ANA WATA, GA WATA

꧁❦꧂

Asma'u was thinking of all the possible ways to contact her sister over the loud music, her brows drawing together as she tried to remember all the places Rayyana could be or which friend she should have been with. She barely had time to think before two little kids suddenly crashed into her, making her stagger a little, almost losing her balance. Four tiny arms wrapped themselves tightly around her legs. An almost immediate smile tugged at her lips despite herself. She didn't need to look down to know who they were. There were only two people in the world who felt comfortable enough to hug her anywhere and everywhere.

Crouching down, she came face-to-face with two wide, toothy smiles. "Aunty Ma'uuu! Hiii, how're youu?" Hilwa asked excitedly, dressed in a simple purple gown that brought out the bright smile on her face, her hair braided into two sections, the hula Asma'u had seen on her head at the beginning of the event completely absent now. She rested her head against Asma'u's shoulder, tightening her grip around her. "Aunty Ma'u na,"  she called out gently. "Did you see Aunty Rahina? She looks so pweetyy, I want to be pretty like that too." Admiration shone in her eyes.

"Yes, she looks gorgeous, doesn't she?" Asma'u replied, gently stroking Hilwa's hair. "And you're just as gorgeous, my love," She added, leaning in to press a kiss on her forehead. "Not only gorgeous, but you're smart, and confident, and my little angel." She said, bumping her nose against Hilwa's before tickling the little girl in the belly, prompting a fit of laughter from her.

Hilwa hiccuped after a wave of laughter before her eyes wandered around and landed on her parents' table. Asma'u followed her gaze, she couldn't help but notice how something in her eyes died down a little. "Aunty Ma'u." Hilwa called out, almost in a whisper while looking down at her fingers. "Mummy said I can't have sweets! And all my friends have had sweets today. Amina said her mummy said it's okay cause today is a special day, It's not fair," Hilwa added quickly, her lower lip pushing out in a dramatic pout. Her fingers tightened around Asma'u's neck.

Before Asma'u could respond, Hakim stepped in, his small face already set in serious determination. "Mummy said it's bad for your health! That's why," he explained, nodding as though he had just delivered a very important verdict. There was pride in his voice, but also the urgency of someone desperate to be right.

Hilwa immediately turned on him, her eyes narrowing. "But she said I could last week! And I didn't have sweets last week!" she shot back, her voice rising with frustration. "You did have sweets. Daddy brought chocolates," Hakim insisted, his brows knitting together as he pointed a small finger at her. "We had sweets! We did. You're lying."

Hilwa's expression shifted instantly—hurt flickering across her face. "I am not!" she snapped, her voice cracking slightly as she looked up at Asma'u, searching for rescue. "Aunty Ma'u, I'm not lying."

"Yes, you are," Hakim said firmly, crossing his arms in a way that made him look far too serious for his age. "Mummy said liars go to bad places."

That did it.

Hilwa's face crumpled, the anger giving way to hurt. "I'm not a liar," she whispered, her voice suddenly small. She buried her face into Asma'u's shoulder, clinging tightly now, as if trying to hide from the accusation itself.

Asma'u let out a sigh. "Hakim," she said, her voice stern. "It's not nice to call your sister a liar." She gently rebuked him, watching as the small boy immediately lowered his head, a sad look settling in his eyes. Asma'u sighed again when she noticed the familiar look, the one that told her he was holding back tears. Slowly, she tilted his chin up, and as she had suspected, watery eyes stared back at her. "I know you didn't mean it that way. Don't cry, okay?" she said softly, slowly ruffling his hair.

She then turned to Hilwa. "And your mum was only looking out for you. But let's make a deal." She spoke, and instantly, both kids gave her their full attention. "You guys make it to the end of today without staining your clothes, and I'll bring you all the sweets you want. I'll speak to your mum." She said it, and almost instantly, both kids brightened up.

"Even kullisowa?" Hilwa asked.

Asma'u laughed. "Yes, even kullisowa." She nodded.

"I want tuwon madara!" Hakim said.

