Chapter 35

hmad’s bedroom in his parent’s house seemed to be the only place
where the walls did not move closer on their own accord. He stared
at the intricate paneling on the white ceiling, his migraine getting worse by
the minute; the familiar pressure was building at his temples and
concentrating at the center of his forehead. The sleepless nights in France,
the jetlag and the turbulent flight back to Abuja must be the reasons why
the migraine seemed to spread quicker today than it usually did, not to
forget that he hadn’t had a proper meal in over forty-eight hours; now that
he was thinking about it, all that was punctuating his fasts were hurriedly-
eaten fruit and granola bars. Apart from his sister’s voice, the only sound in
the room was the Quranic recitation that was playing through the ceiling
speakers connected to his phone.
“It has been so long; it’s unfair to expect her to keep waiting. She didn’t
even know you were still searching for ‘yar Agadez. Nobody…none of us
knew.”
Ahmad remained quiet as Afreen moved further into the room, passing
the dent that his phone left on the flat-screen television on the wall. She sat
on the bed and looked up at him; his face was expressionless, and his eyes
were closed, covered by one folded arm.
“Nobody expected it to turn out like this,” she continued. “Not even me
– and I’m your biggest cheerleader.”Afreen watched as her brother’s chest

heaved heavily and she tried to pull his arms away from his face. “Ahmad?”
she called out softly, her voice breaking. “I know this is painful but ka
rungume kaddaran Allah; please accept it as fate.”
Ahmad sat up and rubbed his face at the mention of fate. Fate brought
them here. And it was more complicated than everyone realized. It was not
about him just finding the truth; it was about his relationship with Fa’iza.
He looked at his sister. Her eyes were beginning to redden as she looked at
him, one hand cradling her belly, as though she were comforting her unborn
child.
He opened his mouth to tell her the truth about his relationship with
Fa’iza, but thought about the preterm labor complications she’d
experienced in her earlier trimesters, the fluctuating blood pressure and her
‘high-risk’ pregnancy, and he decided not to burden her. “I need to see her,
Afreen. I need to tell her.” That was all he could say.
“No, you’re right,” Afreen sighed. Although in her mind, she wondered
if that was going to change anything. The five years they’d spent apart were
more than the time they had shared as a couple.
After Afreen left, Ahmad spent more time than he cared to admit
finding out about the man Fa’iza would be marrying in the following days.
Umar Tasallah.
Two days later, when Ahmad eventually made it to the street her
parents’ house was located, he sat in his car, contemplating if he should
drive into her father’s house. He was still undecided when he saw the black
cast iron gates roll open and her car – the black Hyundai Elantra slowly
drove past him. He followed her, allowing a vehicle or two in between
them. When they got to the shelter, he parked a few meters behind her and

watched as she alighted from her car and dashed inside. He waited in the
car, holding the ‘yar Agadez file, wondering if he should follow her.
She came out a few minutes later with a folder tucked under her arm, as
she spoke on the phone. She used her free hand to shield the sun from her
face and got into her car. Ahmad waited for her to start moving and when
she didn’t, he guessed she was waiting for someone. He was right. Within
minutes, a black Honda pulled up on the other side of the road across them.
Ahmad recognized the man the minute he saw him. He thought about
how the man looked even less impressive in person than the picture he saw
on the souvenir packages brought to his mother, he had a medium build, a
broad forehead and a posture that leaned forward like he was pulled by an
invisible thread. Almost out of sync with the rhythm of the world around
him.
What kind of man keeps someone like her waiting for over ten minutes?
Ahmad chuckled bitterly to himself as he watched them talking. Well, the
man was talking, and she was listening. Even from a distance, Ahmad could
see that her body was slightly turned away from the man throughout the
interaction and she never looked at him directly. She looks uncomfortable,
he thought.
After the brief interaction, the man left. What kind of man doesn’t wait
for a lady to drive away first? Ahmad thought. Isn’t that basic etiquette?
Ahmad glanced at the file that was now on the passenger’s seat. He knew
he had to ask her. He had to ask if she was happy and if she had truly
moved on. If she was, there would be no need to give her the file; he would
have to let her go. But he had to ask. He had to know. He came down from
his car and moved towards her.

Later that evening, as he sat by the drained pool at the back of the
house, Ahmad read the confirmation email for his flight to America. He
scrolled through his gallery, aware that his battery was on seven percent. He
sighed. When it eventually runs out, Ahmad thought, I won’t charge this
phone again. He was going to lock it up in his safe, along with everything
else that reminded him of her. He stopped scrolling when he got to a picture
he had taken of her years ago, after their nikkah. That day was still etched
in his memory – the white dress she wore, the silk hijab that framed her
face perfectly and the biggest smile on her face.

III