him.

Then Zakiyyah's face flashed through his mind again.

The pain in her eyes which despite his state was evident to see.

He shook his head repeatedly.

“I would never…”

His words died in his throat.

He didn't even know what he was trying to deny anymore.

He only knew that whatever had happened in this room had destroyed two lives.

He swallowed hard.

I have to see her.

Not to defend himself.

Not to ask for forgiveness.

How could he?

He only wanted her to know one thing.

That whatever had happened, he had no such evil in his heart.

Whether she believed him or not...

He owed her those words.

With slow steps, Hanif opened the bedroom door and stepped into the corridor.

The house felt strangely quiet.

He strolled slowly to Zakiyyah’s door, but when he got there, all the courage he had summoned failed him. He felt like a dirty person who needed deep cleansing. His palm hung in mid-air, but he couldn’t bring himself to knock. He couldn’t bring himself to face her. So, he went away just the way he had come.

He got to his room and picked up his car keys. What went wrong, he couldn’t say. What was he supposed to say when he got to her?

A tear streamed down his face, and he regretted trusting the wrong person. It had been said in a hadith of the Prophet Muhammad (sallallahu alayhi wa sallam), as narrated by Abu Musa al-Ash‘ari (may Allah be pleased with him):

“The example of a good companion and a bad companion is like that of the one who carries musk and the one who works the bellows. The one carrying musk will either give you some, you will buy some from him, or you will notice a pleasant smell from him. As for the one working the bellows, he will either burn your clothes or you will notice an unpleasant smell from him.”

His mother had always been right to warn him against Kashif, but he never listened. Now, he had to face the consequences alone.

He was filth.

A filth who couldn’t explain how he had ended up being a ra**st within a few hours.

His head je**ed backwards.

© Zainab Abdul-Wasiu

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Zainabscrib

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗥𝗜𝗗

Chapter Two

Hanif stood to leave the room when Kashif remained adamant about stopping the music.

“I think I'll leave now. But bro, when will you change? Hmm...” he asked, watching his brother sway to the rhythm of the song.

“Okay, I'll stop it now,” Kashif surrendered at last, switching off the MP3 player.

“That's good,” Hanif said, settling back on the couch. “Can I use your restroom? I'm pressed.”

“Hold on,” Kashif said. “It’s unavailable for use now.”

“No problem. I'll use the one in my room,” Hanif replied.

As he turned to leave, Kashif called after him.

“Hanif...”

He stopped to hear him out.

“Please come back after using the loo. I need your advice on something. It's been bothering me for a while now, and seeing how much you care about me, I don't need a soothsayer to tell me you're the right man to confide in.”

Hanif frowned.

That didn't sound like Kashif.

His brother rarely spoke about his personal life. If anything, they all had a habit of carrying their burdens in silence. Hearing Kashif ask for advice felt... strange.

“Okay. I'll be back, in sha Allah.”

He quietly closed the door behind him.

___

A few minutes later, Hanif returned.

Kashif was seated on the couch, two cups neatly arranged on the centre table between them.

“So... what's bothering you?” Hanif asked as he sat down.

Kashif stroked his beard.

For several moments, he said nothing.

Then he let out a slow sigh.

“Do you think people can actually change?”

Hanif studied him.

“Why would you ask that?”

“I don't know... maybe because everybody already has an opinion about me.”

Hanif leaned back.

“People will always have opinions. What matters is what Allah knows about you... and what you choose to become.”

A faint smile tugged at Kashif's lips.

“You always have one Islamic reminder ready.”

Hanif chuckled.

“Would you rather I quoted one of your songs?”

Kashif laughed.

“No, please.”

Silence settled between them once again.

“Sometimes,” Kashif said quietly, “I feel like I've disappointed everyone.”

Hanif's expression softened.

“As long as you're alive, the door of tawbah is still open.”

Kashif lowered his gaze.

“I hope so.”