"Anything for my sweet babies," she agreed, pressing a kiss to both their cheeks.

"Thanks, Aunty Ma'u! You're the best," Hakim said as they both hugged Asma'u around the neck.

"Anytime," Asma'u responded.

"Come on, Hakim! Let's go get our cards from Amina," Hilwa said excitedly, dragging her brother by the arm before they both ran off, leaving Asma'u crouched there alone with her thoughts. Her eyes followed them, a small smile still lingering on her face.

She was still watching their tiny silhouettes disappear into the crowd when she stood up, gently adjusting her clothes. Almost immediately, her eyes met Umar's. His gaze was intense as he looked towards where his children had just run off to. Asma'u's face tightened when she realized he wasn't about to look away. Whatever was in his eyes, whatever that look meant, she didn't like it.  Only then did she realize Rufaida wasn't beside her husband.

Asma'u felt physically sick at the thought of someone who was already married staring at her so unabashedly. In that moment, she truly felt sorry for Rufaida.

She decided to look around for any of Rayyana's friends when she passed a group of women who hadn't noticed her. "Wallahi, duk ta tsotse, ta gama rame wa." Asma'u was about to walk past them when the next words immediately stopped her in her tracks.

"It's such a shame, wallahi. At her big age? Asma'u Galadima shouldn't be walking around without a husband, especially as someone who strongly represents Northern women."

She recognized the voice as that of one of her mother's co-wife's companions.

"Abin kunya," the woman chuckled. "Why is it that you people are forgetting that a woman like her can't keep a man? Yarinyar nan ba tada kunya. Ashe she's twenty-eight and not married? Ai wannan ba abin yi bane." The woman shook her head, her tone dripping with disapproval.

Asma'u didn't realize her legs had moved until she found herself standing in front of the group of women. They didn't notice her until one of them finally looked up, and the minute they did, they all went quiet, the colour draining from their faces.

"And what's so good about having a husband? Hmm? Enlighten me," Asma'u said, her gaze slowly assessing every woman who stood before her, as though they weren't worthy of being in her presence. "Please, go on. You all seemed to have very sharp tongues just a minute ago. What happened? Tell me, what's so good about tying a man down?"

"A'a, why is the silence so loud? Weren't you—"

"Ke Asma'u! Karki kawo mana iskanci! Do we look like your mates? Is it us you're speaking to like that?" A woman in her mid-forties asked, one hand pressed against her chest.

"I hope you have that same energy for your husband, Hajia Maimuna! I hope when he goes out in the morning and doesn't come back until 2 a.m., you have that same energy. Bakin ki nada tsike. You women waste your time discussing men as though they're some prize to be won." She gave her a distasteful look. "Tell me, is there a gold crown that magically appears on my head when I catch a man's eye?"

She paused, her gaze moving across the women. "You give up your lives for a man and spend the rest of it wondering why you're so miserable. And instead of taking the time to work on yourselves, you want women like me, who are perfectly content and happy, to end up miserable like you."

"Haba, Asma'u? Is this what you're turning into? Has Western education truly changed you so much that you can stand in front of all of us and say such things to us?" another woman spoke.

"What? Is the concept of me defending my truth really that hard to believe? The crazy thing about this is that you people never speak of your sons like this. Tell me, Hajia Ummi, how old is your son?" She waited, but got no response. "Exactly. He's thirty-two. Have you ever asked him what's stopping him from bringing a wife home? So why do you feel so comfortable opening your mouth and speaking about other people's children when you haven't focused on yourself?"

"And you speak of Western cultures simply because you cannot bear the truth of another woman calling you out. You can't swallow the pill that every single one of you has given up parts of yourself, parts of your life, to be with a man who doesn't rate you."

"A man isn't a free pass to happiness or success. Is marriage good sometimes? Absolutely. But it should never be treated as the predetermined ending for every woman out there." She added. "My advice? Pray. Pray to God so hard that your daughters don't carry the same fate as you all," she said, and without another word, turned around and walked away.

