Chapter 19
Broken Not a halal love story Complete · about 8 min read
is office was a modern, top-floor workplace with natural lighting
from big paned windows and a monochrome waiting area. It was the
workspace for about 20 people while the rest of his staff worked remotely
all over the globe. As we got on his floor, the receptionist at the front desk
handed him some notes, and he joined a call in the conference room.
It wasn’t my first time at his office; I had been there with him on some
weekends when he needed to get some things. But it was my first time
watching him at work. His demeanor was so different, detached yet
assertive. People scrambled around him to get spreadsheets in his view, and
he leaned back into his chair when asked a question, taking his time to
respond. And when he finally did, his reply would be slow, his words would
be few, and his opinion trumped everyone else’s.
Tired of looking in through the window of the conference room, I
retired to his office, sat in his chair and started going through his desk to
Google random things on his desktop to mess up the algorithm for his
search engine.
“Happy birthday, Fa’iza,” I looked up to find Edet by the door. “And
congratulations again on the engagement.”
“Hi, Edet. Thank you,” I gushed. I had a love-and-hate relationship with
birthdays; I hated telling people that it was my birthday, but I loved people
wishing me a happy birthday. I was also in no mood to explain that
Islamically, a ring was not an engagement, especially since it had become
so common among our generation, so I said nothing.
“I hope you’re having a good one?” he asked.
“I am, thank you,” I answered. “How’s Joanne?”
“She’s doing great. I’m going to see her in a few weeks.” He took a few
steps into the office. “I just booked my flight, actually.”
“Oh, right! I need to get mine too, actually,” I said, mostly to myself.
“You’re going to be in Abuja for the summer, right?”
“Yeah, and then Saudi with my mom.” For Umrah.
Ahmad came into the office. The background office chatter from the
rest of the staff in the outer offices and ringing phones seemed to start all at
once.
“I’m just taking the client for lunch,” Edet said to Ahmad, turning
around to leave, “the deal should be closed before the weekend.”
“Great work, man,” Ahmad answered as he circled around the desk and
stood next to me. “We still up for the briefing tomorrow?”
“Yup. 3 pm.”
We said our goodbyes and Edet left, closing the door behind him. As
soon as the door closed, it opened again, and Ahmad’s personal assistant, a
redhead named Brooke, came in with some documents. “I’ve got everything
ready to go,” she said to Ahmad, “Oh, hi Fa’iza. Happy birthday,” she said
in her high-pitched voice.
“Hey, Brooke,” I said as I watched Ahmad flipping through the pages
she gave him before she left us alone in the office. He laid them on the
desk, grabbed a pen, and placed it in the middle of the small stack.
“They need your signature,” behind him, I saw Brooke exit his office
quietly.
“Who’s “they”? And what for?”
He leaned in as he flipped through the pages slowly, “Company shares,”
he answered. I could see the yellow post-its marking where I was supposed
to sign as a member of the board of directors next to his signature. He
flipped again, “and funding for the shelter.”
This was all a bit much. Funding for what? The shelter that was just an
idea in my head? I turned to look at him.”I never asked you to fund the
shelter,” I said quietly. I knew a lot of money was required to start a shelter,
but I was going to figure it out somehow.
“Let’s not do this whole cliché thing where I offer you something and
you turn it down,” he sighed and rubbed his forehead.
“We never discussed this,” and that was the problem.
“We’re doing it now, aren’t we?”
“Discussing?” I looked up at him., grabbing the stack and flipping it
open. “Really? After the funding has already been approved?” My eyes
widened as I saw the amount, “And your company is ready to remit funds?”
Remit funds to whom? I don’t even have a Finance department.
He reached for my hand, and I pulled away. I stood up and tried to walk
towards the window, but his hands grabbed mine, stopping me. I really
shouldn’t have worn heels, I thought to myself.
“There’s no way we are fighting about this right now,” he chuckled.