“You don't have to hope. Allah accepts the repentance of His servants.”

For the first time that afternoon, Kashif nodded without arguing.

“Before we continue,” he said, “share a drink with me.”

Only then did Hanif notice the two cups.

“You know I don't drink.”

“Oh! Relax. It's non-alcoholic wine. I poured it while you were away. I just wanted the atmosphere to be calm.”

Hanif looked at him sceptically.

“I can show you the bottle if you don't believe me.”

He walked to the fridge, brought out the bottle and handed it to him.

Hanif examined the label carefully before handing it back.

“It really is non-alcoholic.”

“I told you.”

Hanif smiled faintly.

“You've surprised me twice today.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

Hanif picked up the cup, took a sip, then another before finishing the drink.

“So... what was the advice you wanted?” he asked.

Just as Kashif opened his mouth to respond, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

“Guy...”

He declined the call and turned back to Hanif.

“When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow, in sha Allah. I'm spending the night here.”

“Nothing spoil. I just remembered I have unfinished business with one of my guys. Let me quickly sort it out. I'll be back in no time.”

Hanif looked at him in surprise.

“You're leaving now?”

“I won't be long.”

“Alright.”

For some reason, Hanif rubbed the back of his neck.

“I'll go to my room and freshen up then. I hope whatever is bothering you isn't too serious.”

“It isn't.”

Kashif smiled and patted him lightly on the shoulder.

“We'll continue when I return.”

They stepped out of the room together.

___

Still on a phone call, Kashif was heading outside when Zakiyyah walked past him on her way to the guest room.

He grabbed her arm abruptly.

She winced.

“Have you seen me today?” he asked, his voice sharp.

She pulled her arm free.

“I'm sorry. Good afternoon,” she replied stiffly before walking away with a hiss.

Kashif watched her disappear down the hallway before continuing outside.

“Baba, ẹ ṣi gate jọ!” He screamed so loudly.

The gatekeeper wasn't nearby. Fortunately, his daughter was around and hurried to open the gate.

Kashif stood beside his car and beckoned to her.

She hesitated before walking towards him.

He looked her over briefly.

“Who are you?”

Luckily, the gatekeeper arrived just then.

“She is my daughter,” he answered.

Kashif smirked.

“So your daughter is opening the gate now? Where were you when you were supposed to be at your duty post?”

“I was in the toilet,” the old man replied calmly.

Kashif hissed, got into his car, and sped off without another word.

The young lady shook her head.

“Baba mi, is this what you go through? That man is so rude. If not for you, I would have given him a piece of my mind.”

The old man smiled wearily.

“It's a good thing you didn't. People like him should be ignored. They shouldn't rob us of our peace.”

She nodded thoughtfully.

“Hmmm... choosing peace over chaos.”

She smiled.

“I won't forget that, Baba mi.”

___

Hanif made his way to his room, unable to make sense of what he was feeling.

The moment he shut the door behind him, he leaned against it for support.

Something wasn't right.

His head felt unusually light, and his vision blurred for a brief moment before clearing again. Thinking a shower might help, he gathered all the strength he could muster and walked into the bathroom.

The cold water ran over him.

It did nothing.

Instead, a strange warmth began to spread through his body. It wasn't the warmth that came with a fever. It was unfamiliar... unsettling.

He hurriedly dried himself, changed into fresh clothes, and sat on the edge of the bed.

The room swayed.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Still, the dizziness remained.

"What is happening to me?" he muttered.

He pressed his fingers against his temples, hoping the throbbing would ease.

It didn't.

A wave of uneasiness settled over him.

Something was terribly wrong.

He stretched himself onto the bed, hoping a few minutes' rest would help, but every passing second only made him feel worse. His breathing grew heavier, and the room seemed unusually warm despite the air conditioner humming softly overhead.

He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, the ceiling looked strangely distant.

___

Zakiyyah sighed as she closed her JAMB past questions.

English.

Again.

