Chapter 21, Two Stories
As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, just minutes before Maghrib, Anaya sat silently in the living room of her father's house. There was no way she could return to Zayd's home—not after everything that had happened. She hadn't shared much with her father, only telling him she came to visit.
In her hands was a bowl of ice cream, completely melted now. She hadn't taken a single spoonful—her thoughts were far too heavy.
The project she had poured her heart into, the one she'd worked on tirelessly day and night, had been ripped from her without warning. Just like that—as if none of it had meant anything.
And then there was Zayd. She had grown fond of him—more than she cared to admit. But her career still meant the world to her. It had been her dream long before he ever came into the picture. And she wasn't ready to give it up. Not for anyone.
She was still lost in thought when her father stepped out of his room and gently spoke.
"Anaya, it's almost Maghrib. I think you should return to your husband's house," Mr. Abbas said softly.
"I'll be staying here tonight," Anaya replied, her voice low but firm.
"What?" he asked, clearly taken aback. "Is everything alright?"
As though something within her had cracked, she suddenly broke down in tears—tears that startled Mr. Abbas.
---
After Isha, Anaya was still venting to her father about Zayd—his sudden anger, and everything. Mr. Abbas simply listened, offering the occasional word of comfort, a soft apology.
"Dad… I did what you told me. I tolerated him. I tolerated his stepmother and her strict ways. I did all of it—for the sake of this project," she said through trembling lips.
"I'm sorry this happened, Anaya," her father said gently. "But… why would you say something like this about your marriage?"
Mr. Abbas sighed deeply, a sad look settling on his face. "Maybe I was wrong to promise you that project over your marriage. I thought with time, the tension would fade... that everything would fall into place—especially for you. I truly believed this was the best decision. But now… I see the cracks I ignored."
His voice trailed off, filled with quiet guilt.
"Anaya, please go back home. I'll find another project for you—something even bigger than this one. It might take six months to a year, but I'll make sure of it," he added, though a part of him feared history might repeat itself.
"six months, a year?" Anaya scoffed. "No way. And I don't even want to see Zayd or his entire family again."
Mr. Abbas opened his mouth to respond, but just then, Zayd stepped into the house, thier parlour.
Anaya instantly turned away, standing up in an attempt to leave, but her father's calm yet firm voice stopped her.
"Sit down, Anaya. Sit on the floor beside him."
Zayd was already seated on the carpeted floor. Reluctantly, and with a glare in Zayd's direction, Anaya obeyed.
"I want to hear both sides," Mr. Abbas said, his tone serious.
Zayd nodded and explained everything—his concerns, the insecurities that built up, and how he felt watching her grow closer to Haris. But he also made one thing very clear: he hadn't come to argue. He had come to apologize and take her back home.
Anaya, however, was unmoved. "I'd rather return to the States and reclaim my old job than sit around waiting 6 months for a new project—especially when I can't even be sure Zayd will let me work on it again."
"Go back to the states?" clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to respond. Her words hit him hard. It sounded like their marriage—something he thought they were both building—meant nothing to her.
"No, no… that won't happen, Anaya," Mr. Abbas said firmly. "You shouldn't disrespect your marriage like this. You're making decisions out of anger."
Anaya's eyes widened. "Dad, are you… siding with him now?"
Mr. Abbas shook his head. "No, I just want both of you to settle your matters properly, instead of throwing your marriage away because of temporary challenges and worldly pursuits."
"Yes, Dad, but you promised me," Anaya snapped, her voice laced with hurt. "You said Zayd would be supportive. That he would help me build my career—not tear it down. Honestly, it feels like you broke your promise."
"Watch your tongue, Anaya," Mr. Abbas cut in sharply, his voice rising. "You're speaking to your father—not just anyone."
The tension hung heavy in the room. The conversation dragged on with no resolution in sight. Mr. Abbas tried to share words of wisdom, reminding them of the realities of life, the importance of marriage, and the balance between personal dreams and shared responsibilities. Though he held Zayd more accountable even he has apologies to Anaya countless times but she remained unmoved.
Seeing that nothing was working, he finally sighed and stepped back.
"Zayd," he said, "I think you should give Anaya some time." Zayd reluctantly did given Anaya left him with no option.
