Chapter 36

hmad just canceled his flight to America when he hears a voice
downstairs. He stands still because it sounds like Fa’iza, but he
knows that it can’t be possible. His mind is playing tricks on him again like
the days he would reach for her in bed and remember that she wasn’t there.
He hears the voice again now, saying Assalamu alaikum. It is faint, but it is
unmistakably her. He makes his way downstairs and checks both living
rooms, but they are empty. Ahmad turns back around to go back upstairs
when he notices her car in the driveway. He opens the main doors and
walks out of the house, peering into the tinted glasses to check if there’s
anyone inside. It is empty.
“Oga, she just went into the Boys Quarters,” Mark, the head of security,
walks towards him.
It is her. She is here, Ahmad thinks to himself as he goes through the
white iron gates that lead to the inner section of the house. He walks past
the staff quarters and is about to turn around when he hears a sob coming
from around the corner. He follows the sound, walks past the unoccupied
guest chalet, and finds Fa’iza on the green carpet grass, sobbing with her
hands buried in her face and her brown veil slipping off her head as her
body shakes with the quiet sobs. “Fa’iza?”

The sobbing stops, and he watches her stiffen. She looks up at him in
shock and covers her face with her hands again. Ahmad can’t stop himself;
he walks toward her and crouches next to her. “Hey, look at me,” he says.
What happened to her? What’s making her cry? His mind goes to Umar.
Did he touch her? Did he hurt her? I swear I’ll kill him.”Fa’iza,” It is hard
keeping his voice leveled as she cries next to him. “Talk to me.”
Her hands fall to her sides, and she reaches for something next to her.
He sees Audu’s file on ‘Yar Agadez on the floor next to her. How did she
get the file? Fa’iza looks up at him. Her eyes are reddened and her cheeks
are damp with tears, but she looks just as beautiful as the first day he saw
her when she bumped into him at the airport.
“Were you just going to leave without telling me?” her voice is a pained
whisper.
Ahmad opens his mouth to tell her that he canceled his flight, that he
can’t relocate knowing she’s here, that he wants to be wherever she is. But
the words won’t form and he closes it again. Now that he is next to her,
admitting he so much as entertained the thought of leaving the country feels
like a crime. He can’t take his eyes off of her as she picks up the file and
opens it towards him like he didn’t know the contents.
“All this time, Ahmad? You’ve been searching for her all this time?”
She flips through the pages, looking up to catch his gaze.
“I told you I wasn’t gonna give up on us,” he swallows as he holds her
gaze, “I – I love you, Fa’iza.”
She looks at him like she cannot believe the words he’s saying and starts
crying again. But this time, she does not cover her face, like she’s finally
pulling off the facade of strength she used as a mask all these years. She

holds herself and starts rocking herself back and forth. “I never stopped
loving you. I couldn’t –” her voice trails off as the sobs take over.
Ahmad tries to regulate his emotions. It is all too much – the pain of
separation all these years and the joy at this unexpected glimmer at a chance
at happiness.
“I can’t marry anyone else,” she finally says.
Ahmad has imagined this moment for years. He has stayed awake for
many nights, praying that this day will come. He played different variations
of this scenario in his sleeplessness, imagining how he will kiss her, hold
her tightly against him, the words he will use to tell her how much she hurt
him by giving up on them without a fight. Now that the moment has come,
he is powerless, almost speechless; he can’t do any of those things. At this
moment, he realizes that when Fa’iza removed herself from his life, it was
an act of love; it was love for the sake of Allah. Right now, he wants
nothing more than to hold her, but he can’t bring himself to for the same
reason – for fear of Allah.
He spent all night reading up on the status of their marriage – whether
they are still married or not. He can’t bring himself to touch her until he
knows for sure that he can.
She wipes away tears from her face and exhales: “We need a plan.
Abba’s not going to believe a recording.”
Ahmad nods. His father often shares stories of how hers remains
unswayed in Nigerian politics by standing for what is just and right,
regardless of the people involved or their relationship to him.
“Can you get them? Can you get the sisters to testify to him in person?”
she searches his eyes.

“Of course,” he nods. “What else?” He’ll do anything to make it
happen, whatever she asks for.
Ahmad spends the next half hour making phone calls and the next half
booking flights and arranging both sisters’ transportation from Saint-Malo
and Suleja to Abuja.
When he finds Fa’iza again, she’s by the drained pool typing on his
laptop and looking serious, as she did back in Toronto when working on a
school report. Every few minutes, he’ll look up and asks, “what can I help
you with?” and for a few seconds, she stares at him like she still can’t
believe what’s happening, then she’ll smile and shake her head. After a few
hours, she tells him that she needs to use some books from Abba’s library
and as he sees her off, holding the driver’s door open for her, she looks up
at him. “You’re gonna have to tell your parents everything,” she says.
“Everything.”
He pulls his eyes from her lips and back to her eyes. “Alright,” he nods.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you?” he asks, as if the twelve-
minute drive to her house is what he needs to prolong their time together.
“No, I have to stop by the shelter,” she explains. “There’s this domestic
abuse case I need to follow up on.”
He smiles at her in awe. Even with everything happening in her
personal life, she still remembers the case waiting for her in the office. It is
that kindness, compassion and tenacity that makes a woman like her hard to
forget.
He watches as she slowly drives through the gates, a million thoughts
going through his mind. He doesn’t want her to leave; she does not want to
leave either. But they both know that this second chance is one they have to
fight to earn.

