CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: OBSESSION

The rest of the car ride was completely silent, with Rayyana completely relaxed against her seat, feeling much better after crying her heart out. She was a total contrast to the man beside her, who sat so still he could have passed for a statue, his shoulders incredibly tense. From her peripheral vision, she could see the way he squinted his eyes, his thoughts no doubt consuming him.

Rayyana rolled her eyes. "Such a clown," she muttered, not bothering to lower her voice.

"What's that, Boɗɗi?" Mahmud asked as he turned the steering wheel, the buildings now looking familiar to Rayyana.

"I called you a clown." She clenched her jaw, turning fully to look at him. "In case you didn't hear me properly, I said you're a clown."

His hands tightened around the steering wheel once, then twice. He frowned as though he was genuinely taking the insult into consideration, before a slow smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.

Rayyana narrowed her eyes. "What's funny?"

"You."

Her hand immediately shot up, pointing at him. "Me?"

"You calling me a clown." His smirk deepened. "It's amusing because in a few weeks, you'll be calling me your husband."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Rayyana burst out laughing.

Not a cute laugh. Not the kind that could be mistaken for amusement either. She threw her head back and laughed so loudly she nearly choked on her own breath, bending forward as she clutched her stomach.

Mahmud's smirk slowly disappeared.

"Oh, you're serious?" she gasped between laughs. "Mahmud, please. You actually think I'll marry you?"

"That's not happening," she continued once she could finally breathe again, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

"What makes you so sure, little flower?" Mahmud asked, finally hitting the brakes. He turned his head towards her, and for a moment, the only sound filling the car was the low hum of the air conditioner.

"Hmmm, let's see." Rayyana tapped a finger against her cheek, pretending to give his question some serious thought. "You've been nothing short of abusive, manipulative, narcissistic, incredibly irritating and—quite frankly—aggravating."

Mahmud's brows rose slightly.

"So, unless I have some—" she paused, narrowing her eyes at him, "—actually, many loose screws in my head, there is absolutely no way you and I are ending up together."

Her eyes locked with his, her glare hardening. "Not even in your dreams."

"Hmm," he responded, as though every word she had just said had gone straight through one ear and out the other. "You're home, Boɗɗi. You can leave now." The complete lack of concern in his voice only annoyed her further.

Rayyana hissed, adjusting her veil once more before opening the car door and slamming it shut behind her. She had taken less than five steps when something made her stop.

Her brows knitted together. Before she could overthink it, she spun around and marched back towards the car, determination in every step. She knocked furiously against his window.

Mahmud slowly lowered it.

"What changed?" she demanded, her voice slightly raised over the increasing wind behind her. "What caused this new attitude tonight?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "What are you up to, Mahmud?"

He didn't say anything for a while, and when he finally spoke, she found herself stilling slightly.

"I realised something tonight." His voice was calm, almost too calm. "I want my woman beside me because she chooses to be there, not because I have to drag her there myself."

Rayyana's brows pulled together.

"Things might be unclear to you, Rayyana, but my intentions with you have never been." His eyes remained fixed on hers. "Not since the night you decided to sneak out of my room and thought you could simply disappear from my life afterwards."

Her jaw slackened slightly, scepticism flashing across her face.

"You keep looking at me as though I'm trying to win something from you." A faint smile touched his lips. "I'm not." His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes. "I already know where this ends."

Rayyana's expression hardened.

Mahmud barely seemed to notice. "You can be angry with me. You can insult me, fight me and spend every day convincing yourself that you want nothing to do with me." His voice remained steady, frighteningly certain. "But I have no intention of forcing you to love me, Boɗɗi. I want you to do it yourself."

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "Take your time getting to know me. Hate the parts of me you hate. Question every intention I have." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You have more than enough time for all of that."

A pause.

"Because you're not going anywhere."

The words settled heavily between them. "And I have more than a lifetime to learn every version of you you're yet to show me." His smile returned, this time genuine but still carrying that same certainty that had always unsettled her. "So be angry at me for as long as you need to, little flower." His gaze held hers. "Then, when you're done, love me."

"Goodnight." And just like that, he was gone.

The car pulled away, leaving Rayyana standing outside the cold stone blocks flanking the Fada, her mouth slightly agape. His voice continued to echo through her mind long after the car disappeared, drowning out every thought she tried to form. She stood there for a moment before finally turning around, her steps sharp as she made her way towards the building entrance.

TWO DAYS LATER

Asma'u's eyes were glued to the screen of her MacBook, her phone pressed firmly to her ear. "What do you mean everything had been sorted out before you handed control of the situation—" she spoke into the phone, her voice edged with frustration. Beside her, her mug gave off the warm scent of coffee. She took a sip, allowing the bitter taste to spread slowly across her tongue. It was the only thing keeping her sane.

