BROKEN

01

Bismillaahir - Rahmaanir Raheeeem.

01: Acute Thresholds

JANUARY, 1997.
Kaduna, Nigeria.

Ayesha Hussein Imam

Life, I always heard is unpredictable. But no amount of enlightenment or pre-talks would have prepared me for one of the many forms of the said unpredictability cause never have I ever thought I'll be sold off to an unknown entity in the name of marriage. Not to even talk about the betrayal that had ripped my heart to shreds ever since I received that news.

Qaddarallahu wa maa shaa'a fa'alah. I chanted for the nth time a dua my brother, Ya Khalil, asked me to keep saying.

I glanced around the ward, a grimace twisting my lips. The beds, rusted and worn, were a stark reminder of neglect. The air was thick with the pungent smell of disinfectant, a stark contrast to the musty odor that lingered beneath. I was the sole occupant of the eight-bed ward, a solitary figure in a sea of emptiness.

"Ayesha, your husband is here to see you," my stepmother announced, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. The unspoken message was clear: behave. I rolled my eyes, scoffing at her feigned concern. I had no intention of playing the dutiful wife. I turned my gaze to the door, only to find myself face-to-face with the man from the grand mansion at the end of our street. The same man I'd always greeted with a polite smile, the man I'd assumed was devout. How wrong I'd been.

I stared at him, my gaze unwavering. He approached the bed slowly, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

"Assalamu alaikum, Ayesha," he greeted, his voice a low rumble. I scanned the room, relieved to find we were alone. Turning back to him, I fixed him with a cold, hard stare. The man before me, the one I’d once viewed with a sense of respect, now seemed like a stranger, a dangerous one at that. His forced smile, his nervous demeanor—it all screamed of a man with ulterior motives.

I wondered what twisted fate had brought us together, two souls so utterly incompatible. The thought of spending my life with him filled me with dread.

"I am not sure I want the same peace to be upon you though. You wrecked mine to pieces." I answered eyes still fixed on him and it didn't escape my view how he shifted uneasily.

"Subhaanallah, please don't say that. I didn't mean it that way," he stammered, his eyes darting nervously. His forced sincerity was laughable. Why bother with the affected American accent? It only served to highlight his inauthenticity.

"Why did you marry me then?" I pressed, my gaze unwavering. His silence stretched into an uncomfortable pause. Finally, he cleared his throat and began to speak, his voice barely a whisper.

"I... I don't know how to explain it," he mumbled, his words lost in a flurry of nervous gestures. "It's complicated."

"Complicated?" I scoffed. "How complicated could it be? You married me for reasons unknown, and now you expect me to simply accept it? No, thank you. I want answers, and I want them now."

"It's because I love you, Ayesha," he declared, a wide, cheesy grin plastered across his face. I couldn't help but burst out laughing. In my fourteen years of life, I'd never heard a more ridiculous statement. Love? More like a twisted game of circumstance.

Once my laughter subsided, I turned away from him, my annoyance growing. I refused to engage in such absurdity.

"I extended the conveyance so you could get familiar with it and me," he continued, his voice laced with a hint of desperation. "I want this to work. Until you say otherwise, I won't force anything. I'll prove my worthiness to you."

With that, he left, a basket of fruit clutched in his hand. He'd overstayed his welcome, and I was more than happy to see him go.

Three weeks had passed since the farce of a wedding, and my "husband" had made it his mission to remind me of his presence. I'd resorted to petty tactics, hoping to discourage his persistence, but he remained undeterred.

School had resumed, and I'd missed a week due to the upheaval in my life. My mother had informed me that my marriage would be delayed until after my final exams, a small mercy in the face of my father's betrayal. As I prepared to leave for school, I encountered my husband in the living room, a bulky bag in his hand.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, he offered to walk me to the main road. As we walked, we encountered one of his friends, who attempted to strike up a conversation. My husband dismissed him with a rude gesture, earning a disapproving look from me.

"Ayesha, I..." he began, but I cut him off. "Don't even think about it," I warned. "Apologize to him first."

He nodded meekly, and we continued our walk in silence. As I boarded the bus, I felt a sense of relief. I was finally free from his constant presence, at least for a while. I'd enjoy my time at school, free from the constraints of marriage.

My mother's words echoed in my mind: "You're married now, Ayesha. Be careful not to do anything that would anger the angels." I couldn't help but scoff. Money, it seemed, could corrupt even the most virtuous.

Maama's words came back to me. Color me surprised too cause I wasn't expecting her to succumb and sheath her sword. But then, money, I heard, is one powerful catalyst capable of turning even the wisest to fools. I am afraid, the members of my household have successfully been upgraded a notch - bunch of fools, sighs.

______________

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Peace out,
Sals💕.