Asma'u was walking past a hall when she heard her name, and it immediately stopped her in her tracks. Her jaw clenched. This was the last thing she needed. "What is it, Umar?" she said without turning around.

She felt his presence behind her, the sound of his shoes much quieter on this side of the hall. He took two steps towards her. "Won't you even look at me?" His voice was a mask of gentleness, but when it came to men like Umar, Asma'u knew there wasn't anything gentle about them. All they needed was for you to lower your guard for even a minute before they bit.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she regulated her expression before turning around. "I'm looking. I don't see anything very eye-pleasing," she said. "What?"

"Asma'u—" He moved forward, and Asma'u's eyes followed him. "How are you?" His voice was low. "Ya kike?" he asked, his eyes soft.

Asma'u wasn't having any of it. "Is that why you came here? Left your wife's side just to ask me how I am?" she asked.

"Asma'u—" His voice held a nervous, almost desperate edge this time. "I care about you. Wallahi, things shouldn't be the way they are. I really tried to wait for you, even after you left for school, but—"

"Here we go again." Asma'u mumbled, a defeated sigh leaving her lips. "Ya Allah, give me strength." She murmured, placing two fingers against her forehead.

"I would like to take things forward with you. I'm more than willing to send my parents tomorrow. Everything can be fixed. We can still be together—" he said, gaining the confidence to move forward, reaching for her hands.

Asma'u's face tightened in distaste. "Umar. I'm going to save you the time and me the headache. Don't bother." She pulled her hands away before he could reach them. "I don't know why you have this obsession with us being something, but we're not. We never were. I never gave you a sign that I wanted things to be more than they were."

She paused, holding his gaze. "You're family to me. That's it. Look, I care deeply about your children. But you should too. How do you think it would make them feel to find out that their father is going after another woman? And your wife? Don't you think about her?"

"Rufaida and I aren't that serious—"

"Ohhh, sure. Not serious, my ass. Two children and years of marriage, but you're not serious."

"It's you I want, Asma'u. Please, give me a chance."

Asma'u looked up at the ceiling. "Did I offend anyone in my previous life, Ya Allah?"

"Listen here, Umar. I've been nice. I've been patient. I've given you multiple chances to stop this nonsense act you have going on, but it doesn't seem to be working. So here's what we'll do. You'll avoid me, and I won't have to take this to your wife. Hmm?" With one final glare, she turned around, only to come face-to-face with someone who had her entire body freezing in place.

Yusuf.

Yusuf Ibrahim.

"Nope," she said, immediately moving past him too.

꧁❦꧂

10:34 PM

"Pick up the phone, Rayyana," Asma'u muttered, repeatedly tapping the screen. She paced around the hallway she had somehow managed to get into without another person stopping to insult her or express their profound opinions about her. After trying for the last time, she shook her head and resorted to calling her mother instead. The phone rang three times before someone on the other end finally picked up.

"Hello? Has the reception ended?" Her mother's airy voice came through, and Asma'u could make out voices and laughter in the background.

"No, but everyone seems to be having fun. Have you heard from Ray—"

Asma'u didn't get to finish before she heard her mother speaking to someone else on the other end.

"A'a, baranchi dublan ba. No, the vase shouldn't go there. I've literally said that a hundred times."

Gimbiya Ramlatu sighed, and Asma'u could almost picture her removing her glasses in frustration. She waited, phone pressed against her ear, listening to the faint commotion in the background before her mother finally returned to the call.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

"Yes, you seem to be busy. I just wanted to ask if you've heard from Ra—"

She paused again.

"Kai, Salilu, don't drop those there! Haba, are you okay?"

Asma'u closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the urge to sigh. Of course. Of all the people she could have called, she had managed to catch her mother in the middle of what sounded like a full-blown crisis.

Gimbiya Ramlatu continued, her attention clearly divided. "I'm sorry, Asma'u. I'll call you back—"

"I just wanted to ask if you've heard from Rayyana..."

...

Asma'u slowly brought the phone away from her ear, staring at the screen with a tired sigh when she saw that the call had already ended.