She understood the class lessons, yet somehow the subject always betrayed her in examinations. The rules seemed endless, and no matter how much she studied, she never felt confident enough.

She glanced at the clock.

Brother Hanif was home.

A smile found its way onto her face.

Whenever she struggled with English, he always explained it in a way that made everything seem easier. He had never made her feel ashamed for asking questions.

She reached for her past questions and wrapped her scarf loosely around her neck.

Being alone in the house with Kashif had left her restless all day. Hanif's arrival earlier had been a welcome relief.

To her, he was more than her cousin's brother.

He was the elder brother she never had.

With that thought, she left her room and made her way upstairs.

She stopped outside Hanif's door and knocked gently.

No response.

She waited for a few seconds before knocking again.

This time, a faint voice reached her ears.

“Come... in…”

His voice sounded weak.

Far weaker than she had ever heard.

Concern washed over her.

She pushed the door open.

“Brother Hanif?”

He was sitting on the bed, one hand pressed against his forehead.

His breathing was uneven.

Sweat glistened on his face.

She hurried to his side.

“Brother Hanif, what happened?”

He slowly lifted his head.

"I... I don't know."

His voice sounded strained.

She touched his arm.

It felt very warm.

“Should I get you some water?”

He gave a weak nod.

She rushed to the mini-fridge, poured a glass, and returned.

Supporting him gently, she brought the cup to his lips.

His trembling hands tried to take it from her, but they wouldn't cooperate.

The glass slipped from his fingers.

It hit the tiled floor with a sharp crash, scattering pieces across the room.

Her heart skipped.

“Brother Hanif…”

He didn't answer.

His breathing had become heavier.

She looked around the room anxiously.

“I'll call Uncle.”

She turned to leave.

Before she could take another step, she felt a hand close around her wrist.

She looked back.

His grip was firm.

Far firmer than she expected from someone who looked so weak only moments ago.

“Brother Hanif…”

He slowly raised his head.

His eyes met hers.

For a brief moment, she searched his face, hoping to find the calm, gentle man she had always known.

Instead...

There was something she couldn't recognise.

Something that made a chill run down her spine.

Fear settled quietly in her chest.

She didn't know why.

But every instinct told her something was terribly wrong.

© Zainab Abdul-Wasiu

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Bismillah

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗥𝗜𝗗

Chapter One

Rain drizzled softly as Hanif made his way to his parents' home. It was a quiet Saturday, and with nothing on his schedule, he decided to visit them. He was halfway through the journey before it occurred to him to call his mother, whom he fondly referred to as Ummi. When she answered, he wished he had informed her before setting off.

“We're at a family event, but you can go home. We'll return tonight,” his mother had said over the phone.

He nodded, placing his phone gently back on the holder. The thought, I should have called earlier, gripped him like a knot in his chest, but he quickly dismissed it. After all, who thought of calling their parents to announce they were coming home?

As he drove into the estate, he smiled sadly, remembering all that had taken place in the house he had called home for the first twenty-six years of his life. He had left to start his own life at twenty-seven, and now he was only a few months away from thirty.

He arrived at his father's mansion, one of the biggest in the estate. His father, a neurologist, had dedicated his life to his work so his family would never lack anything. He had never really been present during their growing years; he missed the children's growing years, but he seemed to be enjoying his later years with his beautiful wives. Time had simply passed, and the children had grown before life slowed enough for him to be present.

Hanif honked at the gate, and the gatekeeper peeped through the hole before opening it. A broad grin spread across the old man's face when Hanif alighted from the car.

“Your face show, your shoe shine,” the gatekeeper hailed after they exchanged pleasantries.

Hanif returned the warm smile as he shook the old man's hand.

“Baba, it's been a while. Your face glows too,” he teased affectionately.

“Don't whine me. But if truly my face glows, that is the work of my lastborn. The girl has been so intentional about taking care of her aged father,” the gatekeeper replied, quiet affection resting on his face while warmth filled his voice.