She heard the furious tapping of a keyboard on the other end before a smooth American accent drifted through the speakers. "I don't understand either. Only a few days ago, I had access to their details, all their personal information. I did everything I could to put them behind bars, but last night, I checked and it was like everything had been wiped clean... nada." Jasmine's voice carried a bewilderment that made Asma'u picture her pacing around her room, searching for an explanation that wasn't there. "This doesn't make any sense. It's like they disappeared overnight. There's quite literally no trace of them anymore."

Her breath hitched. "It's like someone..." She paused, the thought seemingly too unsettling to finish. "No. What am I saying?"

"It's like someone what, Jasmine?" There was an edge to Asma'u's voice as she waited for her friend's response, her grip tightening around the phone.

"Like someone made sure they ceased to exist." Jasmine's voice hardened. "But that's not possible. Only someone powerful could've handled this faster than we did." She fell silent. The furious tapping stopped. "And only someone who actually knows about this could have done it..." Her voice trailed off, as though she were piecing something together in her head. Then, quieter, she said, "Asma'u." There was a sudden seriousness in her voice. "Did you tell anyone about the incident?"

"Of course I didn't. You know I can't. You're the only soul I've trusted enough to tell." The words tumbled out of her, the wheels in her head turning.

Asma'u stood, leaving her MacBook open as she carried the warm mug of coffee in her hand, the heat spreading through her skin. Her brows knotted as her mind raced through every possible answer. "No one knows, no one should know except for you—except for you...and—" Her words whispered to a stop, her legs suddenly going painfully still. The heat from the mug felt numb beneath her palm, and her breath nearly caught in her throat as the realization hit her.

"No..." she whispered, staring at the wall before her.

She quickly rushed back to her bedside table and rummaged through her bag. Where was it? Where was it? Her fingers stilled when she realized.

Her pills weren't with her.

"Jas, I'll call you back." She didn't wait for a response. She lowered the phone and pressed the end button.

Asma'u paced the length of her room, her head pounding as she tried to reconnect the dots. Was there anything she was missing? She took a sip of her black coffee, letting it slide down her throat, hoping its bitterness would somehow numb the one consuming her life. It didn't. She thought about it long and hard before finally coming to the conclusion that her Tailor could have nothing to do with this. The man who sewed her clothes, offered her awara, sketched her face, and showed her the trenches just couldn't be behind this. But if he wasn't, then who was?

"Ugghhhhh." Asma'u grunted, lifting her arms to her neck and digging her fingers into the sore muscles. The ache made her wince, a bitter reminder of the incident with her father two days ago.

A knock tore her out of her thoughts. "Yess?" she almost whined, rubbing her forehead. "Ya Allah," she muttered under her breath. "Come in," she said, and not a second later, Fatima walked into her room with a huge silver tray balanced carefully in her arms. The sweet, rich scent of Kabsa rice and lamb stew followed her in, mixing with the smell of fried rice and plantain, and finally, the spicy heat of freshly prepared pepper soup.

Asma'u stared at the tray, her mouth instantly watering as the delicious aroma filled her room. Her stomach grumbled almost immediately, reminding her just how long it had been since she had eaten.

"Ina kwana, Hajia. Gimbiyya said to bring this to you." Fatima bowed slightly as she carefully set the heavy silver tray down on the table.

"Is there a feast going on or something?" Asma'u asked, her voice laced with surprise as she stared at the amount of food before her.

"Nothing special. She said you needed to eat and get some rest. I'll prepare a warm bath." Fatima bowed before moving towards the en-suite, closing the door behind her.

Asma'u looked at the meal once more before walking towards her walk-in closet. After finding a simple baby pink robe, she stripped out of her clothes and slipped into it. By the time she stepped out, Fatima had just exited the en-suite. "An gama, Haji. Kina bukatar wani abu?" she asked.

"That'll be all, you can leave." And so Fatima left, allowing Asma'u the space all to herself and, perhaps, what felt like peace for the first time in a long while. She went into the bathroom, washed her hands in the basin, then returned to the small chair in her room and settled down, opening the coolers before plating her meal. One by one, she ate, swallowing almost everything without even realizing how much she had eaten.

After that, she quickly took her bath. Fatima had done a really good job. The scent of jasmine petals and lavender lingered in the warm water, soothing enough to make her forget everything... to let her escape, even if only for a little while. She stayed beneath the shower for long minutes, until the sun had set and the distant sound of the Adhan reached her ears.

She then performed her ablution, went into her walk-in closet, found a nice, comfortable pair of pajamas and made her way to her prayer mat. She was on the last Salam when the door to her room creaked open, soft golden light from the corridor spilling into the room. "Assalamu..." Her Salam drifted into the air as her mother's signature scent of khumrah and musk reached her. "Fatiha..." She rubbed her hands over her face, concluding her salat.

Asma'u wanted to pretend she was still praying, maybe add another sujud or do an extra nafil, because that way she could avoid whatever this was, the way her mother had walked in alone made her realise that this wasn't some simple check-in, and whatever conversation they were about to have, she didn't want any part of it.

