Chapter 39
Broken Not a halal love story Complete · about 7 min read
hen I was a teen, I prayed for a husband who feared Allah, who
never drank alcohol or touched women who were not his mahram.
And that is exactly who I’m now married to. But the journey here has not
been so easy. Ahmad once asked me, “Any man can love you. But will that
love remain on the days you’re difficult to love?” I didn’t understand it in
its entirety then, but today I do. In all the time we were apart, while I tried
to bury my love for him, he held on for the both of us. This is what security
feels like – knowing that he will love me even on days I’m difficult to love.
The fallout from the canceled engagement with Umar was a lot. As soon
as the boxes brought as kayan lefe were returned to his family, people
gossiped about us in hushed tones at weddings, naming ceremonies, and
death condolences. A blog that was known for its gossip about Abuja
residents, in its blind item about me, said that ‘I weaseled my way back into
my ex’s life and snatched him from his loving fiancee weeks before their
wedding.’ Umma and Hajiya Uwani didn’t remain as close afterward.
We didn’t want a huge ceremony. What’s the point after all of these
years? I just want to spend all my time with my husband and away from
prying eyes. But a few months later, our mothers said they had a thousand
reasons to celebrate, so they went all out. The wedding reception hashtag
was – you guessed right – #InsomNiac. When our younger relatives or
random strangers comment on our pictures on social media, they write the
usual things like ‘couple goals,’ and sometimes, they will wish for
something like what we had for themselves. I always pray that may only the
best of this be theirs – because our story has got dark parts, ugly parts, and
really painful parts. But people don’t see our story when they see our
pictures all over social media; we don’t wear our scars from years of being
broken. I was in therapy for years for the anxiety the separation brought.
Nobody talks about that except me. I am and will always be an advocate for
therapy. I made mistakes, and Ahmad’s mistakes finally caught up with
him, but Allah is Al Hadi and Ar-Rasheed, The Guide and The Infallible
Teacher. He brought us closer to him in the process. He wanted to test our
patience and faith in Him, and if we had defied Him and continued meeting
secretly, we would never have ended up together because Ahmad would not
have searched for ‘yar Agadez as hard as he did, and our families would
have never found out the truth.
As I watch Afreen, Joanne and Ada dancing with family and friends on
the dance floor at our wedding dinner, Ahmad leans towards me and
whispers in my ear. “How much longer is this supposed to go on for?”
“Next on the agenda is our ‘Vote of thanks’, and then its open dance
floor for all.”
“There’s a car parked out front and the driver’s waiting. How about we
just ditch this and go continue from where we left off?” He bites down on
his lower lip as he smiles.
“You are soo bad, Ahmad.” I look at him and laugh.
“You weren’t complaining last night.”
I open my mouth as I gasp in mock shock, although flashes of us
together didn’t allow me to keep a straight face. I am in love with how he
loves me and how tender he is when he touches me.
“I wanna hear you say it,” his husky voice filled my ear the previous
night as his weight pressed into me on the bed while I was naked beneath
him.
I hesitated as I glanced up at him and felt his thumb graze my lips. Even
in the dark, I could see that his eyes never left mine. “Don’t make me
beg…” My breathing was ragged as I got impatient.
“Say it,” he dared teasingly.
“I want you.” It was a confession, almost a plea. A look I knew all too
well crossed his face as he reached down between us. I gasped as I felt his
fullness in me. He was torturously slow and groaned softly into my ear as
his grip tightened on my thigh.
“Oh, fuuck,” his mouth covered mine as he silenced my cry.
* * *
A few days after the wedding reception, the sun pours through the curtains
in the private chalet overlooking the white sands and deep blue water of the
Maldives. Our legs are intertwined, and we are both wrapped in the white
sheets on the king-sized bed. When I rub my eyes and raise my head from
his chest, my husband opens his bedside drawer and places a small black
box wrapped with a red bow between us.
“What’s this?” I sit up, wrapping the sheets around my naked body. He
smiles as he opens the box, and in it are my ring from years ago and the
Milan bracelet. I can’t believe that he held onto them all these years.
“Babe…?” My mouth remains open. I didn’t think he would still have them
after all this time.
