MINE (EDITING)

Chapter 3

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A week later, I was lying on my bed, my headphones on, the soft melody of Ed Sheeran's Photograph playing, filling my room with its bittersweet tune. I closed my eyes, letting the lyrics wash over me. It was late—almost eleven-thirty—and I should have been asleep, but my thoughts wouldn't quiet. I'd been feeling restless all week, unable to shake the strange tension I felt from the conversation I'd had with Daddy the other night.

"Leyla?"

I opened my eyes and saw Norah standing by the door, her expression unreadable.

"Naber?" I asked, pushing myself up on the bed, glancing over at her.

"Daddy's calling you," she said, her voice unusually soft. I raised an eyebrow, sensing the undercurrent of something being off.

"Tamam," I replied, my stomach tightening in a knot.

What could he possibly want at this hour? I felt a strange unease settle in as I quickly grabbed a silk scarf to cover my hair. It wasn't unusual for Daddy to call me at odd hours, but something about tonight felt different. It was almost like the calm before a storm.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, before walking out of my room and heading down the hallway to my parents' room.

"Salamu alaikum," I greeted them as I stepped into the room, my voice a bit more tentative than usual.

"Wa Alaikumsalam," Mammy and Daddy chorused, both sitting in their usual spots. Mammy was seated on her prayer mat, while Daddy sat at the head of the room, his serious expression already in place.

I walked over and sat at Mammy's feet on the floor, offering my traditional greeting. "Daddy, Ina wuni? An dawo Lafiya?" I asked, though the words felt hollow in my mouth. Something wasn't right.

"Lafiya, Alhamdulillah," Daddy replied, but his voice lacked the usual warmth.

I tried to smile, but it felt forced. Why was he calling me at this time of night?

"Hafsa," he began, his tone turning more serious.

Dun dun.

That tone, the one he used when he was about to deliver something heavy. My heart skipped in my chest, a wave of dread crashing over me. I braced myself for whatever was coming.

"Na'am, Daddy?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it any louder would make it worse.

"Innalillahi wa innailaihi rajiun," I thought, repeating it over and over in my head, bracing for what he would say next.

"You know my friend Alhaji Ibrahim Yerima, right?" Daddy asked, his gaze unwavering.

"Yes, I know him," I replied, my throat suddenly dry.

"Very well, he and I had a discussion about something very important." Daddy's voice remained calm, but I could sense the weight of his words. "He asked for your hand in marriage to his oldest son, Muhammad, and I agreed. We've been talking about it for a while now. You and Muhammad will make a fine couple, Hafsa. I personally can't think of anyone else who would be more perfect for my daughter. He's an intelligent man, respectful, religious, successful, and a fine young man. He's everything a father could hope for."

My heart stopped. The world around me blurred, and my ears rang with disbelief. I couldn't process what I was hearing. My thoughts spun wildly. This wasn't happening. Not now. Not like this.

My voice was barely a whisper. "Daddy, aure kuma?"

Innalillahi wa innailaihi rajiun. This can't be happening. Please, let this be some kind of dream.