Zainabscrib

𝐒𝐔’𝐀𝐃 𝟐

Chapter 26

The guest room was stifling, heavy with the residue of past silence and words left unspoken.

Su’ad sat at the edge of the bed, shoulders squared, hands clenched in her lap, her mind sharp with anger and exhaustion alike.

Zayd stood near the door, fingers brushing the frame, jaw tight, every muscle taut with restraint. He wanted to speak, to apologize, to explain, but even as the words swirled in his mind, none of them felt adequate. None could erase the rawness of the hurt he had caused. He has defied his father's order after days of not hearing from Su'ad. She kept declining his calls and left his messages unread.

“Why are you ignoring me?” he asked finally, his voice brittle, like ice cracking under pressure.

Su’ad’s eyes lifted, meeting his. There was fire there, and something colder still, a determination that had taken root over days of grief. “I am not ignoring you,” she said evenly, though the calmness in her tone made it worse, sharper. “I am choosing not to speak to a man who destroyed what was most precious to me. I thought you were used to abandoning me, so what's the fuss all about?” she asked in a mocking tone.

Zayd flinched at the weight in her words. “Su’ad, I didn’t…”

“No word from you, Zayd. You pushed me, Zayd! You pushed and destroyed my one day of joy.” Her voice snapped, breaking through his thoughts, slicing into the quiet room. “You pushed me when all I wanted was for you to see me. Do you even feel my pain? Do you even want to have a child with me?” She said, her voice cracked.

His throat tightened. His chest felt heavy. Every instinct screamed at him to reach out, to touch her, to beg her forgiveness, but even as his hands itched to move, he couldn’t summon the courage to bridge the gap between them.

“Su’ad. I wanted a child with you. How can you doubt if I ever wanted a child with you? I didn’t know… I didn’t know you were pregnant,” he murmured, voice trembling.

“You didn’t know?” she echoed, disbelief and hurt weaving through every syllable. “Do you hear yourself? You didn’t know, and yet my child, our child is gone. And you are still thinking about what you didn’t know! And even if you didn't know, what gives you the moral right to push your wife?”

Zayd’s knees threatened to buckle under the weight of her anger. He turned, pacing in a small circle, hands running through his hair. “I… I never wanted this. You know that. I…”

“You never wanted this?” she interrupted, stepping closer until the air between them vibrated with tension. “Then why, Zayd? Why did it happen at all? You left me alone when I needed you, alone to feel the terror and pain of losing something I had dreamed about for months. Your hand was the last I felt. And now I am empty. You have made me empty.”

Silence fell after her words. Zayd pressed his forehead into his palm, leaning against the wall for support. He knew she was right. Every fiber of his being knew she was right. And yet, a strange, unbearable ache twisted inside him, not just guilt, but something far more dangerous: desire.

He lifted his head, meeting her gaze again. “I feel… I feel like I’m losing you,” he said, voice quiet, almost pleading.

Su’ad blinked, stunned. “Losing me?” Her voice was incredulous, sharp with disbelief.

“Yes,” he admitted, the words spilling out in a torrent of frustration and honesty.

“Because I feel myself drifting away from the life I built, from the life I wanted. Su'ad, I wanted a perfect marriage with you. The ones modelled by our beloved Prophet Muhammad (May the peace and blessings of Allah be upon him). I even fantasized about the fairytale kind of love, the one between the Khans and Kapoors. But Su'ad, see Salma needs me, she depends on me, and I… I don’t know how to divide myself without hurting either of you.”

Her lips curved slightly, bitter and painful.

“You don’t know?” she asked, voice tight with rage. “You know exactly what you did. You knew your actions would leave me empty and frightened. And now you claim ignorance because you are confused?”

Zayd’s chest ached. He wanted to argue, to claim some understanding of his own pain, but the words felt thin, empty. “I am not proud of it. I hate myself for it every day. But I can’t help what I feel. Seeing you like this, standing here… I am drawn to you in ways I cannot fight. And seeing her, seeing how she depends on me, I feel torn. I feel trapped between duty and desire.”

