Being his replacement bride.(Completed)✔️

Chapter 4.

FU'AD.
Imran helped me get dressed, as my words made little sense to my parents. To them, their friendship and reputation mattered more than my feelings. They kept repeating, Allah knows best and plans better.

I was still in shock over the state Munnaya had left me in.

We were seated in the vast compound of the Bello family house, where the wedding fatiha was to take place.

Uncle Muhammad-Munnaya's father-and Uncle Ahmad-Nadia's father-sincerely apologised for everything that had transpired. Their consolation meant a lot.

They told me to accept it as my destiny.

Wait-were they not concerned about where Ameer had taken Munnaya?

Had he married my Munnaya today as well?

Am I the only one troubled by this?

Or should I even be worried?

Why did they run away? They could have told me the truth.
But would I have let go of the love I have for Munnaya?

The voice of the Imam interrupted my thoughts:

"Andaura auren Fu'ad Abubakar Gorko da Nadia Ahmad Bello akan sadaqi Dubu Dari."
(The wedding knot of Fu'ad Abubakar Gorko and Nadia Ahmad Bello has been tied with a bride price of one hundred thousand.)

I kept hearing voices murmuring: "Allah bada zaman lafiya."

Nadia is now my wife?!

This was meant to be the happiest moment for me and Munnaya.

"Congratulations, bro," Imran said, but I turned away from him angrily, refusing to respond.

"Fu'ad, this is your fate. You must let go of Munnaya. She chose what she wanted, and for your parents to bless this wedding, know that it is the best for you, InshaAllah."

"Enough, Imran. I do not want to hear that again!" I snapped, standing up to leave.

Just then, my dad, who was seated with Munnaya's father and a few other elderly men, called me.

We exchanged pleasantries before Munnaya's father called Zaid.

If I remembered correctly, Zaid was Nadia's little brother.

"Take them to my parlour, and tell your Aunty ,Maryam to bring Nadia there to greet her husband," he instructed.

Husband? Did he just call Nadia my wife?

With that look on his face, did he even care about Munnaya's whereabouts?

Why am I still worried about Munnaya?

I kept asking myself the same question when a young man, about my age, greeted me.

"Assalamu alaikum."

"Wa alaikumus salam," I replied, forcing a smile.

"I'm Saif, Nadia's sister's husband."

"MashaAllah, nice to meet you," I said, shaking his hand.

"You are Fu'ad, right?"

"Yes."

"I'm really sorry about all that happened this morning. I know it won't be easy for you."

"No problem. Allah plans best, Saif. I'll see you another time," I said as he excused himself.

Zaid led Imran and me to Alhaji Ahmad's parlour.

I kept a straight face, scrolling through my phone, when the door opened.

A little girl entered, greeted us, placed a tray on the side stool, and left.

Moments later, the door opened again. Three girls walked in-undoubtedly, Nadia and her cousins.

I recognised them. The one on the right was Amal. The one in the middle, covered modestly, had to be Nadia. And to her left was Ibtihaj.

Ibtihaj was a chatterbox. I recalled how she used to accompany Munnaya and me on our dates, talking endlessly.

"Yaa Fu'ad!" Ibtihaj called out as they approached.

I knew she would talk, regardless of my mood.

"How are you, Ibti?" I asked, forcing a smile.

Nadia, still in the middle, kept her head lowered. From the way she clutched her pink veil tightly, she was clearly uncomfortable.

"I'm fine, Yaa Fu'ad. Congratulations," she said with a grin.

"Thanks, Ibti," I replied, though I saw no reason to be congratulated.

Not marrying Munnaya was a failure to me.

"Congratulations, Yaa Fu'ad," Amal added, smiling.

"Amal, thanks," I responded.

Amal and Ibtihaj engaged in conversation with Imran, as they were more familiar with him.

Nadia also exchanged pleasantries with Imran.

Then, we were left alone.

The scent of her humrah filled the air.

Was she expecting me to greet her?

"Good morning, Yaa Fu'ad," she said softly.

"Morning," I muttered. That was all I could bring myself to say.

I knew she sensed my reluctance to converse.

She remained silent, playing with her fingers, which had a light touch of henna decoration.

We sat in silence for ten minutes before I stood up and left without uttering another word.

Alhamdulillah.
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Lots of love,
© Najaatu Zubairu.