“I love you, Insom,” he smiles at me as my tears begin to form.
“I missed you so much.”
“I know. We’re together now. Nothing’s gonna ever tear us apart again.”
“Insha Allah,” I say.
“Insha Allah,” he laughs as he wipes the tears from my eyes and kisses
my forehead. “Do you still want to see the coral reef today, or do you want
to come back tomorrow?”
“I wanna see baby sea-turtles, Mr Cain Mosni.” I say, still leaning on
his chest as I listen to his heartbeat and the sound of waves outside our
chalet.
Sitting with him on this bed now, I can still remember years ago when
he said all he wanted was someone who was completely his. “Whatever life
throws at me, I wanna know that my woman will always be my woman,” he
said. Today, without any doubt, I can say that’s who I am. I am his. I belong
to him – heart, soul, body and mind. Always and forever.
“I’ll love you forever,” I say as he places the ring on my finger and
return the bracelet back to my wrist. I kiss him on the lips, savoring the feel
of his arms as they wrap around me.
This is home.
About the Author
Fatima Bala is a lecturer, poet, and writer who lives in Canada with her
family. Her books have received starred reviews from The Los Angeles
Tribune, London Post, and New York Weekly. She is the award-winning
author of an Afro-futuristic speculative fiction book, Before the Origin, to
which she hopes to one day complete the sequel.
She can be reached on Instagram at @aka.fatima.bala
Also by Fatima Bala
Hafsatu Bebi
A story of two women, unconnected yet related. Birthed in the same
society, they struggle to balance ugly truths and well-intentioned sins while
facing different realities. When it all comes crashing down, leading to loss
of self and identity crises, truths they fought so hard to hide become
revealed. Can they recognize themselves now that the masks are off?
Hafsatu thinks she has it all figured out until destiny starts to pull out
pieces of her picture-worthy life apart, secret after secret. Sadiq is a man
with a dark past and darker humor. When complexities bring a whirlpool of
love that can’t be tamed into his life, fate vows to pull them apart. Can they
stand strong against the tides of destiny and sins of the past?
“If everything is preordained, then aren’t the choices we make daily just
setting the stones into the grand stage of our fated destinies? Is free will not
never drank alcohol or touched women who were not his mahram.
And that is exactly who I’m now married to. But the journey here has not
been so easy. Ahmad once asked me, “Any man can love you. But will that
love remain on the days you’re difficult to love?” I didn’t understand it in
its entirety then, but today I do. In all the time we were apart, while I tried
to bury my love for him, he held on for the both of us. This is what security
feels like – knowing that he will love me even on days I’m difficult to love.
The fallout from the canceled engagement with Umar was a lot. As soon
as the boxes brought as kayan lefe were returned to his family, people
gossiped about us in hushed tones at weddings, naming ceremonies, and
death condolences. A blog that was known for its gossip about Abuja
residents, in its blind item about me, said that ‘I weaseled my way back into
my ex’s life and snatched him from his loving fiancee weeks before their
wedding.’ Umma and Hajiya Uwani didn’t remain as close afterward.
We didn’t want a huge ceremony. What’s the point after all of these
years? I just want to spend all my time with my husband and away from
prying eyes. But a few months later, our mothers said they had a thousand
reasons to celebrate, so they went all out. The wedding reception hashtag
was – you guessed right – #InsomNiac. When our younger relatives or
random strangers comment on our pictures on social media, they write the
usual things like ‘couple goals,’ and sometimes, they will wish for
something like what we had for themselves. I always pray that may only the
best of this be theirs – because our story has got dark parts, ugly parts, and
really painful parts. But people don’t see our story when they see our
pictures all over social media; we don’t wear our scars from years of being
broken. I was in therapy for years for the anxiety the separation brought.
Nobody talks about that except me. I am and will always be an advocate for
therapy. I made mistakes, and Ahmad’s mistakes finally caught up with
him, but Allah is Al Hadi and Ar-Rasheed, The Guide and The Infallible
Teacher. He brought us closer to him in the process. He wanted to test our
patience and faith in Him, and if we had defied Him and continued meeting
secretly, we would never have ended up together because Ahmad would not
have searched for ‘yar Agadez as hard as he did, and our families would
have never found out the truth.