Her mother sat by the edge of the bed, just beside where Asma'u had laid her praying mat, waiting patiently. "Asma'u..."

There it was, that tone.

"Na'am, Mama?" She responded, her voice levelled.

"Come here, my daughter." Her mom patted her lap, and Asma'u sighed before standing. Her hijab rustled as she moved. She hadn't expected an invitation to her mother's lap, but at that point, she would take whatever comfort came from the woman who birthed her.

The bed softly creaked as she climbed onto it, before her head gently settled on her mother's lap. "Remove your hijab," her mom said, and she did so quietly.

Gimbiya Ramlatu then brought out an ointment that Asma'u hadn't even noticed she was holding. They stayed quiet for a while before Ramlatu finally broke the silence. "You shouldn't have talked back to your father..." Her voice was low as she looked at the numerous scars lining her daughter's body.

"Mama..." Asma'u sighed, defeated. "Did he tell you what happened?" Her voice was low when she asked, assuming her mother hadn't heard or seen half of what had happened.

"I overheard half of it." Ramlatu shook her head. "Asma'u, your knowledge is a blessing, but I fear it is going to be what leads you to ruin." She massaged the cream along Asma'u's arm, drawing a soft, satisfied groan from her.

"Then I'll welcome it gladly," Asma'u said, raising her head from her mom's lap, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. "I wasn't always like this, Mama, and you know that. I used to be arrogant. But I've learnt. I've gone out there, seen how the world is, and I now know where my heart lies."

She held her mother's palm tightly, her fingers curling around it. "And my heart..." She paused, swallowing. "It lies with all the girls out there, all the less privileged, all the victims of violence and abuse."

Her main reason was simple. She knew what it felt like to say no countless times and still not be listened to. She swallowed again, her gaze dropping to their joined hands.

"Baba was wrong. The things he said were nothing short of evil—"

"He's your father, Asma'u..."

"He hit me!" Her voice rose, the words coming out sharper than she intended. "I'm so tired of you defending him. So what if he's my father? Aren't I your daughter?" Her voice cracked, only slightly, but enough to betray the hurt beneath her anger. She shook her head, blinking rapidly as she fought to keep herself together. "He didn't act like a father. Being a father doesn't make him a dad, and neither does it excuse him from all his bullshit or from being held to account for the injustice he does."

Her fingers tightened around her mother's palm before slowly loosening. "It simply doesn't."

"He only wants the best for you." Ramlatu said it almost pleadingly, her voice softening as though she could somehow make Asma'u understand.

"And marriage is what's best?" Asma'u smiled, but there was no joy in it. Her eyes looked drained, the fight in them slowly giving way to exhaustion. "Why doesn't anyone listen to me when I say I'm not ready? I haven't met the one, and if I don't, then I don't want—" Her voice trailed off. She inhaled deeply, blinking hard as she tried to hold the tears at bay.

The pressure to get married was starting to feel heavier on her shoulders, and she didn't know how much more of it she could take. It was everywhere. In the questions, in the expectations, in the way everyone seemed to think her life was something that could simply be decided for her.

"Marriage just isn't for m—"

Her mother's palm covered her mouth instantly. Ramlatu gasped, one hand flying to her chest. "SubhanaAllah. Haba, Asma'u. Don't say that, kinji? Karki hallaka kan ki da bakin ki." She looked every bit as serious as she sounded, all traces of warmth disappearing from her face.

"Marriage is, in fact, a good thing, my darling. You might not have found one you trust enough to hand your heart over to him, but In Sha Allah, you'll get married." Her expression softened slightly, her thumb brushing against Asma'u's cheek. "I only pray, as your mother, that it happens with someone who'll genuinely love you and treat you right. And I'll be there to witness it."

Asma'u sighed, her shoulders deflating. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to tell her mother, but instead, she swallowed the words back and said, "Ameen, Mama. Ameen."

The conversation continued, with Ramlatu making an effort to change the topic, and after a while, she spoke again. "Asma'u... you need to apologise to your father. Ki ba shi hakuri." Her voice was gentle, her words only causing a dull, permanent ache in Asma'u's heart.

Apologise?

"You both might have different values and standpoints, but he's still your father, Asma'u. Ki girmama shi."

"Well, respect goes both ways, Mama. And what happened between me and him..." She clenched her jaw. "...what happened between me and your husband is beyond moral standpoint. He only cares about the influence he has. He cares about power, Mama."

"I know... I know, my darling." Her mother's hands cupped her cheeks. "But keeping animosity between you and him while you're in his house will do you no good." Asma'u's face fell, and she looked away. "For my sake, hmmm? Ki ba shi hakuri." Her mother's voice was gentle but persuasive, the kind that made it difficult to say no.

They stayed quiet after that, Ramlatu rubbing and massaging the cream into her daughter's hands, arms, and other affected areas before finally standing. "Think about it, okay?" She smoothed the creases in her clothes before walking out.