Su’ad’s gaze sharpened, slicing through him. “Duty and desire,” she repeated, almost mocking. “Is that what this is? Duty? Desire? Or selfishness disguised as confusion?”

He staggered slightly. She was unrelenting, unyielding, and he hated himself for being weak. Weak to control two women without hurting the other. “It’s not selfishness,” he protested, though even he knew it sounded meaningless. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I am trying to do right by her, by you. And I hate myself for it. For all the pain I've caused you. I hate myself for killing my own child. Please forgive me, Su'ad.”

Su’ad laughed, a bitter, raw laughter, in a trembling voice. “You hate yourself?” she spat. “Do you think your guilt brings back what you stole from me? You think your regret can undo the emptiness you’ve caused?”

Zayd swallowed hard. The words left him gasping for air. She was right. Every apology, every excuse, every internal struggle could not undo the loss. And yet, he could not walk away. Not fully. Not when every fiber of his being pulled him closer to her.

“I don’t want to lose either of you,” he admitted, voice breaking. “I don’t know what to do, Su’ad. Every day I wake up feeling like I’m failing. And yet… seeing you now, I realize I am failing her too.”

Su’ad’s eyes flashed, hurt mingling with anger. “You don’t get to be torn. You made your choices, Zayd. You chose to marry me, to bring me into your life. And now you are realizing that obligation, that responsibility, comes with consequences. You are not a victim of fate, you are a man who cannot bear the weight of his own decisions. I didn't cause your wife's accident. I empathized with her. But I didn't cause it. Why should I always carry the blame?”

He stepped closer, hands trembling.

“Su’ad, please. Don’t speak like that. I need you to understand. I am trapped between what I promised and what I feel. I want to make it right. I want to fix this, all of it. I don’t want to lose you. You're not at fault. I'm the one carrying the guilt I shouldn't have borne. Su'ad…”

She turned away, moving to the window, fingers tracing the cool glass. “Think about this carefully, Zayd,” she said softly, her voice almost cold. “I am not a woman who bends for indecision. I am not a woman who waits forever. You have until you decide. Stand with me fully, or step away entirely. I will not beg. I will not shrink. I am done with half-measures.”

Zayd stood there, frozen. Every instinct in him screamed to reach for her, to beg, to reason but he knew, deep down, that nothing he could say now would bridge the distance between them. The truth of her words reverberated through him, leaving him raw, stripped, painfully human.

And then it struck him with unbearable clarity: his heart was no longer his own.

For the first time, he understood the cost of his indecision. Every day he delayed, every moment he lingered between obligation and desire, Su’ad grew farther, and his ties to her wavered. And yet, Salma, dependent and trusting, pulled at him with a force he couldn't fight.

He was caught in a storm of his own making, and the knowledge terrified him.

Su’ad turned slightly, her profile framed by the morning light, calm yet looked troubled.

“Decide, Zayd,” she said, voice low but unwavering. “Decide before it’s too late. I have made my own decision to stay, but it's a free world, you can make yours also.”

He closed his eyes, the room spinning with tension and fear of the unknown.

The weight of the past, the grief of the present, and the fear of the future pressed down on him. And in that moment, he realized that no matter what he chose, someone would be left broken.

The silence stretched between them, unbroken, until Zayd finally exhaled, the sound ragged, heavy with realization.

He opened his eyes. Su’ad’s gaze was fixed forward, steady, challenging, unyielding. And he knew whatever came next, he could not retreat.

He had to confront his choices. He had to face the consequences. And he had to accept that the life he thought he controlled was slipping through his fingers, piece by piece, heart by heart.

© Zainab Abdul-Wasiu

Zainabscrib

𝐒𝐔’𝐀𝐃 𝟐

Chapter 25

The next morning he said goodbye to Salma, calmer towards her. She saw his effort and was grateful for the instant change because she had been overwhelmed by his behaviour towards her the previous day. She saw him off to his car and his journey started, his heart filled with fear.

___

The morning sun streamed through the guest room window. Su’ad lay still, her body heavy with the memory of pain, of loss, of betrayal. Each breath was intense, as though the simple act of inhaling air carried the weight of her grief.

