Sadiya |REWRITING

Chapter Twenty-Four

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ABUJA, NIGERIA.

Hatred was a strong feeling. However, loathe was another on its own. Hatred was not any less negative feeling per se, but a stronger version of it came off harsher. There were times; particular times in one's life that determined their position in another's life. Those times, either rendering an individual into a state of mental stability or distress.

A feeling akin to distress, more like the exact feeling, surrounded her. The flames of the burning spirit of anxiety emblazed her whole. It was not the most welcome sentiment, after all, anxiety could be either one's enemy, or just a shadow of the vulnerable. But then again, every person had their vulnerabilities. Perhaps not as similar as another's, however, it was just the quality of being human.

The atmosphere spoke volumes of domesticity as curls of smoke rose into it. Shafa burned the scented woods, but the act did nothing to calm Ramlah's nerves. A stressful year it had been, and it was only the beginning of her predicament. She was between a rock and a hard place.

Who was to blame, though? The honest question deserved an honest answer. Herself. Still and all, self-blame was only a scorching metal on her wounds.

"You should rest, ma."

Ramlah set the last of the warmers on the filled table and turned to her help. She smiled, then turned to the stairway. A knot in her throat constricted her airways, she swallowed, blinking back the blurriness in her gaze. She shook her head, avoiding Shafa's clueless eyes trailing after her. Once in the bedroom, the emotions flowed out carelessly. She did nothing to stop them nor wipe the liquid.

That was a daily occurrence. Most times, she could go hours crying herself to sleep. Hormones played their part in the role, albeit it was all on her.

After showering, Ramlah changed into a comfortable Egyptian bubu, spritzing her vanilla scented perfume and making extra effort by dabbing her husband's oud on her pulse. She made Salah, time had gone by quickly that it was only some minutes past six in the evening. Yazid usually got back from the company by 8, but as things changed, his schedule permanently adjusted, and she expected him home, by 7p.m.

Ramlah stayed upstairs and decided to head to the study with her laptop. She could make use of the computer in the study, but her work was technically on her device. With a journal, pen and laptop in hand, she made her way to the sofa by the tall shelves holding an array of hardcovers. Ramlah worked at a publishing institute for a few years as an editor. The words, pages, poetry...were her very own tranquil realm.

One manuscript caught her interest. It was a...complicated storyline; a plot twist of the sorts. She uncrossed her leg, then crossed it back, straightening up on the cushioned seat. The story, it was about unfaithfulness. Unfaithfulness spoken in several words making up a message to all. And that, that shook her.

The writer spoke about a typical family-man in his mid-thirties. The man, having fathered two children of his own, had a stable job with stable income as per everyday life. His orphaned wife was the typical dotting housewife any man could wish to have. Beautiful, religious and whatnot. The family's life was perfect, but as they say; it's calm before the storm, right?

The husband, years after marriage, suddenly changed toward his family. The wife began getting worried. It was nowhere as a mild change. He would not eat her food, talk to her, spend time with her or their two young children. She had no one, no one to seek advice from, no one to cry to. He was that person, her best friend. Their youngest kid, having noticed her father's odd behaviour, got upset and cried to her mother.