Later that night, as he waits outside his mother’s suite, he hears her
talking to Afreen on the phone. The doctor is suggesting induction or
cesarean section for the baby and her due date is in less than a month. When
she hangs up, he walks through the frosted glass double doors and the
bedroom was empty. “Mom?” he calls out, his voice strained.
“I’m in here,” she answers. She is in her walk-in closet, already in her
white night robe, her hair uncovered in a loose bun and her glasses down
the straight bridge of her nose.
“How’s Afreen?”
His mother sighs, rubbing her forehead. “She’s worried about a possible
CS, but I told her it’s nothing to worry about. She’s in safe hands.”
“Everything will be fine, Insha Allah.”
“Insha Allah,” she smiles, putting a green abaya on a hanger.
He remains quiet.
She looks up at his face for the first time since he walked in – at the
worry lines etched between his eyebrows. “What is it?” she asks quietly.
Ahmad swallows as he moves closer to her, rubbing his beard, “I have
to tell you something.”
“You’re scaring me, Ahmad,” she replies, still holding the green abaya
on a hanger.
“Mom,” he starts. He knows he can’t beat around the bush or gently
ease her into this. He has to be direct. “Fai’za and I are married.”
The room is quiet, the only sound coming from it is from the air
conditioner. Although in the distance, they can hear the security team doing
their rounds around the house.
“I – I don’t understand. Wh – wh – what do you – what do you mean?”
his mother speaks quietly, not taking her eyes off him.

He rubs his eyes, and he looks down at the soft grey carpet on the tiled
floor. “It was about two months before we found out that –” he couldn’t
bring himself to complete it. “It was my idea. I needed to put her on the
board in my comp –”
“What?” The green abaya falls to the floor. “You got married where?”
Ahmad clears his throat before he answers. “Umm – Eman Masjid.”
She frowns, “in Toronto?”
He nods.
Her mouth drops open and her eyes widen in bewilderment. She looks
like she’s going to faint and when he sees her falling to the ground, Ahmad
hurriedly pulls out the white tufted ottoman tucked under the vanity and
puts it behind her. “You got married without telling us?” she puts her hands
to her chest as she sits down, looking at his face with equal amounts of
shock and disbelief on hers.
“Mom –” he begins, even though he doesn’t know what to say.
“You mean this whole time – this whole time – you kept a secret this big
from me? A whole marriage, Ahmad? What were you thinking?” She
covers her mouth with her hands.
Ahmad’s voice lowers to match hers as he slowly explains that it was all
his fault, that he thought he was doing the right thing then.
Hajiya Mami stands up from the chair and walks into her room. She
sighs loudly as she sits on her bed while Ahmad remains by the chaise next
to her, watching her as he stares blankly into a picture frame of their family,
taken on his graduation day from Cambridge. He follows her gaze as it
lands on the invitation cards, asoebi, and some treats that were delivered to
the house as part of Fai’za and Umar’s wedding invitation. “Is it even still
valid?” she finally asks.

“I never uttered a divorce. We just assumed the whole ‘yar Agadez
thing nullified it.”
“So, this marriage, was – was it consummated?” she looks straight into
his eyes.
Ahmad read up on that last night. While there is a misconception that an
Islamic marriage can only be consummated with penetrative sex, it turns
out that any kind of sexual intimacy between a married couple is enough to
consummate the marriage – as long as both of them are okay with delaying
sex. In other words, what happened that morning in his penthouse before
she left for Nigeria validates their marriage. He looks up to find his mum
still looking up at him, waiting for an answer. He exhales. “She’s – she’s my
wife, mom.”
His mom closes her mouth and looks away.
Saying it out loud brings some relief. This isn’t just between him and
Fa’iza anymore; this is real. She is his wife, and he’s her husband.
After a few minutes and without saying a word, his mother stands up
and makes her way out of the suite towards the living room to find her
husband. Ahmad follows her through the brightly lit hallway with high
ceilings, white walls, and large family portraits framed with dark wood
panels.
When they find the ambassador, he is reading a newspaper with a frown
on his face. Ahmad watches as his mother sits next to his father on the
brown leather sectional and he sits on a sofa opposite them, looking at the
floor. He listens as his mother explains everything he told her to his father.
When she was done, his father looks up at him and removes his glasses. “Is
this true?” The disbelief and disappointment in his voice are very hard to
miss.

Ahmad meets his father’s eyes and nods slowly.

B