Road to Jannah

Chapter Twenty-two • Zan Rayu Dake

Da wanda zaya tsaga jinin da ke jiki na, da zaya ga naka yana ta gudana, akan ƙauna, na manta kaina, masoyi na, nake tunawa. Zan rayu dakai, zan mutu dakai, abadan da ni da kai, za mu zauna.*

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~ J A N N A H ~

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It's the very first day of November. The northern harmattan winds have rolled in, chilling and sucking the moisture out of the air. I felt the change of season wasn't just physical but also emotional, with each day that passed and as each day became dryer and colder than the last, so had my soul.

I hold unto the edges of his grey jacket and wrap it tighter around me. Basking in the comforting embrace his scent sheltered me in and the beautiful memories that reeled in my head as I remembered the night he had given me this ring that has been on my finger ever since. I twist the silver band around my ring finger that was now adorned with an intricate layer of henna patterns, and as I bring the diamond stud to my lips, I also feel Ahmad's kiss on the crown of my head. The kiss he had placed through the material of my hijab on that bitter sweet night.

It has been almost two weeks since the upheaval happened and tomorrow, I face the dawning of the armageddon I've been fighting to resist; my wedding to a man I was sure now that I didn't merely dislike, but I hate. I despise every cell in Faisal Ibrahim's body and the chill of disgust that runs through me as I think about being his wife in only a few hours was colder than the chill of this harmattan night.

I had always seen myself as having a strong body and soul, of not being someone who could easily crumble and be beaten by life so much that the only solution I can find is to make an escape from it, from living, from this world. But now, here I am, lying in bed with two henna stained hands all in the name of a man I detest and I contemplate deeply of the chances of me living a life with him or not having a life at all. With each passing minute and deepening shade of black in the night, I couldn't help the latter argument being more attractive to me.

I give up on trying to make myself fall asleep and sit up on the edge of my bed. I look at the clock on my wall and see that it was only a little past 8 pm. It was early to sleep but I had no other option. It was the only excuse I could come up with to escape from all the suffocating festive wedding ambience that was still diffusing through my doors from downstairs. Tens of guests I didn't even know, were down there having a blast while here I was, the supposed bride, dangling between the thin line of suicidal thoughts and insanity.

My feet touch the cold marble of the floor and I stand up, walking to the window I had viewed all my dreams from on that day Ahmad had come to our house. But now when I look out and see the multitudes of guests' cars, I viewed all those dreams being broken to bits.

I look down at my hands and the bold, black and orange floral designs on them remind me again of the fate that awaits me. The tears start welling up but before they fall, I close my eyes and swallow down a lump.

I've been stopping myself from thinking about Ahmad, from thinking about if indeed, what everyone had said was true but no matter how hard I tried, he's the only one on my mind. His words, his actions, everything that happened that night had kept replaying again and again in my mind and with every passing clip, I became more convinced that Ahmad indeed was lying and putting on and act.

But why?

Was the question that kept torturing my senses and no matter for how long I pondered about it, and the nooks and crannies I searched for it, I still couldn't find the answer.