THE TIMOROUS DUNYA✅

THIRTY-SIX

*****

Maryam wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh. She wanted climb onto Hajarah's bed and jump on top of it's fulffiness. She wanted to wrap Hajarah in her arms and shout on top of her voice, Aunty! Not just because she was older than her, but because she really was her aunt. Her mother's sister, her family.

But she did none of that. Instead, she had taken the picture frame from Hajarah's hands into her own trembling hands. Her eyes became glossy as she traced her fingers across her mother's face. She drank up every detail of Inna Salma's face, as though it was the first time she was setting her eyes on her.

Maryam held the picture frame close to her heart, letting her warmth sweep through the cold metals. Her hands encircled it, imagining it to be her mother. The tears came down from her eyes in an unimaginable pace, drenching her clothes.

Hajarah, on the other hand, was rendered speechless. Thousands of questions swamped through her head at once. If Maryam was really her sister's daughter, then where was her sister? She had never known her sister to be someone irresponsible, how could she let her own daughter roam in the streets?

There were other questions as well. Like had Salma added weight? Had she grown darker like herself? Is her fair and smooth skin now bearing pimples? Had she been abled to speak hausa fluently? Was she happy where she was? Hajarah wanted answers. But more than anything else, she wanted to see her sister.

"What is her name?" Hajarah was sorry to cut Maryam's moment. But she needed a confirmation. To be certain that they're not referring to different people.

Maryam looked fondly at the picture. "Salma. I call her Inna." She exposed the gold chain underneath her dress, the only connection she has with her late mother. The necklace gleamed brightly in the dim lit room. "This used to be her necklace. But she gave it to me."

Maryam did not see how Hajarah's eyes widen, or how her mouth parts until she heard the exaggerated gasp she made.

"That is Salma's chain!" Hajarah swiftly opened the drawer by the bedside. Inside, she retrieved a similar necklace. She flipped them both, beckoning Maryam to look at them. It took several seconds for Maryam to see what Hajarah was showing her. There, by the very bottom of the necklaces were engravings. H&S in a cursive and posh handwriting. Maryam couldn't believe she had been missing it for the past three years since she had necklace.

"These were gifted to us by our father, the morning of an Eid day, several years ago." Hajarah was at the verge of tears. Maryam could tell by how her eyes looked distance, that she was reminiscing the memories. She had done that countless of times after all.

Hajarah wipped her tears. "Where is she Maryam? Where is my sister?" She looked at Maryam, a fresh set of smile taking her face. Her eyes suddenly gleamed, no doubt with happiness, which Maryam was about to burst.

"She died. She died five years ago."

And just like that, Hajarah's world started spinning.

*****

After a series of cries, screaming Hajarah's name to wake her up, sprinkling cold water onto her face, pacing the empty hallways, Maryam finally dialled Sufyan's number. By the time he rushed through the door, Hajarah had already woken up. Frantically searching for a veil, Hajarah mumbled to the both of them, "We're going home."

Sufyan knew what home meant. It meant her parents house. His grandparent's. But what he didn't understand was why, all of a sudden his mother wanted to start a one and a half hour journey in the middle of the day. They normally planned everything when they were travelling, and if it was to his grandparent's, they hit the road early so as to spend more time there.

In the car, shortly after they hit the road, Hajarah busted into a fresh set of tears. Maryam let her cry it out, it was the only way she would feel better.

All through, Maryam had missed the questioning looks being aimed at her through the rear view mirror.

About thirty minutes into the ride, Hajarah sniffed and wiped and sniffed and wiped, then she took Maryam's hands in her own. "Let me tell you something about your mother which I'm sure you didn't know." Sufyan's ears perked up at Hajarah's words. His mother knew Maryam's mom? How?

"Your mother was a frugal woman. Salma never fancied expensive phones, fancy shoes and clothes, she didn't like wasting money going to the salon, or going to spa, or going to restaurants. She was a simple lady, unlike me." Hajarah laughed sadly. "And she always wanted a simple life. Your father was her golden opportunity for that."

Maryam waited for Hajarah to continue the story. She wanted to know more, she yearned to know more, but Hajarah looked away, more tears cascading from her eyes.

One hundred and forty-two minutes later, Sufyan's honked infront of an enormous green gate which was shortly slid open.

Reflected from the bulging eyes of Maryam, was a big modern estate led to by a wide gravel pathway brightened by several standing lights and potted plants. Maryam gasped and gaped as they drove in, mesmerized by a beauty she thought only exist in heaven.

A gracefully tiled, broad and luxurious fountain lay in the middle, inexhaustibly splashing water which Maryam couldn't fathom it's source. Sufyan rounded the beautiful thing gracefully and parked directly to the grand stairs leading to a mahogany door.

Hajarah was first to alight, skipping the stairs with light and soundless footsteps. Then Maryam and Sufyan followed suit. Hajarah knocked on the door and went in after a lady in uniform opened it. Maryam was halted from doing so by Sufyan.

"I don't understand. How did my mom knew your mom?" Sufyan had a calculating gaze and a bottle of water in his palm, which he took a gulp from.

"They're sisters!"

He spilled everything onto the floor.

"What?!"

*****

It was a journey of admiration as Maryam navigated across the house behind Hajarah. They passed through a long corridor, to the living room, up the spiralling staircase, to a study. The study was a huge high roofted room with floor to ceiling book shelves on all the walls except one, which had glass.

Maryam watched the walls covered with books in astonishment. She thought of how much money was used to by all of it.

There was a huge oak desk in front of the glass, it housed a plethora of books, closed files, opened files, opened newspapers, closed newspapers, stapler and other writing materials. The chair by the desk was occupied by a tall bulky man. He has a very fair skin, full pink lips that are stretched into a smile and a set of light brown eyes which regarded Hajarah with so much warmness.

"What is it you want to show me that couldn't wait till you Salaam princess?" The man kept the newspaper he was reading as he spoke amusedly to Hajarah. Maryam detected strands of white in his hair.

"I'm sorry Baba. Assalmu Alaikum." Hajarah blinked and replied, as if picking her dropped manners off the floor. But her Baba did not hear her, his eyes were fixed at the figure behind her.

"Is that Salma?" He asked breathlessly, standing up and taking off his reading glasses.

"No Baba. This is Salma's daughter."

"Come closer child." Maryam took slow steps to him. The man caressed her cheeks with his large hands. He touched and felt her face, as if a scientist doing experiments. Then a loud gasp escaped his lips and he pulled Maryam onto is huge warm body, wrapping his hands tightly around her. "I finally meet you granddaughter. I finally meet you."

Behind her, Maryam felt another pair of frail hands and warm body encircle her. She needn't turn to know whom it belonged to. Her grandmother's. Hajarah joined in, Sufyan lastly.

As Maryam closed her eyes, a soft contended sigh escaped from her lips.

And she thought, right here, this is where I belong. No where else.