The Juju Lady Next Door (Completed)

13. Is this What Jealousy Feels Like?

"Say: I seek refuge with God. The Lord of mankind. 

The King of mankind. 

The God of mankind. 

From the evil of the whisperer (the devil who whispers evil in the hearts of men)  who withdraws (in one's heart after he remembers His Lord).

Who whispers in the breast of mankind

Of Jinn and men. (Q. 114:1-6)

…

I was losing Isma’il and I knew it. More so there was nothing I could do about it. I watched the way he was around Salsabil: young, carefree and funny. He was never like that with me. With me he was just…normal. And I wouldn’t be complaining if I had not discovered this new side of him. 

But then I shouldn’t be surprised, I practically gave him the go ahead to bring in the love of his life. Still, didn’t he promise that nothing would change?

Maybe I was just imagining things. Maybe I was just imagining the way he frowned whenever we were the only ones in the room; that he’d rather look at his phone than his wife; that he wasn't always not in the mood whenever it was my night; that he had found a hobby in taking Salsabil out on weekends and not me—or both of us. That he barely ate my food, always bringing up excuses about stomach aches.

Yeah, I may be imagining things. But whenever I looked into the mirror, I couldn’t blame him. With my hollow eyes, puffy face with pink, pointy pimples, and a slight limp that made me walk as though one leg was longer than the other, who would want my company, or love, or just me? I looked down at my flat stomach, as if it had never housed a growing foetus before. The doctor said I was lucky there were no further damages to my womb. So I should be assured of having kids anytime. But how long had it been since then? Isma’il and I hadn’t slept together for a while now. At first, I refused due to the trauma, but later he started to refuse me due to… what?

But I was okay now. Haven’t soaked my pillow for more than a week. I could stand for at least five minutes to pray. That was progress, right? 

. . .

We were having our dinner one Saturday night. Isma’il and I. Salsabil had to use the toilet. I was looking way better than I had in months. My skin had regained its ebony colour and I was shedding whatever fat I had accumulated during my meltdown. My green fitted gown accentuated my slim curve; I had applied a bit of gold eyeshadow, mascara and kohl to bring out my honey brown eyes. My black and white veil hung around my neck. All in all, I was looking smashing. Even Salsabil had affirmed it earlier while Isma’il shot me a glance, but said nothing. Regardless, I took it as a silent approval.  

The room was slightly warm, as the doors and windows were tightly shut to block the cold harmattan breeze from sauntering in. So the only sound heard was by our forks clinking against porcelain bowls of boiled yam and catfish peppersoup .

“So…” I began, glancing at Ismail, who was sucking on a bone. 

“Ya ne?” he asked.

I looked down, “Um, we are having a get-together to launch new designs for our customers. It’s nothing big sha, just a small gathering with friends and family. There will be a runway show too.” I paused, waiting for a reply.

 He stared at me for a while, then lifted his shoulders as if to say, and so?

I continued, “I was thinking if you'd be free to go with me next Saturday. It’s from 2 p.m. to 6 p.m.”

“Is that all?” 

I nodded and resumed eating. He replied with another shoulder raise and I took it as okay. 

Salsabil joined us; I was about to tell her about the event when I noticed that she was standing with her hands behind her back.  

“Lafiya?” I asked. She ducked her head and smiled, then revealed a white envelope. Ismail collected the envelope and tore it open. Inside was a folded white paper which he quickly unfolded. One minute, he was reading, the next, he was up, grabbing Salsabil into his arms and chanting, “Oh my God, Alhamdulillah!”

I watched, transfixed. What’s going on? Don’t tell me she’s… My eyes moved from them, to the abandoned paper on the table. Despite the low hum in my ears, I picked it up anyway.

Alas, it was exactly what I feared: Salsabil was two months pregnant. I sighed in disappointment. She had won once again, taken what belonged to me—should belong to me. First was the love of my husband, now the title of a mother. The first mother.

They returned to the table and sat down, catching their breath from all the jumping. 

“Woah, Alhamdulillah, what a nice way to start the new year.” He gushed, cupping his mouth, his eyes watery. I almost thought he was crying.

I turned to Salsabil beside me. Her grey eyes twinkled as though there were glitters in them.

She turned to me, mouth opening slowly, like a yawn, like the hole inside me. But I shushed her with a quiet “I’m so happy for you.” 

“Thank you.” She hugged me. I held her tightly, breathing in the strawberry scent from her hair. Perhaps, It would fill my hole. 

But as I pulled away, blinking back tears, the hum in my ears got louder, my heart beat faster, and the hole opened wider.

Is this what jealousy feels like?

•••

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P.S: That pic is a glimpse of Kauthar, mine at least. What do you think?

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