“It is too early for this. I don’t even have a location, I just finalized the
business plan…” He knew this already because he helped me with editing
the document. What if he invests in this dream of mine, and it ends up being
a waste and doesn’t work out? What if I’m not ready to start an NGO in
Nigeria? Am I not playing above my level here? Will I even be able to put
up a successful Shelter in Nigeria? What if I get too busy with life after my
NYSC?
“Okay, let’s talk about this,” he said, pulling me closer to him, his hands
around my waist. “What is actually the matter?” He waited for me to say
something as his fingers grazed mine gently. I avoided his eyes because I
knew exactly how he was looking at me at this moment, and I didn’t need to
be distracted.
“Daina mana. Stop,” I pulled my hand from his.
“I should have told you I wanted to fund the shelter,” he said. “I just
really wanted to surprise you. I know how much it means to you.”
I sighed. I knew he wanted to be a part of it. I just did not expect that he
would offer to pay for the whole thing and more. “I was going to find
investors and reach out to family, give them a chance to be part of it,” I
managed to let out. It was not pretty running after people for money, but an
NGO could not be supported by just one entity. It was a financial risk.
He nodded. “We can redo the numbers – And with your permission this
time.” His landline started ringing as he spoke and he ignored it, pulling me
in closer to him. “I love you with everything I’ve got, Fai’za,” he was
serious. “You know I would never do anything to hurt you.” He was looking
at me that way again. He leaned towards me, gradually closing the distance
between us.
There was a second knock on the door, and we broke apart. I adjusted
my veil. Why wasn’t the AC on? My face was flushed. Damnit!
The door opened, and Brooke returned. She had a tablet in her hand. As
she looked from me to Ahmad, there was no way to know if she could tell
we were just about to start making out in the office, like we did every time
we found ourselves alone. “We might not be able to submit the second
application,” she said with an apologetic look on her face.
“Why not?” Ahmad’s voice had become assertive, and he was back in
Boss mode.
“A marriage certificate is needed,” she said without looking at me. “Or
a legal document showing that a civil ceremony had taken place.”
Ahmad frowned, then looked up at me. I didn’t know what they were
talking about, but I knew it had to do with me and the papers that I was
meant to sign.
“Thanks, Brooke. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else,” he
dismissed her and she made her way out. He turned to me and I raised my
eyebrow at him.
“Suppose we got married at a Masjid here before our trip to Nigeria –”
he started cautiously. I started shaking my head vigorously and he held my
face, stopping the movement, urging me to listen to him.
I pulled away from his touch and raised my eyebrow even higher. “First
of all, if Umma found out we secretly got married before the nikkah back
home, she would kill me. Then somehow find a way to get me resurrected,
so she could kill me again.”
“She would never find out, though,” he said. “The document will be
locked up in my safe.”
“Nope, no way,” I started moving further away from him, past his desk
and sat on his couch, taking the remote control and changing the channel
from the Stock Market Exchange. I busied myself with news about
Obamacare even though I was not paying attention to the anchor’s
comments.
We might have been silent for five minutes. Or more. I was not
counting. He walked towards me, sat next to me on the couch and reached
for my hand.
“Bae, listen to me. We’ll be away for a month in the new year for our
honeymoon and after that, we’ll be away for Hajj. We might not be back to
Canada until February and I need to complete all of these,” he pointed to
the papers on the desk, “before the end of the fiscal year, before the next
audit.”
I wasn’t even going to be swayed into this. I had heard so many stories
of these kinds of marriages ending in tears. It happened to an acquaintance
of an old family friend who secretly got married to her boyfriend just for
him to send her divorce papers after a month. It wouldn’t have happened
without the knowledge of the elders. When she saw his wedding
announcements to another girl months later, she was a wreck. I looked up at
him trying hard to fight his charming smile.
His fingers were grazing mine gently. “Just take a day and think about
it, okay?” His gaze held mine, “and if you’re still uncomfortable with it,
shikenan. Forget I brought it up.”