And with that, the conversation ended—no closure, just a lingering silence filled with unresolved emotions.
Even after their tense exchange, Anaya was certain Zayd had left.
Curled up on the bed, wrapped in her own silence, she barely registered the soft knock at the door.
"Come in," she said absently, assuming it was one of the maids.
But as the door creaked open, she straightened, startled to see Zayd step inside.
Her eyes narrowed instantly. The calm vanished from her face, replaced by a flash of irritation. She rose from the bed. "What are you doing here?" she snapped.
Zayd didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked over, his movements quiet and deliberate, and set a brand-new phone and tablet on the bed—exact models of the ones he'd broken.
Anaya glanced at the devices, then up at him. Her jaw clenched. "And what exactly do you expect me to do with this?" Her tone was icy. "Is this your solution? Did I ever ask you to replace them? You can replace this what about my project"
"Anaya…" His voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry. I know I messed up. But… I'm asking you to forgive me."
She turned her face away, refusing to respond.
"I didn't realize how important your career was to you," he went on, his voice shaky. "I thought what we had was stronger than anything else. I thought I was your number one."
He paused, hoping for a reaction. There was none.
"For me," he said quietly, "you've always been first. I'd give up anything—everything—for you, Anaya. Without hesitation. That's how much I care."
Anaya let out a tired sigh and moved back toward the bed. "Zayd, just go. It's late, Don't guilt trap me with the word love, care or what so ever."
She adjusted her pillow and lay down, turning her back to him.
"I'm tired. I want to rest now. If you really loved me…" she whispered, thinking he couldn't hear her, "you would've trusted me. You would've prioritized what mattered to me, too."
But he heard every word.
Zayd stood still, his eyes fixed on her unmoving figure.
Then, in a voice soft as a prayer, he said,
"May Allah cool your heart and ease our affairs, Anaya."
With that, he gently closed the door behind him.
He didn't know how much more of this he could take. Their marriage, which had only just begun to bloom, was already beginning to wither.
And though he knew she needed space…
he feared how much of that space and silence he could survive.
___
Just after Maghrib, Rayyan had finished dressing up for his outing with Zeenat. He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his green kaftan, when a knock sounded on the door.
"Come in," he said casually, assuming it was Zeenat.
But it wasn't.
Rayyan turned, slightly startled, as Sakinat stepped into the room.
"What brings you here?" he asked her, his voice calm but unreadable.
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she closed the door behind her and slowly stepped inside.
"Rayyan... I'm sorry," she said softly. "For defying you."
"Hmm," he hummed without looking at her. "I've heard you. You can go now," he added, turning his attention back to the mirror.
Sakinat ignored his dismissal. "So... you're going on a date with Zeenat?"
Rayyan gave a noncommittal grunt. "Umm."
"You even bought her red dresses?" she pushed.
He sighed. "She's my dad's biggest happiness, Sakinat."
"I thought you already got what you wanted, Rayyan. You're the CEO now," she reminded him bitterly.
"So what?" he replied, still refusing to meet her gaze.
Sakinat turned to leave, her heels clicking softly on the tiled floor. But just as she reached for the door, Rayyan was suddenly behind her, grabbing her hand.
"Where do you think you're going, queen of my heart?" he said, voice low, eyes searching hers. "After two weeks without you, would you really walk away from me like this?"
She turned to him, her expression pained. "I see you haven't forgiven me. You're going out with your wife, Rayyan. Maybe... maybe I don't belong here anymore."
He shook his head, cupping her face. "No. You know I'd cancel everything for you. I would, right now. It's just... I don't want you staying here. What if my father finds out you're here? I can't risk losing you again, Sakinat."
"Relax, darling," Sakinat said, her voice low and firm. "There's nothing your father can do anymore. I'm here to stay. I'm here to marry you, Rayyan. It's high time you told him what you truly want."
Rayyan smiled, that soft smile he reserved only for her. "Anything for you, babe."
Sakinat had been Rayyan's long-time girlfriend. They'd been together for four years—she was his dream girl, the one he wanted to marry, and the one his mother adored for him. They were inseparable, used to each other in every possible way.
