————————
"My side of the story is not a burden, it's a liberation."
————————
She stepped out of the shower, the warm water still clinging to her skin. She wrapped herself in a fluffy towel and made her way to the bathroom mirror, the steam from the shower clouding the glass.
As she wiped it clean, her reflection came into focus.
Her dark eyes stared back at her, tired, exhausted. She traced the lines of her face, the curve of her lips, the arch of her eyebrows.
She had always been obsessed about her features, her cute little nose, her round cheeks.
She reached for her skincare products, each one a ritual of self-care and self-love.
She cleansed her face, removing the day's grime and makeup, letting her skin breathe and rejuvenate. She then applied a hydrating mask, feeling the cool gel soothe her tired skin. She massaged in her favorite moisturizer, the scent of lavender filling the air.
She never stayed for more than 30 minutes without putting clothes on after coming out from the bathroom.
She immediately picked her long sleeve bed time outfit and put it on.
She was self conscious about her body- about the scars on her body. That was one thing she hated. She hated being aware of it.
——————-
Kydah sat at her mirror desk, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the room. She held her phone tightly, her thumb hovering over the screen.
She had finally received the phone number she had been waiting for—Aayan Ahmed Zeyad.
She already had his number. She knew he didn't have hers but she did. She've had it for years.
The tension in her shoulders and the slight furrow in her brow revealed the inner conflict she felt.
Her mind raced as she contemplated the best approach.
"Kydah Woman up babe.......You are Kydah Hussein......You are not afraid of anything. You are strong" she gave herself some words of affirmations before giving up when she knew no words were working.
"Damn it!!!!" She cursed loudly hitting the desk in front of her slightly.
She took a deep breath and dialed the number. The phone rang once, twice, and then went to voicemail. She hung up and stared at the screen, her thoughts swirling.
With a determined nod, she dialed again, hoping for a different outcome. Again, no answer. Frustration bubbled up inside her, and she let out a soft hiss through clenched teeth.
Realizing that persistence alone might not yield results, Kydah decided to send a message instead. She knew she had to be as nice as possible, despite her personal feelings.
She took a moment to compose herself, pushing aside her irritation, and just before she began to type, a thought crept in.
SARAH. Her savior
---
Assalamu Alayk
I hope this message finds you well. This is Kydah Hussein, and I recently received your contact information from Mukhtar Aminu. I am reaching out to you regarding the architectural plan Mukhtar told you about. I believe your expertise and insight would be invaluable in helping me navigate this matter.
I apologize if my call earlier was inconvenient. I understand that you have a busy schedule, and I genuinely appreciate any time you can spare to assist me. Your guidance and support would mean a great deal to me, and I am eager to collaborate with you.
YOU ARE READING
KYDAH: MY SIDE OF THE STORY
RomanceAs her mother walked out, her determination solidified. She will marry an older man, because that's what is good for her soul and she wasn't ready to hear otherwise. Behind the veil of a contentious marriage lies a complex tapestry of secrets and sc...