M
from big paned windows and a monochrome waiting area. It was the
workspace for about 20 people while the rest of his staff worked remotely
all over the globe. As we got on his floor, the receptionist at the front desk
handed him some notes, and he joined a call in the conference room.
It wasn’t my first time at his office; I had been there with him on some
weekends when he needed to get some things. But it was my first time
watching him at work. His demeanor was so different, detached yet
assertive. People scrambled around him to get spreadsheets in his view, and
he leaned back into his chair when asked a question, taking his time to
respond. And when he finally did, his reply would be slow, his words would
be few, and his opinion trumped everyone else’s.
Tired of looking in through the window of the conference room, I
retired to his office, sat in his chair and started going through his desk to
Google random things on his desktop to mess up the algorithm for his
search engine.
“Happy birthday, Fa’iza,” I looked up to find Edet by the door. “And
congratulations again on the engagement.”
“Hi, Edet. Thank you,” I gushed. I had a love-and-hate relationship with
birthdays; I hated telling people that it was my birthday, but I loved people
wishing me a happy birthday. I was also in no mood to explain that
Islamically, a ring was not an engagement, especially since it had become
so common among our generation, so I said nothing.
“I hope you’re having a good one?” he asked.
“I am, thank you,” I answered. “How’s Joanne?”
“She’s doing great. I’m going to see her in a few weeks.” He took a few
steps into the office. “I just booked my flight, actually.”
“Oh, right! I need to get mine too, actually,” I said, mostly to myself.
“You’re going to be in Abuja for the summer, right?”
“Yeah, and then Saudi with my mom.” For Umrah.
Ahmad came into the office. The background office chatter from the
rest of the staff in the outer offices and ringing phones seemed to start all at
once.
“I’m just taking the client for lunch,” Edet said to Ahmad, turning
around to leave, “the deal should be closed before the weekend.”
“Great work, man,” Ahmad answered as he circled around the desk and
stood next to me. “We still up for the briefing tomorrow?”
“Yup. 3 pm.”
We said our goodbyes and Edet left, closing the door behind him. As
soon as the door closed, it opened again, and Ahmad’s personal assistant, a
redhead named Brooke, came in with some documents. “I’ve got everything
ready to go,” she said to Ahmad, “Oh, hi Fa’iza. Happy birthday,” she said
in her high-pitched voice.
“Hey, Brooke,” I said as I watched Ahmad flipping through the pages
she gave him before she left us alone in the office. He laid them on the
desk, grabbed a pen, and placed it in the middle of the small stack.
“They need your signature,” behind him, I saw Brooke exit his office
quietly.
“Who’s “they”? And what for?”
He leaned in as he flipped through the pages slowly, “Company shares,”
he answered. I could see the yellow post-its marking where I was supposed
to sign as a member of the board of directors next to his signature. He
flipped again, “and funding for the shelter.”
This was all a bit much. Funding for what? The shelter that was just an
idea in my head? I turned to look at him.”I never asked you to fund the
shelter,” I said quietly. I knew a lot of money was required to start a shelter,
but I was going to figure it out somehow.
“Let’s not do this whole cliché thing where I offer you something and
you turn it down,” he sighed and rubbed his forehead.
“We never discussed this,” and that was the problem.
“We’re doing it now, aren’t we?”
“Discussing?” I looked up at him., grabbing the stack and flipping it
open. “Really? After the funding has already been approved?” My eyes
widened as I saw the amount, “And your company is ready to remit funds?”
Remit funds to whom? I don’t even have a Finance department.
He reached for my hand, and I pulled away. I stood up and tried to walk
towards the window, but his hands grabbed mine, stopping me. I really
shouldn’t have worn heels, I thought to myself.
“There’s no way we are fighting about this right now,” he chuckled.