“Oh! That's great. She must really be taking good care of you.”

“Yes. Only that girl isn't ashamed of my job. Even my wife dissociates herself from me once I am at my duty post.”

Hanif held the old man's hand a little more firmly.

“Baba, please don't think about that. Sometimes it isn't our family's wish to act that way. They may not even realise they're doing it. It feels like they're distancing themselves from us, even when they can't explain why. May Allah be pleased with your daughter.”

“Amin. Thanks, Hanif. She's my sorrow turned to joy. Among all her siblings, she loves me loudly,” the gatekeeper said, emotion creeping into his voice.

“It's fine, Baba. Is Kashif home?” Hanif asked as he took a step forward.

“Yes, he is inside. The most notorious citizen of this gigantic family,” the gatekeeper replied, his smile fading.

Hanif sighed and shook his head before thanking the old man and proceeding inside.

He had two brothers. Just two. Yet one of them didn't seem to belong to the respectable family his father had worked so hard to build. Fortunately, they had different mothers who raised them differently, and neither Hanif nor his siblings had followed the path of their elder brother.

Kashif.

Kashif was five years older than Hanif. Despite the age gap, Hanif could barely remember a time he had truly looked up to him. Instead, he had spent most of his life praying that one day his brother would become the man everyone hoped he could be.

He was certain his stepmother had gone to the family event with his parents. These days, his father made a conscious effort to be present for his wives. His younger sisters were both married; one lived in London, the other in Lagos.

He smiled.

His mother always complained about the one in Lagos.

“That girl is so immature. I told your father to give her a few more years, but he wouldn't listen. Now, at every slightest opportunity, she comes home.”

Hanif would only laugh. He knew his mother secretly enjoyed every one of those visits.

His father had once told him, “Every man wants a son, but every man needs a daughter.”

The older man had been right. While staying away from home came easily to him, his sisters couldn't. Even the one in London constantly spoke about how much she missed home, especially their mother.

He smiled again as thoughts of his sisters lingered in his mind. Although his father had been absent during much of their childhood, he had always tried to be present for his daughters.

And the lastborn, the baby of the house, who billed everyone at home without the others knowing, was in his final year at the university. Soon, the family would boast of another doctor.

It was the profession his father had wanted for him too, but he had refused. He simply couldn't. The sight of blood unsettled him, and he was far too compassionate to be a doctor. He knew he would be the kind of doctor who cried openly with patients' families.

A smile escaped his lips as Kashif crossed his mind.

Kashif had studied Music.

Yes, he had gone to the university to study Music, yet never pursued it beyond his frequent visits to clubs, where he happily mimed songs he called his future hits.

When Hanif entered the sitting room, he noticed a figure lying on the couch. As he opened the door wider, the person quickly sat up.

“Oh, Brother Hanif,” she greeted him with a smile.

He smiled back, surprised that Kashif wasn't the only one at home.

“Zakiyyah, how have you been?” he asked, his face still lit with a smile.

“Alhamdulillah, sir. It's good to see you again.”

“So, what's up?”

“I'm writing JAMB again,” she replied, her face falling.

“Oh... the last one?”

“I failed English again,” she answered, stressing the word again.

Zakiyyah was Kashif’s maternal cousin and had literally grown up in the family home.

“It's okay, dear. In sha Allah, this will be the last one. What course did you choose this time?”

“Nursing. Always and forever,” she replied, earning a thumbs-up from Hanif.

“And this shall come to pass. Don't worry. This will be your last UTME, bi'idhnillah.”

“Amin. Thank you so much, Brother Hanif.”

“My pleasure. Is Kashif upstairs?”

“Yes. In his room.”

Hanif nodded and climbed the staircase until he arrived at Kashif's bedroom, directly opposite his own.

“Caro dun oloyin... ahhh, oloyin…” blared from inside the room.