But every time Rayyan brought up marriage to his father, Mr. Abbas flatly refused. He wanted his son to marry a "proper Nigerian woman," not Sakinat. And so, the unexpected marriage to Zeenat had happened, taking even Rayyan by surprise. Still, it didn't sever the bond between him and Sakinat. Even though at first sakinat was very mad but soon came to accept it.
They loved each other—deeply, dangerously—and they never truly let go.
Now, Sakinat had returned, not just to rekindle what they had, but to claim her place fully. Even if it meant eliminating Zeenat entirely.
"Rayyan, you know what to do next," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Change this outfit—I hate green."
Without a word, Rayyan did as she asked.
When he returned dressed in an all-blue outfit, she smiled approvingly. "You're charming, my Rayyan."
"And you're the most beautiful, Sakinat," he said admiring her.
Together, they stepped out into the night.
___
"Do you think this one is better?" Zeenat asked Salima and Hussaina, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror.
Zeenat looked stunning in a red and white patterned gown that hugged her curves down to her ankles, with a veil neatly rolled atop her head. A touch of minimal makeup enhanced her features, and the color red, as always, looked radiant against her light, glowing skin. The dress fit her curvaceous figure perfectly. She hadn't planned to step out exactly like this, though—she intended to wear a jacket over it.
"Yes, ma'am Zeenat. You look dashing in it," Salima commented, genuinely impressed.
"You always look good in anything," Hussaina, her younger housemaid, added sweetly.
Zeenat had been trying on a few red outfits that Rayyan had picked out for her—special selections just for their upcoming dates. He had bought several options, asking her to try them and choose her favorite. Salima and Hussaina were in the room, helping her with the fittings and offering their thoughts.
She had grown very close to Salima and Hussaina these days, genuinely enjoying their presence as her housemaids. They often told her that very few people in her position were as kind as she was. Now that her relationship with Rayyan seemed to be flourishing, they were genuinely happy for her. They frequently offered her advice about marriage, even when she didn't ask for it. But she always chose only what she felt was right, careful not to let anyone negatively influence her marriage.
It was just after Maghrib, and their plan was to head out after Isha.
As she stood there adjusting the gown, Zeenat felt a soft blush creep onto her cheeks.
Was it the day? Or was it the time she had been spending with Rayyan?
She couldn't tell. All she knew was that he had occupied her thoughts, her mind… and slowly, her heart.
As the time for their outing came—shortly after Isha—Zeenat was surprised not to find Rayyan anywhere around the house.
Everyone was now seated in the parlour, waiting. Salima and Hussaina were giving her advice and wishing her luck for the evening, both smiling excitedly on her behalf.
Zeenat pulled out her phone to call him.
But Salima gently stopped her. "Allow him to call you first, ma'am. A man should always make the first move," she advised, with Hussaina nodding in agreement.
Zeenat had never been in a proper, long-term relationship. Salima, on the other hand, was a widowed woman with experience, and Hussaina was five years into her marriage.
Reluctantly, Zeenat agreed. Maybe he's still at the mosque, she thought. She slid her phone back into her bag and tried to wait patiently.
But an hour passed.
They were still seated in the parlour—except for Zeenat, who kept pacing back and forth, unable to sit still.
Eventually, she gave in and called Rayyan.
Once. No answer.
Twice. Still no response.
The third time, he cut the call. Zeenat froze, eyes wide. Even her maids looked up in surprise.
She tried again, and this time, the line was unreachable.
A cold wave of panic washed over her.
Is Rayyan okay? she thought, heart pounding.
A flood of worries rushed into her mind. Salima and Hussaina tried to calm her, offering theories:
"Maybe he's at his father's house."
"Maybe his phone battery died."
"Maybe he lost signal."
Just maybe… But there was nothing solid—only assumptions. Zeenat didn't want to jump to conclusions or call anyone unnecessarily at this hour without being sure something was truly wrong.
So instead, she did the only thing she could.
She went to make ablution, and then prayed.
In her quiet room, wrapped in the stillness of the night, Zeenat prayed her nafilah, whispering her fears into sujood. With no answers, and nowhere to turn, she sought peace in the One who knew what she didn't.