Fallible

fifteen

It’s six months since Mubeen left for his final session at the University of Bath, Bath, UK. He was actively working not only to conclude his thesis and graduate but also to right the wrong and clear the mess he was in. As of present, he was done with the academic part of the course and almost over with the research part, but still has his professional exam ahead. This gave him enough time to seek redress and iron things out. His determination to end this charade, never to be heard of by anyone,how much more Salmah was definitely high.

He was anxiously waiting for Zayd to send her new address. He knew he wasn’t supposed to go see her all alone, but since he created this mess, he had to clear it up himself. His phone beeped and he was glad she was still within Bath. He wore his head warmer, picked his keys and walked out of the house. He was going to take the bus this time. He texted zayd:

I’m on my way already. Get there latest by 1pm, please.

This was a mistake he would live to regret all his life, just a bit of patience would have prevented this shit. On the other hand, he was young and naive, and moved with the wrong clique when he initially arrived in England. They were Muslims, appeared sunnatic, read the Qur’an with beautiful sawt and tajweed, and claimed to be students of a "renowned scholar" back in Nigeria, anyone could have fallen victim. It’s just sad he was a victim and that innocent lady. There’s nothing more accurate than the words of Allah as regards obeying one’s parents and being in the company of the righteous. His father warned him when he informed him of his decision back then, he even instructed him to stop meeting with those brothers. Regret comes after the deed, indeed...

He rubbed his palms together and wiped his face as he approached her house. He silently recited some du’a and heaved heavily before pressing the bell. He pressed it for the second time and got no response, he was getting nervous. He pressed it again and waited for a response. A young lady of the same age group with her opened the door.

“As-salamu alaykum”

“Wa alaykumus salam warahmatullah. How may I help you”, though Nigerian, she spoke in the traditional British accent

“Oh. I’m Mubeen. Mubeen Adebola. May I see Faariah”

“Hmm, you are the Mubeen” she scanned him from head to toe, “come in” she said as she went in allowing him walk behind her.

“You may have your sit”she gestured towards the brown sofa opposite the TV stand. “I’ll go inform her”

“Okay. Thank you” Mubeen sat, knees touching and lower arms on his thigh.

He was lost in thought, he didn’t realise when she sat beside him. He nearly went in shock when he felt her hands on his neck. He abruptly stood up and composed himself. He sat on another sofa adjacent from hers.

“Hi”

“Hi, heard you got married again”

“I was never married”

“Ours?”

“Fraud. Invalid. How many times do I have to reiterate it?”

“My wali agreed to it, we had witnesses, you gave me my mahr, you offered and- ”

“I didn’t offer. I was deceived into this and you know it”

“I still love you baby. I do, please reverse the divorce” her voice broke at the end

“I do not! I never did Faari’ah” he rubbed his temples. “I’m here to complete the divorce. There was nothing valid actually; it’s just best if I pronounce it nonetheless”