“It is too early for this. I don’t even have a location, I just finalized the
business plan…” He knew this already because he helped me with editing
the document. What if he invests in this dream of mine, and it ends up being
a waste and doesn’t work out? What if I’m not ready to start an NGO in
Nigeria? Am I not playing above my level here? Will I even be able to put
up a successful Shelter in Nigeria? What if I get too busy with life after my
NYSC?
“Okay, let’s talk about this,” he said, pulling me closer to him, his hands
around my waist. “What is actually the matter?” He waited for me to say
something as his fingers grazed mine gently. I avoided his eyes because I
knew exactly how he was looking at me at this moment, and I didn’t need to
be distracted.
“Daina mana. Stop,” I pulled my hand from his.
“I should have told you I wanted to fund the shelter,” he said. “I just
really wanted to surprise you. I know how much it means to you.”
I sighed. I knew he wanted to be a part of it. I just did not expect that he
would offer to pay for the whole thing and more. “I was going to find
investors and reach out to family, give them a chance to be part of it,” I
managed to let out. It was not pretty running after people for money, but an
NGO could not be supported by just one entity. It was a financial risk.
He nodded. “We can redo the numbers – And with your permission this
time.” His landline started ringing as he spoke and he ignored it, pulling me
in closer to him. “I love you with everything I’ve got, Fai’za,” he was
serious. “You know I would never do anything to hurt you.” He was looking
at me that way again. He leaned towards me, gradually closing the distance
between us.
There was a second knock on the door, and we broke apart. I adjusted
my veil. Why wasn’t the AC on? My face was flushed. Damnit!
The door opened, and Brooke returned. She had a tablet in her hand. As
she looked from me to Ahmad, there was no way to know if she could tell
we were just about to start making out in the office, like we did every time
we found ourselves alone. “We might not be able to submit the second
application,” she said with an apologetic look on her face.
“Why not?” Ahmad’s voice had become assertive, and he was back in
Boss mode.
“A marriage certificate is needed,” she said without looking at me. “Or
a legal document showing that a civil ceremony had taken place.”
Ahmad frowned, then looked up at me. I didn’t know what they were
talking about, but I knew it had to do with me and the papers that I was
meant to sign.
“Thanks, Brooke. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else,” he
dismissed her and she made her way out. He turned to me and I raised my
eyebrow at him.
“Suppose we got married at a Masjid here before our trip to Nigeria –”
he started cautiously. I started shaking my head vigorously and he held my
face, stopping the movement, urging me to listen to him.
I pulled away from his touch and raised my eyebrow even higher. “First
of all, if Umma found out we secretly got married before the nikkah back
home, she would kill me. Then somehow find a way to get me resurrected,
so she could kill me again.”
“She would never find out, though,” he said. “The document will be
locked up in my safe.”
“Nope, no way,” I started moving further away from him, past his desk
and sat on his couch, taking the remote control and changing the channel
from the Stock Market Exchange. I busied myself with news about
Obamacare even though I was not paying attention to the anchor’s
comments.
We might have been silent for five minutes. Or more. I was not
counting. He walked towards me, sat next to me on the couch and reached
for my hand.
“Bae, listen to me. We’ll be away for a month in the new year for our
honeymoon and after that, we’ll be away for Hajj. We might not be back to
Canada until February and I need to complete all of these,” he pointed to
the papers on the desk, “before the end of the fiscal year, before the next
audit.”
I wasn’t even going to be swayed into this. I had heard so many stories
of these kinds of marriages ending in tears. It happened to an acquaintance
of an old family friend who secretly got married to her boyfriend just for
him to send her divorce papers after a month. It wouldn’t have happened
without the knowledge of the elders. When she saw his wedding
announcements to another girl months later, she was a wreck. I looked up at
him trying hard to fight his charming smile.
His fingers were grazing mine gently. “Just take a day and think about
it, okay?” His gaze held mine, “and if you’re still uncomfortable with it,
shikenan. Forget I brought it up.”
M