Ties That Bind

EP66

Zara stepped out of the car in the driveway of the house she grew up in, the comforting familiarity already easing some of the tension she’d felt all day. She locked the car and looked around for a moment, taking in the timeless sight of her family home. The house itself was a testament to Alhaji Ahmad’s success—a grand structure, yet somehow warm and inviting. It had been a sanctuary throughout her childhood, and, in moments like this, it was still her refuge.

As she stepped inside, the smell of freshly brewed tea and spices welcomed her, wrapping her in the warm embrace of home. The house felt alive with memories, with laughter and whispers, and every step took her back to simpler days. Mama’s voice rang out from the kitchen, filled with joy and warmth.

“Zara! You’re home!” Mama appeared from around the corner, a wide smile spreading across her face. She enveloped Zara in a tight hug, her familiar scent of jasmine bringing a strange comfort. Zara hugged her back, feeling a bit of comfort.

“How are you, Mama?” Zara asked, managing a small smile despite the tumultuous thoughts swirling in her mind.

“Oh, I’m good now that you’re here, my dear. Ya kike, ya jiki. How're you, how's your health?,” Mama replied, holding her hands and giving her a once-over as if she wanted to make sure she was really there.

"Alhamdulillah mama" Zara replied.

They shared a brief, contented silence before Mama asked, “Are you staying for dinner? It would be wonderful to have everyone together again.”

Zara nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. “I might, Mama. But first, I need to see Baba. Is he around?”

“He should be upstairs in his room. Why don’t you go check?” Mama said, patting Zara’s shoulder affectionately.

Zara made her way upstairs, her fingers lightly tracing the handrail, another familiar habit from her younger days. Each step seemed to slow her down, filling her with nostalgia and reminding her childhood. As she reached his room, she couldn’t help but admire its elegance.

The room itself was a blend of luxury and tradition, effortlessly blending old-world charm with opulent furnishings. Ornate Persian rugs covered the polished floors, softening each footstep, while floor-to-ceiling shelves boasted rows of books, artifacts, and family treasures, each with its own story. A grand mahogany bed dominated the room, dressed in rich, dark fabric that only enhanced the room’s grandeur. A large, intricately carved wardrobe stood against one wall, its polished surface gleaming under the soft, golden lighting. The scent of Alhaji Ahmad’s signature oud lingered in the air—a warm, spicy aroma that grounded Zara even as memories of recent turmoil threatened to intrude.

As she looked around, she noticed Alhaji Ahmad wasn’t there. Zara let out a small sigh, half in disappointment and half in relief. Alone in his space, she felt a sense of calm she hadn't felt in days. Maybe I just need a few minutes to unwind, she thought, deciding to let herself relax. She took a slow walk around the room, her fingertips brushing across his collection of leather-bound books and antique items on the shelves, each one familiar to her from countless visits.

After a while, she felt an urge to look through something tangible, something that connected her to the family she cherished. She remembered her father’s collection of family albums and decided to take a trip down memory lane. She knew where he kept them—inside the large wardrobe in the corner, a safe spot for some of his most cherished memories.

Opening the wardrobe, she was greeted by a familiar sight of meticulously organized clothes, shoes, and a few boxes. She scanned the shelves, her gaze settling on a stack of old, worn albums, their covers a mix of faded fabric and worn leather. She reached up and grabbed one, her fingers lightly tracing its surface as she remembered flipping through its pages countless times before. Just as she was about to close the wardrobe, something slipped off a shelf above and dropped onto her foot with an unexpected weight.

“Ouch!” She let out a small hiss of pain, looking down to see what had fallen. There on the floor was a small, black book. She frowned, bending to pick it up. How could something so small be so heavy? she wondered, rubbing her foot before examining the book.

The book was plain, unassuming, its cover worn smooth by time and handling. She turned it over in her hands, curiosity sparking. She didn’t remember ever seeing it before, and knowing Alhaji Ahmad's meticulous nature, it was strange that he’d have something so personal, so hidden away in the back of his wardrobe. Her curiosity grew. What could it be?

Against her better judgment, Zara opened the book. The pages were crisp yet faded, filled with neatly penned handwriting that was unmistakably her father’s. She flipped through a few pages, her eyes scanning words that didn’t quite make sense at first. But then, on one page, a line stopped her cold.

Her heart began to race as she re-read the words, her pulse pounding in her ears. What she’d found was beyond anything she’d expected. It was a confession, raw and unapologetic, and it shook her to her core.

She fell to her knees, her breath hitching as the weight of the revelation settled over her. The book slipped from her hands, falling open on the floor beside her. The words on the page seemed to blur, but the reality they held remained sharp and undeniable.

This confession—this truth—it was the kind of thing that changed everything.