𝓜𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂, 𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓮

56# RETIREMENT

THE KHALIL RESIDENCE,
ASOKORO.
JUNE, 2022.

On the night of the day Zaynab was buried, the house experienced a quietude it had never before seen. Yahya was sat by the door of Zaynab's room. He'd tried to go in, but couldn't. After a while, he'd tried to return to his room. He took a step in, caught sight of the mirror and then turned back. Hafsah had returned from her work meeting sometime in the evening to the news, but Yahya had asked her for some time to be alone. He didn't want company.

Yahya had relocated from every room in the house. There wasn't a place that was untouched by his memory of Zaynab. It hurt him to think of her as a memory; everything hurt when he thought of her. His breathing wouldn't function well, his hands wouldn't stop shaking and the weight in his throat just wouldn't budge. Yahya dragged himself out of the house. The cold air slapped him in the face , making his breath even more hurried, choppier...laboured. He tugged at his collar and sat on the floor. Where was his wife? She'd know how to handle this. Where was his Zaynab?

Yahya lay on the stairs, his cheek to the floor. His hand fisted his shirt, the cold air jarring as he sucked it in. He couldn't breathe.  A single tear dotted the tile near his head, and Yahya stared at it. Another joined it, and another and yet another, until Yahya couldn't see them past the blurriness of his vision. It was in this state that Ayman met his father. The shock of the sight before him almost overtook his grief,  but Ayman kept his words back and sat on a corner on the stair, next to his father's foot.

Yahya dragged his gaze to Ayman, tear falling away with a blink. He forced himself to sit upright until he was leaning against the left railing beside the stairs. Neither of  the two spoke a word, but the silence between them carried no tension. Only grief. Some time passed between them, and it might've been ten, or twenty minutes or even an hour, but they just sat there. In solitary company; together, yet individually. By the time Ayman got up to go inside, even the crickets had stopped chirping and gone to sleep. The moon, however, was at its most radiant, casting a pale glow on both men.

Ayman stood up shakily, eyes red. "Dad", he said, astounded by how raw his throat felt. He frowned, palming his throat and rubbing along the sides of it. "What're we going to do tomorrow?". His father didn't respond, nor look his way. In fact, if it wasn't for his material, tangible appearance, Ayman might've assumed he wasn't there. The younger man didn't push it, choosing to leave the older man be. When tomorrow came, they'd take care of it. 

EMPIRE HOSPITAL,

ASOKORO. 

When Jamil walked into the hospital that night, he wasn't the Jamil he"d thought he was. He'd always considered himself rational, able to thrive even under tremendous pressure. 

But the Jamil that walked into Empire that night had failed to thrive. He'd been stretched to his limit, past his yield point and to a region that was all too unfamiliar to him. Grief gnawed at his chest bone and his hand kept drifting there, palming at his chest as if it would relieve the anguish he felt there. His eyes were rimmed with red, and even without looking, Jamil knew his reflection would only reveal one thing. Madness. Because that was all he felt. 

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to crawl somewhere and just...be. The buzz of the hospital irritated him, and he felt like he would throw up from how pungent the place smelled. It was only the knowledge of Jamilah's condition that kept him walking. Another stab of pain shot through him, his mind clearing up the slightest bit to consider how his wife was doing. 

She'd been there. God, she'd been there.

Jamil's heart raced faster, and somehow he got his heavy legs to move. Faster, even faster, as fast as he could. He tried to run but couldn't. Perhaps, this was how day-old cattle felt, all wobbly and shaky, and with the feeling that they might fall at any second. Except the little cattle had only just started their lives, while Jamil was in the worst moments of his. 

He passed by the ward Rahma was staying. For a second, he contemplated going in there to check how she was doing, but Jamil knew that in that moment, he wasn't all too keen on conversation. He just wanted to see his wife, make certain that she was doing okay. Rahma could wait. He'd heard Ayman say that her brother and an aunt were with her, and that she was fine.

When Jamil got to the private wing of the hospital, down the short hallway and to the last door on the left, he forced in a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He stood just outside Jamilah's door, trying to get air into his lungs and steel into his spine. He stood straighter, ran his hands across his head and wiped his face. He twisted the door knob, his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of the room as light from the hallway filtered in. Quickly, he closed the door behind him, padding over to where Rahma lay. Like usual, she'd curled up into her little ball on the left side of the bed, swaddled neck to toe in a white blanket.

 She'd knocked off the IV syringe at some point, and now there was a red spot on the place under the blanket where her hands should be. Jamil sat on the right side of the bed, pulling the blanket off her. Jamilah stirred, face scrunched up in a deep frown, but soon went back to sleep. 

Quietly, as gentle as he could, Jamil checked her for bruises. He noticed some scrapes on her elbows and knees that had been treated, but not much else. Heaving a sigh, he peeled her shirt off her abdomen softly, recoiling at the purple-red bruises that were littered across her skin. Jamil felt something that resembled anger, but wasn't quite it, swell in his chest. He didn't have the physical capacity for anger in that moment, but the stab of pain in his chest pulsed harder. He stroked his hands in the most superficial manner he could, across Jamilah's abdomen. She stirred again, her eyes peeling open this time. "You're here?", she asked simply, managing to ebb the pain in Jamil's chest by a fraction. His palm stroked hers once, before he answered. "Go back to sleep"God, his voice sounded raw, unused. Like he hadn't just been laughing with his father and brother on their way to the meeting just a little while ago. Those hours felt like days. Like years. Like another lifetime altogether.

 Jamilah's eyes fought to stay open, stubbornly dismissing his words. She seemed sleepier than usual though, so Jamil induced they might have put her on something to help her sleep. "You look rough", she blurted out, and Jamil found himself chuckling softly at her words. "Trust you to tell me the truth as it is", he mumbled, eyes on her palm entwined in his.

"That's why you married me isn't it?", she said, and Jamil managed a small smile. He was surprised that she was talking normally, even managing to smile at him, to look at him in that raw, tender way she always did. Some part of him wondered if she'd again lost her memories. He didn't know how probable it was, scientifically, but it would make sense. She'd been there, witnessed the horror that tormented him in the form of thoughts, and there she was, still smiling at him. Jamil was too tired, however, to say anything. 'Not tonight', he thought. 

"Let's sleep, Jay. I'm exhausted". Jamilah stared at him, clearly worried. Jamil pretended not to notice, closing his eyes as he pulled her entangled hands into the space between them. He lay facing her, feeling the intensity of her gaze even through closed eyes. It was at least a few seconds before he heard her say "okay", settling against him amidst the ruffling of their shared blanket. 

Jamil stayed awake for half an hour like that, eyes-closed, in the dark. His thoughts kept bouncing from end to end. Some part of him wanted to speak to Jamilah, to say something even if incoherent; but he wasn't sure if he was capable of logical speech yet. The larger part of him, however, wanted to hold on to the silence. To drown in and be consumed by it. Still, the reality of loss was still fresh and present in his mind, and even if he wasn't sure if Jamilah was still awake, the renewed realization that he could wake up the next morning to her dead body, or have her wake up to him dead would not let his tongue hold in its speech. 

"I love you, Jay", he muttered against her hair. Beside him, Jamilah squeezed his hand tighter, her face finding purchase in the crook of his neck  . "Me too. More than you know".

*****

Hello, people!

@Madinah_Writes featured this book in her 'Most Amazing Nigerian Books On Wattpad, 2023' for 'amazing dialogue'

I was way too excited, and tried to finish off the draft for this chapter. 

Put me in your prayers as we slowly wrap up My baby, my wife. I sincerely love you all, for how relevant you make me feel, and how lovely you are! Thanks guys!