HER CRUSH

Chapter35

Zarah
I sat in the vanity chair, facing the mirror, the makeup artist dusted a final layer of setting powder across my cheeks.

"I'll be heading to my matrimonial home today,"  I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I was Abdul's wife. For years, I had admired him from afar, teased myself with daydreams, and now...subhanAllah...this was reality.

When the setting spray misted across my face, cool and refreshing, I blinked back tears. Aunty Sadiya bustled in like a general, carrying my laffaya—sky-blue, shimmery, studded with stones that caught the light like stars. She draped it around me with practiced hands. The Kathryn Wilson Diamond Shoes sparkled at my feet, too glamorous for a girl who still felt like her father's little daughter.

"Zarah, don't cry, abeg!" my cousin scolded, dabbing at my cheeks with a tissue. But the tears kept falling, hot and stubborn. My life was about to change.

Aunts gathered around me, holding my hands, their voices blending in a chorus of advice. "Be patient, amarya." "Respect him always." "Your tongue can either build or destroy your home." Their words pressed into my heart like ink stains.

Then came Ammi. She pulled me into her arms, whispering softly, "May Allah make your home a garden, my daughter." I broke down all over again.

Hours passed, and then the sirens echoed outside. "The cars must have arrived," someone announced.

My sister, of course, didn't spare me. She clutched my hand as we walked out. "Ke kikace kinaso," she sang mischievously, I wanted to laugh and cry all at once.

"Ya Hafeez!" I called when my brother appeared at the entrance. I clung to him, sobbing. "Don't let them take me away."

He chuckled softly, but his arms tightened around me. "You're not leaving us. You're expanding us."
Still, my tears soaked his shoulder.

I hadn't seen Chuchu all day. Before I could search, two aunts held me by the arms and led me toward the sleek black G-Wagon. As the convoy pulled away, sirens wailing, I turned for one last look at our house...the gate, the mango tree, the balcony where I had spent endless evenings. It blurred through my tears. Goodbye, childhood. Hello, wifehood.

Arrival.... Abuja
We reached Abuja by 4:30 pm. My head throbbed from the long drive. All I wanted was my bed, but tradition wasn't done with me yet.

First stop: Abdul's father's house in Katampe Extension. The mansion stood like a palace...tall gates, marble walls, chandeliers spilling light. My breath caught. Abdul was nothing like his father.

Maybe they shared the same piercing eyes, but his father carried himself with a weight Abdul never did.

I was led in, my veil lowered just enough to peek at the opulence. Chinese rugs under my feet, carved wood furniture, golden accents everywhere. I sat, back straight, while his father gave me words of wisdom....calm, commanding, wrapped in blessings.

Then to  my mother-in-law. She opened her arms wide, her face warm. I felt my veil lifted again and again as women peeked, whispering, "Masha Allah." It was overwhelming, but I smiled politely, my heart racing.

After endless introductions, we were finally taken to Guzape...our new home. My new home.

By 9:30 pm, dinner was served in a flurry of trays and steaming dishes. I barely tasted anything, exhaustion dulling my appetite. Eventually, we retreated to the bedroom. I collapsed on the bed, veil slipping, and sleep stole me instantly.