Asma'u let out another defeated sigh. She was about to lock her phone when a video notification suddenly popped up from an unknown number. Her brows furrowed as she stared at the screen, an unfamiliar uneasiness settling in her chest.

Without thinking too much of it, she clicked on the video. At first, the clip was blurry, the image moving slightly as though whoever had recorded it hadn't bothered to keep the camera steady. She could hear music playing loudly in the background, mixed with the familiar sounds of a crowded gathering, the clatter of plates and cutlery, the occasional burst of laughter and voices overlapping one another.

Her brows furrowed as she watched, trying to understand what exactly she was looking at. There was something about the setting that felt strangely familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. She turned the volume up, and the sounds became clearer. The music was louder now, the chatter more distinct, and then she heard something beneath it all that made her breathing falter.

A whimper.

Asma'u's eyes remained fixed on the screen. She listened again, almost convincing herself that she had heard it wrong, but then another sound came through the speakers, faint and trembling. Her fingers tightened around the phone as an unfamiliar uneasiness began settling heavily in her chest.

She didn't know why, but something inside her was already begging her to stop the video. She should have closed it. She should have thrown the phone away and walked out of the hallway, but she couldn't seem to make herself move. Then the music in the background seemed to fade, and another voice came through, weak and trembling beneath the noise.

"Please."

Her entire body went still.

She knew that voice.

Her eyes widened as she stared at the screen, her lips parting slightly. She knew that voice better than she wanted to. She had heard it in nightmares, in the quiet moments when memories she thought she had buried found their way back to her. It was a voice she had spent five years trying to forget, a voice that belonged to a version of herself she had desperately tried to leave behind. Her own voice.

Her heart dropped so hard it almost felt as though it had stopped. The video continued playing, but Asma'u barely registered what she was seeing anymore. Her thumb hovered over the screen, close enough to pause it, yet she couldn't bring herself to do it. She wanted to look away. She wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to pretend she had never opened the message in the first place, but something kept her staring. The image was beginning to become clearer now, slowly revealing details she wished she couldn't recognize. The surroundings. The clothes. The movement in the frame.

Then she saw herself.

The breath caught painfully in her throat.

She was younger, terrified, struggling beneath the weight of a memory she had spent years trying to bury. Asma'u's fingers began to shake violently around the phone as the realization settled over her. Everything came rushing through her at once—the heat against her skin, the suffocating air, the emptiness surrounding her, the sound of her own voice begging for someone to stop. The music, the chatter, the clatter of plates around her slowly faded until all she could hear was the loud, piercing ringing in her ears.

She knew what was coming.

And for some reason, even though every part of her was screaming at her to stop watching, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the screen.

The voices in the clip were muffled, but there was no mistaking hers. "Please." She heard herself crying. "I beg you, don't do this." A sob tore through her throat. "You don't have to do this. Please, please..." Her whimpers echoed faintly through the phone's speaker.

Asma'u's fingers went cold. She knew that voice. She knew those cries. And suddenly, she wasn't standing in the hallway anymore.

It felt as though her body had separated from her soul as she was forced to relive that moment, dragged back into a memory she had spent so long trying to bury. Her breathing grew shallow, her eyes fixed helplessly on the screen as the past unfolded before her all over again.

Then his voice came through the speakers, calm and almost detached above her sobs.

"Stay still. This won't take long."

"Please, it hurts. Please..." The more she pleaded, the more her words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Asma'u saw it. She saw the twenty-three-year-old version of herself clinging desperately to her clothes. She saw the sweat dampening her skin, remembered the prickling heat against her body, the suffocating air, the emptiness of the street around her. There had been no one. No one to hear her. No one to come.

The trees moved in and out of the frame, their branches swaying lazily in the distance as though the world around her had continued moving while she had been trapped in that moment.

"Please..." she heard herself whisper.

Her fingers tightened around the phone. She wanted to drop it. She wanted to look away. Instead, she remained frozen, watching the younger version of herself disappear beneath the weight of a memory she had spent years trying not to remember.

And then the video ended.