Hanif hissed as he remembered the countless times he had warned his half-brother about the evil of listening to music.

The words of the Prophet (may the peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) echoed in his mind:

“There will be among my Ummah people who will regard as lawful illegal sexual in*******se, the wearing of silk, the drinking of alcoholic drinks, and the use of musical instruments.”

He had always feared that normalising one sin made the next one easier to embrace.

“Music is life, bro,” Kashif would always reply without the slightest shame.

“Leave him alone, Hanif. I don't want his mother's trouble,” his own mother would often warn him.

But how could he knowingly watch his brother tread the path of destruction?

He stood outside the room for a moment, debating whether to quietly retire to his own room or check on Kashif first. In the end, he chose the latter, hoping he could at least persuade him to stop the music.

He slowly released the breath he hadn't realised he was holding and knocked on the door.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

It was only after the third knock that the doorknob turned.

The face that appeared behind the door was enough to make Hanif consider turning back and heading straight to his room.

But he stepped inside anyway, hoping the conversation would soften his brother's hardened heart.

“Yo, bro!” Kashif said, pushing aside a pile of scattered clothes to make space for Hanif to sit.

“Kashif, when will you stop all this?” Hanif asked as he sat on the bed.

© Zainab Abdul-Wasiu

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You may not understand why a door closed, why something delayed, or why things didn’t go the way you hoped. But trust Allah. He sees what you cannot see, and He knows what you do not know.

Do your best, make duʿaʾ, and leave the rest to Him. What is meant for you will never miss you.

Have you ever looked back at something you once thought was a disappointment, only to realise later that Allah was protecting you?

Zainabscrib

LOVE'S SWEET SURRENDER

She left the bathroom to change into her nightwear when she heard the doorknob turn from outside. She had left the door open. Her heart pounded hard, she blinked her eyes twice to be sure she hadn't gone blind.

“U.U.Umar,” she called out his name like a river, stumbling over rocks of a four-letter word.

“Umar,” she called his name again. He ignored her and moved towards the wardrobe. He dropped his bag on the floor and proceeded to sleep.

Hind quickly changed into simple nightwear and joined her husband in bed.

“Alhamdulillah,” she mumbled silently.

The distance between them was wide enough for another adult to sleep, so his wife moved closer to him. It was a dream come true, but it still felt like a dream.

“Jazakumullahu Khayran, thank you,” she said to him when she got to his side. Carefully, she placed her head on his chest.

“I'm sorry. In your heart, kindly find a place to forgive me,” she said to him.

He ignored her because he still wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing. But fortunately for him, just like an enchantment, he fell into a deep sleep.

Hind cried silently when she saw her husband's reaction.

“Did he return to the room to make my life a living hell?” She thought sadly with a voice filled with gloom.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I will treat you better. I love you,” she said amidst tears. Unlike her husband who was able to sleep, his presence was like a wound to her injury. He was in the room with her and it still felt like a distant history.

Hind stood up sluggishly from the bed the next day to observe her midnight prayer. She thanked Allah for returning her husband to their room and prayed for Allah's intervention in their affairs because her mind was restless.

Umar also woke up to observe Qiyam Ul layl but each of them prayed individually.

He left for the mosque for the Fajr prayer while his wife went to the bathroom to take her bath and performed ablution.

She resumed at the kitchen after chanting adhkar, she was frying the frittata when the door screeched up.

Umar was spraying his signature perfume on his clothes when his wife entered. They exchanged greetings and silence gained its way back to their midst.

“I prepared breakfast and it has been served,” she said with difficulty.

He looked at her and nodded his head. He left the room and went to the dining room. His wife leapt for joy when she saw him in the dining room. Unlike other days, he eats the food she prepared.
Hind sat opposite him and they ate their meal in silence. Although her husband picked noiselessly at the meal, to her it was worth more than ignoring her food. She tried to engage him in short talks during breakfast, he was unyielding like the Jericho wall.

