Two Brothers, One Heart

Part 2: Chapter 94

Islam slumped against the bed, her gaze fixed on the parrot's cage as it swung gently. The silence was suffocating, punctuated only by the soft rustling of the bird's feathers. She couldn't shake off the feeling of being trapped, just like the parrot. Her mind wandered to Usman, the man she was supposed to marry. She had once loved him with all her heart, but now the thought of spending her life with him felt like a prison sentence.

As she stood up, her eyes scanned the room, cluttered with wedding gifts and boxes. The air was stale, heavy with the weight of her doubts. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of uncertainty. The irony wasn't lost on her - she was marrying a man she once loved, but now couldn't bear the thought of.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Zaynab swept in, her presence commanding attention. Her stylish aura and bossy demeanor made Islam feel like a rebellious daughter. "What do you want now?" Islam asked, her voice laced with desperation.

Zaynab's eyes narrowed as she instructed the man who followed her to install surveillance cameras in the room. "Make sure you cover all four corners," she said, her voice cold and detached. Islam felt a chill run down her spine as she realized she was being trapped, literally and figuratively.

"Why are you doing this, Mama?" Islam asked, her voice cracking.

Zaynab's expression turned venomous. "I won't let you ruin our reputation, Islam. You're going to marry Usman, and that's final."

Islam's frustration boiled over. "But why are you going to such great lengths? Can't I even have a say in my own life?"

Zaynab's grip on Islam's wrist was like a vice. "You're still immature, Islam. You have a good man who loves you, but you're willing to throw it all away for someone who doesn't deserve you."

Islam's tears flowed freely as she pulled away from her mother's grasp. "How dare you call him a bastard? You don't even know him."

Zaynab's eyes flashed with anger. "I'm warning you, Islam. Don't test me."

As the man finished installing the cameras, Islam felt like she was losing her grip on reality. She thought of Sultana, the woman Usman had cheated on her with, and the penthouse transformation in Tarkwa Bay. The memories came flooding back, and she felt like she was drowning in a sea of betrayal.

She slumped against the door, her head in her hands, and sobbed uncontrollably. "You betrayed me," she whispered, the words echoing in her mind like a mantra.

*
Firdausi stood by her closet, pondering over the dresses she planned to take to Abuja for the week-long stay. It was December, a time for holidays and joy, yet today, on the first day of December, she felt a bit low, almost like the mood of December itself.

Zaynab's act of entrusting the key to Islam's door made her feel even worse. She was asked to keep an eye on Zaynab's office computer but not to open the door for her. Firdausi was torn between following Zaynab's instructions and wanting to see Islam happy.

"Guest at the door," Yasin's voice interrupted, drawing Firdausi's attention. As the guest, Afra, entered wearing an Ankara skirt and blouse with a hijab, she greeted warmly with "Salamualaikum."

Firdausi returned the greeting and admired Afra's attire, clad in her baggy cargo pants and camisole. Afra mentioned she heard about their departure to Abuja that evening and brought a tote bag as a gift.

Apologizing for the mess in her room, Firdausi cleared the clothes scattered around, concealing her carpet under the piles. She joked about her dislike for packing, to which Afra reminisced about the old days.

The scent of shawarma from the tote bag filled the room, adding to the atmosphere of their conversation.

"Hmmm," Firdausi hummed as the delightful aroma of shawarma filled the room. "Is it from Aunt Madina?"

"Nope, my sister Mardiyya made them. She started a catering class in Mystic Bistro," replied Afra.

"Can I have some?" Yasin, who had been at the door, asked eagerly.

"Yasin!" Firdausi exclaimed, giving him a playful look.

"Of course," Afra responded generously. "I brought plenty for all of you."

"Thanks... ya," Yasin said, searching for the right way to address her.

"Afra, just call me Afra and drop all the seniority and respect," she said with a smile as Yasin took a wrap of shawarma neatly wrapped in foil.

"Do you want me to help you pack?" Afra offered her assistance.

"Of course, should I take my leather jacket or tweed or is it unnecessary?" Firdausi inquired.

"Take it," advised Afra. "It would be nice, especially when meeting your mother's business partners."

Deciding on the tweed blazer, Firdausi made her choice. Afra playfully remarked, "That's what I hate about you, why ask for an opinion when you already have one," before strolling to the balcony that extended from Firdausi's room. The balcony overlooked their beautiful garden, adorned with an abstract painting and stuccoed walls.

"Wow, your house is like a heaven on earth," Afra complimented, leaning on the balcony.

"Seriously?" Firdausi questioned, joining her at the balcony.

As they stood at the balcony, surrounded by memories of their childhood adventures. They laughed and joked, their bond stronger than ever. But amidst the joy, Firdausi's mind wandered to her sister Islam, who was struggling with her arranged marriage.

Islam had always been the good and jovial one, seldomly questioning their parents' decisions. But now, she was faced with a future she didn't want, and Firdausi could see the desperation in her eyes.

"Afra, I need to talk to you about something," Firdausi said, her expression serious.

Afra noticed the change in Firdausi's demeanor and gave her full attention. "What's wrong, Firdausi?"

"It's Islam. She doesn't want to get married, but Mom is insisting. I don't know what to do," Firdausi confessed, feeling a mix of emotions.

Afra's eyes widened in surprise. "That's terrible. We have to do something to help her."

Firdausi nodded, feeling a sense of determination. "I know, but I'm scared of Mom's reaction. She's always been strict about these things."

Afra placed a reassuring hand on Firdausi's arm. "We'll figure something out together. We always do."

As they sat there, Firdausi thought about their childhood, how they would sneak out of the house and explore the neighborhood. She remembered the time they got caught by their parents, and how Afra had taken the blame to protect her.

Just then, Yasin appeared at the door, asking about mocktails. Firdausi and Afra exchanged a look, and then Firdausi got up to make the drinks.

As they sipped their mocktails, Firdausi's phone rang. It was Flora, announcing that she was joining them on their trip. Firdausi smiled, feeling a sense of excitement and relief.

But her happiness was short-lived, as she remembered Islam's situation. She knew she had to act fast to help her sister.

"Afra, I think I know what we can do," Firdausi said, a plan forming in her mind.

Afra looked at her curiously. "What is it?"

Firdausi took a deep breath. "We can disable the surveillance cameras and talk to Islam. She needs to know that we're here for her."

Afra nodded, her eyes shining with agreement. "Let's do it."

Together, they hatched a plan to help Islam, determined to support her no matter what. They knew it wouldn't be easy, but they were willing to take the risk for their sister's happiness.