The screen went dark, but the sound of her own voice seemed to remain in her ears.

Asma'u's phone finally slipped from her hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud. A sharp breath tore from her lungs, as though she had been underwater for far too long and had only just broken the surface. But the air wasn't reaching her. The ringing in her ears grew louder, sharper, drowning out everything else.

She knew.

She knew this was coming.

Her vision blurred as she gripped her chest, her fingers trembling violently. She tried to breathe, but every breath felt too small, too shallow. The hallway seemed to tilt around her. She couldn't see clearly. Couldn't hear properly. Couldn't think.

Her hands shook at her sides as the realization settled heavily in her mind.

The pills.

She needed the pills.

She needed to forget.

꧁❦꧂

And she needed to escape before someone saw her. She hadn't spent five years trying to recover, digging deep to bury what had happened, only for someone to come along and tear everything open again.

On shaky legs, she forced herself to move, finding her small handbag beside her. She needed to get to the washroom. The ringing was still loud in her ears, her heart lodged somewhere in the pit of her stomach, but all she knew was that she needed to be alone. She needed to find the pills.

She kept walking, turning down one hallway after another, one hand dragging along the wall for support. Her vision remained blurred, and she could barely make out where she was going. She had just turned a corner when she collided with what felt like a brick wall.

Except it moved.

Someone.

"Sorry," she choked out, barely recognizing her own voice as she hurried past.

But then she caught the faint scent of the person's cologne.

She kept moving until she finally made it to the washroom. The place was completely empty, and the moment she stepped inside, a few tears escaped her. Then came the ugly sound that tore from somewhere deep in her chest, a broken sob she couldn't swallow back.

Her hands seemed to have a mind of their own, scratching desperately at her skin, nails digging into her arms as though she could somehow scrape away the feeling of his weight, the sweat, the memory. She scratched harder, her breathing coming in short, ugly gasps, until the skin beneath her nails began to sting and tiny beads of blood prickled through the surface.

She looked at herself in the mirror, but she could barely make out her own reflection through the tears blurring her vision. She looked unfamiliar. Terrified. Quickly, she placed her handbag on the washroom counter and began rummaging through it, throwing things aside with trembling hands. It had to be there somewhere. It had to. It didn't matter that she hadn't touched the cold bottle in years. She needed it.

She had completely lost herself by then. Her sobs were loud and gut-wrenching, her nose running as she struggled to breathe through her mouth. She gripped her head with both hands, squeezing her eyes shut as the laughter came back. Their laughter. Cruel, careless, almost amused.

"Stop," she whispered.

But it didn't stop.

She was slipping again. Her hands plunged deeper into the bag until her fingers finally brushed against something cold. Familiar.

The bottle.

She grabbed it immediately, fumbling with the cap. Her fingers wouldn't stop shaking. She tried once. Failed. Tried again. A sob broke from her as she struggled with it, tears dripping onto her hands.

And the more she fought to open the bottle, the clearer the images became.

"Hajia?" A worried voice came from the bathroom doorway. A man stood there in a babban riga, his figure nothing more than a dark, blurred silhouette through her tear-filled eyes.

But Asma'u didn't see a stranger.

She saw him.

He was here. He had found her again. He was going to do it again. He was going to punish her again.

"No!" A gut-wrenching scream tore from her throat. She stumbled backward, clutching the bottle tightly in her trembling hand.

"Don't." Her voice broke completely. "Please."

She shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face. "Please, don't. I beg you..." The more she sobbed, the faster the footsteps came.

"Please, don't..." Her voice had dwindled into a weak whimper when she felt the cold grip of darkness pulling her under. She didn't fight it. She didn't want to be there anymore. She didn't want to feel anything anymore.

She didn't realize it, but her body had gone completely limp. The small bottle slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thump. Her eyes fluttered shut.

Her head never reached the floor.

At the last moment, strong arms caught her, taking her weight before she could collapse completely. She felt herself being pulled against something solid, a familiar warmth cutting through the cold that had consumed her.

"Hajia Asma'u?"

That voice.

Hassan...?