Life Without You✔️.

49: Tiny Miracles, Big Fears

Bibi's POV
Abuja, Nigeria.

I didn't take the test immediately. The thought had crossed my mind a few times—especially after that long conversation with Fayha the last time she visited. We'd been talking about Bilkisu's return, and somewhere between the anxiety and the speculation, I'd mentioned how tired I'd been lately, how food was starting to smell stronger than usual, how my head felt lighter at random times. Fayha had given me a look—half teasing, half serious—and said, "Maybe you're pregnant, Bibi."

I'd laughed it off then. Brushed it aside like wishful thinking I didn't want to entertain too deeply. But the days that followed were filled with tiny warnings my body wouldn't stop sending. The fatigue grew heavier, my moods more fragile, and even my sense of smell turned against me.

So that morning, I gave in. Not because I was convinced, but because the not knowing was starting to ache more than the fear of the result.

So I stood in the bathroom, barefoot and quiet, while the world waited on the other side of the door. I opened up two of the tests Fayha had sent over and waited.

And then there it was.
Two lines.

Not even a minute in. No hesitation. No confusion.

I was pregnant.

I pressed a hand to my belly, stunned still. It was almost like I could feel it already, like my heart had split in two—half thudding in my chest, half buried somewhere beneath my ribs.

A baby.

Ayman's baby.

Our baby.

Ya Allah.

My knees felt weak. I sat on the floor tiles because I didn't trust myself to stand. The joy came—but it came tangled with fear, with this cold knot twisting itself around my gut.

Because Bilkisu was back in town.

And she wasn't just back. She was watching. Calculating. Waiting.

And I didn't know what she wanted—but I knew it wasn't peace.

What if something happened? What if I never got to hold this baby? What if I never got to see Ayman's face light up like I imagined it would when I told him? What if she—what if she tried to take this from me too?

I hugged my knees to my chest, breathing slowly. My hand still resting on my stomach.

"You're safe," I whispered, not sure if I was talking to the baby, or to myself.

But even as I said it, I didn't fully believe it.

Not yet.

~

I didn't tell him immediately.

The test sat hidden in my drawer for two days. Tucked under some scarves like a secret too delicate to hold in plain sight. I carried it with me in every movement—this invisible weight pressing gently against my ribs. A miracle growing in silence while the world outside felt louder, heavier, more dangerous than ever.

He noticed, of course.

Ayman always noticed.

"You've been quiet," he said on the second evening as we curled up together on the couch. The TV was on but neither of us were watching it. His hand rested on my thigh, warm and grounding. "Is it school? Are you tired? Or... something else?"

I turned to face him. His eyes searched mine, careful, patient.

And I couldn't keep it in anymore.

"I'm pregnant," I said, voice barely above a whisper.