Life Without You✔️.

26: New Beginnings, Old Shadows

WARNING: Use of multiple POV's. You may proceed 💗.

Bibi's POV
Abuja, Nigeria.

A week after Ayman's so-called wedding date was set, I went home to bring back the maid Aunty Shafa had arranged for me. Her name was Khadijah. She was maybe seventeen or eighteen, and we got along surprisingly well. At least now I'd wake up to someone in the house who was genuinely interested in what I had to say.

As we spent more time together me teaching her how I liked things done around the house I hardly noticed the month slipping by. Suddenly, it was the week of the wedding. But I was grateful, in a way. Grateful for something else to focus on, something to distract me from the unbearable reality that my excuse of a husband was marrying someone else.

Two days before he left, he said barely anything. Just that Bilkisu had invited me to her dinner party, and that I could bring two guests. The invitation cards, he added casually, were on his dressing table. That was it. That was all he said.

The pictures flooded Instagram. People were talking, and not in a good way. But I was oddly comforted by the fact that most of the comments I read were criticizing Ayman, and some calling Bilkisu a husband-snatcher.

Then there were those who pitied me, and others who spun their own wild theories. The one that stuck with me the most was someone saying it felt like Ayman had been forced into marrying me, and this wedding was him finally doing things on his own terms.

She wasn't wrong. If you really think about it, that's what it was. The only sad part of this story is mine. He gets his happy ending, while I remain locked in this house like a forgotten memory, or worse, a suppressed one.

Fayha had returned to school a week after the date of the wedding had been set because of mounting assignments but promised she'd be back for the wedding. So I dealt with everything alone. I didn't want to keep dragging others into my mess. So I stayed quiet.

She came back three days ago. And this morning, when the knot was tied. It was Fayha who called to tell me. I thought I'd feel something anything. But surprisingly, I took it well. She and the other girls promised to come by so we could attend the event together.

But for now, the house was too quiet. You know that kind of silence that feels like it knows something final just happened? Yeah. That was today.

I sat at my dresser, slipping gold bangles over my wrists one by one, not even looking at myself in the mirror. I couldn't. My mind was too loud. Ayman's wedding. Ayman my husband on paper was marrying the woman he actually wanted.

It's a strange kind of pain. Heavy, yet hollow. My chest was tight, but I'd already cried the tears that needed to be cried. Behind closed doors. Under my duvet. Today, I had no tears left. Just control or maybe a convincing imitation of it.
A knock broke the spiral.

"Bibi? Can we come in?" That was Afnan gentle and sisterly. "Yeah," I said, standing quickly, smoothing down my dress like that could fix what was broken inside.
They entered like light. Afnan, Leena, and Fayha, all glowing in soft, warm-toned dresses.

"You okay?" Leena asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid it might shatter me. "Not really," I said honestly because it was them. And with them, I could afford to be real. "But I will be." Fayha grabbed my hand, squeezing it like she could transfer strength through touch.

"We're standing with you today," she said. "Smile if you can. Cry if you need. Just know we're not letting go."
Ya Allah. My girls. They fixed my scarf, added gloss to my lips, whispered pep talks between adjusting my earrings and hugging me for no reason. By the time we left the house, I wasn't walking in alone. I was walking with soldiers.