A/N: Y'all I don't know much Arabic, bear with me. It's my little knowledge of it and most especially, Google Translate I use here. I have the memory of a two year old, can't rlly remember all what I've learnt about the lang.
Read on!
***
KANO, NIGERIA.
Nailah hated her father's wife.
The woman was not her mother - well, she liked to think she was, but Nailah knew better. Her mother was dead, and no stranger could ever have her place in the still-grieving daughter's heart. Mardiyya; her stepmother, never approved of anything Nailah set her path toward. And falling in love with a married man was one of those things the woman did not approve of. Alas, her opinion did not matter.
Her words put Nailah on a chokehold. Words she found of no use to her ears. No matter what the woman said, it all fell on deaf ears. "You shouldn't date a married man," Mardiyya had said. Notwithstanding a decade plus of proposed acquaintance, forthput nothing of the sort. Nothing pimped a square one. It was always the same.
Static.
And unmovable.
Respect wasn't in her shortlisted vocabulary, neither in her norms. A lot took her sharp tongue as robustness, that lot, had it all right. "You could've broken a home."
She 'could have', or did she mean she 'had', already? No, halt, she did not care. If she did, the man let it happen, didn't they say marriage was a highly recommended act in Islam? Nailah wondered the woman's motive behind wanting to drift her thoughts off Muhammad.
One thing could never be changed for Nailah. Her principle, motto, her maxim, whatever one chose to call it. What Nailah wanted, Nailah got it; come what may.
"I will marry Muhammad. Truth be told, nothing you, nor my power-seeking father can do to change that. If you think otherwise, Mardiyya, try me." That, was what she called a threat, she did not care if it sounded petty to her stepmother's ears.
**
"You marry who you choose, Nailah. If you love him and vice-versa, I give you my blessings." Her father distractedly said, waving off the presence crowding his mind of figures.
"But, my husband --"
Nailah rolled her mouth in distaste, toward her father, as well as -of course- Mardiyya. Her mother's plane crash from nine years that had passed was on her father and Mardiyya's thirteenth anniversary of matrimony, the worst day of Nailah's life. Though her mother was the second wife, she had it upon her to withhold the hatred she still had for Mardiyya. One wouldn't say her stepmother maltreated her, it was not that.
"Thank you, father." Nailah turned on her heel and walked out of the study.
Mardiyya, upon seeing her opinion was not valued, followed after Nailah.
"Muhammad. You should tell them. My father consents!" Nailah enthusiastically announced into the phone. He could not place a finger on the emotion that washed over him. He cleared his throat, "Really?" Dread, balled up into a lump restricted another word from escaping. "Yes, yes, yes!"
YOU ARE READING
Sadiya |REWRITING
Teen Fiction1 of 2 - Shukr series. {COMPLETED} ___ • His African Angel & Her Brown-Eyed Stranger • ___ I whispered to him as we continued to sway to the lyrics. "They say, 'every life is a story', but I thank you. Thank you for being part of mine, thank you for...