As I watch Afreen, Joanne and Ada dancing with family and friends on
the dance floor at our wedding dinner, Ahmad leans towards me and
whispers in my ear. “How much longer is this supposed to go on for?”
“Next on the agenda is our ‘Vote of thanks’, and then its open dance
floor for all.”
“There’s a car parked out front and the driver’s waiting. How about we
just ditch this and go continue from where we left off?” He bites down on
his lower lip as he smiles.
“You are soo bad, Ahmad.” I look at him and laugh.
“You weren’t complaining last night.”
I open my mouth as I gasp in mock shock, although flashes of us
together didn’t allow me to keep a straight face. I am in love with how he
loves me and how tender he is when he touches me.
“I wanna hear you say it,” his husky voice filled my ear the previous
night as his weight pressed into me on the bed while I was naked beneath
him.
I hesitated as I glanced up at him and felt his thumb graze my lips. Even
in the dark, I could see that his eyes never left mine. “Don’t make me
beg…” My breathing was ragged as I got impatient.
“Say it,” he dared teasingly.
“I want you.” It was a confession, almost a plea. A look I knew all too
well crossed his face as he reached down between us. I gasped as I felt his
fullness in me. He was torturously slow and groaned softly into my ear as
his grip tightened on my thigh.
“Oh, fuuck,” his mouth covered mine as he silenced my cry.
* * *
A few days after the wedding reception, the sun pours through the curtains
in the private chalet overlooking the white sands and deep blue water of the
Maldives. Our legs are intertwined, and we are both wrapped in the white
sheets on the king-sized bed. When I rub my eyes and raise my head from
his chest, my husband opens his bedside drawer and places a small black
box wrapped with a red bow between us.
“What’s this?” I sit up, wrapping the sheets around my naked body. He
smiles as he opens the box, and in it are my ring from years ago and the
Milan bracelet. I can’t believe that he held onto them all these years.
“Babe…?” My mouth remains open. I didn’t think he would still have them
after all this time.
“I love you, Insom,” he smiles at me as my tears begin to form.
“I missed you so much.”
“I know. We’re together now. Nothing’s gonna ever tear us apart again.”
“Insha Allah,” I say.
“Insha Allah,” he laughs as he wipes the tears from my eyes and kisses
my forehead. “Do you still want to see the coral reef today, or do you want
to come back tomorrow?”
“I wanna see baby sea-turtles, Mr Cain Mosni.” I say, still leaning on
his chest as I listen to his heartbeat and the sound of waves outside our
chalet.
Sitting with him on this bed now, I can still remember years ago when
he said all he wanted was someone who was completely his. “Whatever life
throws at me, I wanna know that my woman will always be my woman,” he
said. Today, without any doubt, I can say that’s who I am. I am his. I belong
to him – heart, soul, body and mind. Always and forever.
“I’ll love you forever,” I say as he places the ring on my finger and
return the bracelet back to my wrist. I kiss him on the lips, savoring the feel
of his arms as they wrap around me.
This is home.
About the Author
Fatima Bala is a lecturer, poet, and writer who lives in Canada with her
family. Her books have received starred reviews from The Los Angeles
Tribune, London Post, and New York Weekly. She is the award-winning
author of an Afro-futuristic speculative fiction book, Before the Origin, to
which she hopes to one day complete the sequel.
She can be reached on Instagram at @aka.fatima.bala
Also by Fatima Bala
Hafsatu Bebi
A story of two women, unconnected yet related. Birthed in the same
society, they struggle to balance ugly truths and well-intentioned sins while
facing different realities. When it all comes crashing down, leading to loss
of self and identity crises, truths they fought so hard to hide become
revealed. Can they recognize themselves now that the masks are off?
Hafsatu thinks she has it all figured out until destiny starts to pull out
pieces of her picture-worthy life apart, secret after secret. Sadiq is a man
with a dark past and darker humor. When complexities bring a whirlpool of
love that can’t be tamed into his life, fate vows to pull them apart. Can they
stand strong against the tides of destiny and sins of the past?
“If everything is preordained, then aren’t the choices we make daily just
setting the stones into the grand stage of our fated destinies? Is free will not