She paraded herself in front of him after breakfast. She had worn a gown which fell above her ankle. She was nowhere but in the sight of her husband. He glared at her before leaving for his study room.

Hind broke down in tears when he left. She left the sitting room to cry away her sorrow in the bedroom which had been her tears-dom.

Umar's mind was drifting away from the book he was reading but he struggled to keep on till it was time for the Zuhr prayer when he left the library to pray in the mosque.

With a face filled with tears and a heart ripped apart, Hind dragged herself like a shell less snail to perform ablution for the zuhr prayer.

Umar reflected a lot on his way home from the mosque. In the blazing sun, the woody tree and the bright-filled days, he found the closure he needed. The tempo of his heartbeat increased as he walked home.

Hind sat on the prayer mat after observing her prayer. She was crying and seeking the favour of Allah. There was a silent knock at the door, and then the door came flying off, and there stood the man of her heart with his very big travelling bag. She looked up at him in surprise while chanting the adhkar she was saying in a mild rush. Umar closed the door behind him, and like the speed of light, a smile found its way to his face.

“Subhanallah! Alhamdulillah,” Hind said above a whisper. She lost her sense of reasoning for a second before regaining it. Her husband's smile was a total knockout for her. She rushed towards him and missed a step. Umar caught her before she landed on the floor.

He missed her.

He missed her so much and even her tantrums.

He held her closely to his chest, his heart. He placed his chin on her head and exhaled the sweet scent oozing from her body.

“Thank you, Umar. I love you, I love you so much. Please forgive me,” she poured out her emotions.

Umar raised her face till it became levelled with his gaze. What he saw almost sent him out of his senses.

A look he had never seen in the eyes of any human before. A look that depicts calmness and peace, she was his peace just as he was hers.

The tears that were stinging the back of her eyes came rolling off like a loosened waist bead.

Her husband held her face tenderly with a lot of affection, he wiped off her tears with the tip of his tongue. The butterfly in her stomach fluttered.

“What have you done to yourself? You have lost so much weight. Our journey to having our child is long, you need to be healthy,” he whispered into her ears in a sonorous tone. He almost broke down at her sight. She was so lean like a leafless tree.

She blinked her eyes and more water came splashing on her face.

“It's okay.”

“I'm sorry Umar. I'm sorry for hurting you. Please forgive me and never doubt my love for you,” she quivered and her husband held her more firmly to his chest, with her bosom falling and rising again.

“No problem. There's nothing to forgive. Child or not, I will never divorce you; I love you, Hind. We pray Allah grants us kids, but if it doesn't happen, we will make do with Tahirah. You are the salt of my life. Without you my life will be a bitter dose of sadness,” he said to her while she wet his chest with her tears.

“Stop your tears; it breaks my heart to see you this way,” he said to his wife, who cried harder.

He removed her hijab slowly and placed it on the bed. She wanted to initiate intimacy when he held her hand to stop her.

“Who did you see at the hospital? I hope it's not a quack doctor,” he said in a joke. She nodded her head. She was yet to understand his question.

“You should be on antibiotics, right?” She nodded her head.

“So, let's treat you first before toiling that path. I have been waiting. I'll wait, I will never get tired of waiting for you,” he said.

The night was a beautiful one. They served as each other's shroud, giggling with the sound of the night. Hind was the happiest, or was it Umar? They were both happy in their new-found love, which had been present from the beginning of their heart's journey. In the middle of the quiet night, they woke each other up to worship their Lord and thanked Him afterwards for replacing calmness in their home after a heavy and near-destructive storm.

They spent the following week showing love to each other in different shades of colour; the rainbow colour was prominent, giving rise to other colours to splash their world.

“You are the whispered secret that only my heart can hear,” Umar had said to her on the night of their reconciliation and she couldn't get over the words. His treasured words.

He was home.

She was also his home.

And his own.

© Zainab Abdul-Wasiu.

Do you remember this story? 😊

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