There are countless messages inside, but they are silent black letters that are difficult to interpret. Anyone with deep thought and understanding will realize this. It is a guide for women, especially those with co-wives, and a warning stick for those whose profession relates to the themes of this book.
NOTE: This is a fictional story created to reflect the challenges women face today. Everything in it is made-up. If it happens to resemble the real-life situation of someone, it is purely coincidental.
She sat on the white stool placed in front of the dressing table. One leg crossed over the other, swinging them restlessly with a quick, uneasy motion. One glance at her face was enough to understand the intense sadness spread across it—a sorrow that undoubtedly gripped her heart with a painful sting.
Even the color of her eyes and face had changed, showing clearly that she had cried heavily. And from the signs, not much time had passed since the tears had dried.
Deep in her heart, she felt chaos and intense emotional turmoil tearing through her. She kept trying to soothe herself, but it seemed completely impossible.
She was among the type of women who could not swallow anger or pain without their hearts releasing or expressing it toward whoever caused it.
"If you don’t mind, please, I want to go out today. But I won’t stay longer than two hours. I’ll be back, Insha Allah."
The voice floated lightly through her window, slipping between the curtains until it reached her ears.
The sound alone hit her like a hammer dropped right in the middle of her heart. She longed to hear the response of the one being spoken to. With that, she stood up abruptly and pulled the curtain aside sharply.
Clearly, she could see the two people speaking calmly with each other. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, which gave him a firm, masculine appearance that fit perfectly with the name MAN. Though he wasn’t extremely handsome, he was far from ugly. A dark-skinned man of the type Hausa people call “washed with tar,” looking refined and composed in soft sky-blue fabric. One look was enough to know he dressed well and his tailor was highly skilled. All these features combined increased SALEEM’s presence, charm, and completeness.
The woman beside him looked no more than twenty-eight—at most twenty-nine or thirty. She was also dark-skinned, but hers was smoother, a rich chocolate shade. She was of medium height, not short, though not as tall as he was. She had large expressive eyes and a well-shaped nose. Everything about her was moderate, with a subtle, gentle beauty.
"Where are you going?" he asked with a smile slipping across his face.
"To aunty Khadija’s house," she replied. He nodded, still smiling.
"Return safely, may Allah protect you," he said as his smile deepened. A small laugh escaped her.
"So quick to bless me? Just because you heard it’s aunty Deeja’s house?"
He widened his eyes playfully and smiled again.
"Why would I stop you from going there? I know she’s trusted," he said softly.
She released a shy little laugh and said, in a lowered voice,
"I didn’t say that, but… it’s a little secret."
"I know. I didn’t ask. Don’t stay long, please," he said with warmth, walking toward the garage that held the three cars the house could contain.
"I know you don’t like returning home late, daddy. I won’t break that, Insha Allah."
He paused, turned back to look at her. A smile appeared on his face—the type he couldn’t stop himself from giving her. She gave a soft smile too and lowered her head slightly, shy under his gaze.
It felt as though someone suddenly grabbed her heart from her chest—that was how ZAINAB felt. She knew she couldn’t stand there a second longer watching this. She dropped the curtain quickly, turned away, and shut the door, her heart burning with pain and sharp jealousy.
How could this be? The man who hadn’t been himself since last night—who couldn’t even eat dinner—who said he wasn’t feeling well, and that was how they had slept? Yet here he was smiling and exchanging soft looks?
This same morning he had dressed silently without facing her, without a word except turning his back and rushing out. She thought he had already left the house long ago—not knowing he was with that sly, dark-skinned woman.
"May Allah bring success, protect you, and bless you with lawful provisions to take care of us. Return safely," she prayed for him.
He closed his eyes slightly, her prayer sinking deep into his heart. Her prayers were among the things that gladdened his soul every
morning and accompanied him to his shop in the market.
Description
Introduction
There are countless messages inside, but they are silent black letters that are difficult to interpret. Anyone with deep thought and understanding will realize this. It is a guide for women, especially those with co-wives, and a warning stick for those whose profession relates to the themes of this book.
NOTE: This is a fictional story created to reflect the challenges women face today. Everything in it is made-up. If it happens to resemble the real-life situation of someone, it is purely coincidental.
She sat on the white stool placed in front of the dressing table. One leg crossed over the other, swinging them restlessly with a quick, uneasy motion. One glance at her face was enough to understand the intense sadness spread across it—a sorrow that undoubtedly gripped her heart with a painful sting.
Even the color of her eyes and face had changed, showing clearly that she had cried heavily. And from the signs, not much time had passed since the tears had dried.
Deep in her heart, she felt chaos and intense emotional turmoil tearing through her. She kept trying to soothe herself, but it seemed completely impossible.
She was among the type of women who could not swallow anger or pain without their hearts releasing or expressing it toward whoever caused it.
"If you don’t mind, please, I want to go out today. But I won’t stay longer than two hours. I’ll be back, Insha Allah."
The voice floated lightly through her window, slipping between the curtains until it reached her ears.
The sound alone hit her like a hammer dropped right in the middle of her heart. She longed to hear the response of the one being spoken to. With that, she stood up abruptly and pulled the curtain aside sharply.
Clearly, she could see the two people speaking calmly with each other. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, which gave him a firm, masculine appearance that fit perfectly with the name MAN. Though he wasn’t extremely handsome, he was far from ugly. A dark-skinned man of the type Hausa people call “washed with tar,” looking refined and composed in soft sky-blue fabric. One look was enough to know he dressed well and his tailor was highly skilled. All these features combined increased SALEEM’s presence, charm, and completeness.
The woman beside him looked no more than twenty-eight—at most twenty-nine or thirty. She was also dark-skinned, but hers was smoother, a rich chocolate shade. She was of medium height, not short, though not as tall as he was. She had large expressive eyes and a well-shaped nose. Everything about her was moderate, with a subtle, gentle beauty.
"Where are you going?" he asked with a smile slipping across his face.
"To aunty Khadija’s house," she replied. He nodded, still smiling.
"Return safely, may Allah protect you," he said as his smile deepened. A small laugh escaped her.
"So quick to bless me? Just because you heard it’s aunty Deeja’s house?"
He widened his eyes playfully and smiled again.
"Why would I stop you from going there? I know she’s trusted," he said softly.
She released a shy little laugh and said, in a lowered voice,
"I didn’t say that, but… it’s a little secret."
"I know. I didn’t ask. Don’t stay long, please," he said with warmth, walking toward the garage that held the three cars the house could contain.
"I know you don’t like returning home late, daddy. I won’t break that, Insha Allah."
He paused, turned back to look at her. A smile appeared on his face—the type he couldn’t stop himself from giving her. She gave a soft smile too and lowered her head slightly, shy under his gaze.
It felt as though someone suddenly grabbed her heart from her chest—that was how ZAINAB felt. She knew she couldn’t stand there a second longer watching this. She dropped the curtain quickly, turned away, and shut the door, her heart burning with pain and sharp jealousy.
How could this be? The man who hadn’t been himself since last night—who couldn’t even eat dinner—who said he wasn’t feeling well, and that was how they had slept? Yet here he was smiling and exchanging soft looks?
This same morning he had dressed silently without facing her, without a word except turning his back and rushing out. She thought he had already left the house long ago—not knowing he was with that sly, dark-skinned woman.
"May Allah bring success, protect you, and bless you with lawful provisions to take care of us. Return safely," she prayed for him.
He closed his eyes slightly, her prayer sinking deep into his heart. Her prayers were among the things that gladdened his soul every
morning and accompanied him to his shop in the market.