Her hands rested gently on her abdomen, tracing the space that had once carried life. A still emptiness had settled in her chest, unyielding, almost tangible.

She had wanted to sleep endlessly, to hide from the world, but her mind refused such mercy.

Images of Zayd; the way he had looked at her, his eyes wide with disbelief, his hands reaching, almost pleading, and then pulling away, replayed over and over like a cruel film she could not pause.

“You are alive,” she whispered to herself, almost afraid her voice would crack, almost afraid her body would fail her once again. “And that is enough.”

The faint knock on the door startled her.

“Come in,” she said softly, adjusting the hem of her blouse.

It was Zainab, her presence warm yet cautious. She stepped in, holding a tray of food, her eyes gentle. “Good morning, Su’ad. I brought some breakfast. You need to eat.”

Su’ad looked at the food, the small portion of eggs, bread, and fruits, and shook her head slowly. “ Ummu Nabilah, thanks so much for your care,” she appreciated. “But I’m… not hungry,” she said her face falling.

Zainab sighed, placing the tray beside the bed anyway. “You need strength. You cannot let this grief consume you.”

Su’ad closed her eyes, feeling a tremor run through her hands. “It’s not just grief, sis. It’s… everything. The pushing, the shouting, the silence, the… the loss. And then the way he left me. Again. Alone.”

Her voice cracked, and she pressed a hand against her mouth to stop herself from crying.

Zainab hesitated, then sat down beside her. “I cannot pretend to understand fully what you are going through, but I see your pain. And you do not deserve this. Not from him. Not from anyone.”

Su’ad opened her eyes and looked at her sister-in-law. “I know, but it doesn’t make it any easier. It never does.”

A long silence followed, interrupted only by the sound of Su’ad’s faint breathing.

Finally, Zainab spoke again. “He will come around. He has to. You are his wife. And he will not… no, he cannot ignore what happened.”

Su’ad shook her head. “No. He can. He has. He already has. The pain of long days of silence. And now, he is probably hiding behind his guilt, pretending it isn’t real.”

Zainab reached for her hand, squeezing gently. “It is complicated, yes. But there is still hope. Please, forgive my brother.”

Su’ad pulled her hand back gently. “ It's not about forgiveness… Hope. Hope feels like a cruel joke now. I prayed. I prayed every day, every night, asking Allah to grant me my own child. And then, one push… one careless push, and it was all gone. And he left me there. Alone. Do you understand?”

Zainab could only nod, unable to provide the words that might soothe such raw anger.

____

Zayd sat in his car outside his father’s house, the engine off, staring at the garden through the windshield. He should have been relieved. Su’ad was safe. His father was guarding her. But the relief did not come. Only guilt, sharpened and gnawing, hollowed his chest as he remembered her trembling hands, her bloodshot eyes, the sound of her screams reverberating in the guest room.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered to himself, over and over, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”
But meaning was useless now. Meaning did not resurrect the child. Meaning did not heal the wound he had inflicted. Meaning did not erase the weeks of silence, the betrayal, the fear, the loneliness she had endured.

He could almost hear Su’ad’s tears, her broken tone, and it was a knife in his chest. He was afraid to go in. To see her shattered state, but he felt available being near her. He had only told his sister who was also around of his presence.

The day unfolded slowly. Su’ad remained in the guest room, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, her body aching, her soul exhausted. Mrs. Komolafe went briefly into her room, her eyes cold, measuring, before retreating into the sitting room.

Otunba had gone to his office, leaving Su’ad under the protection of the house staff. The silence was heavy but safe, and for the first time in days, Su’ad allowed herself to breathe, truly breathe, without the looming shadow of Zayd pressing over her.

She moved to the window, watching the light shift across the garden. Her mind wandered, not to Zayd, not to Salma, not to the family drama, but to herself. For so long, she had existed for others, for the orphanage children. Then Zayd came along, and she lived her life for him, and even the unborn child that had never come. She lived every day yearning and almost planned all the memories they would make on that day she discovered she was pregnant.

But now, there was only her. Only the aching void and the faint pulse of resilience that refused to be snuffed out.

“I will survive this,” she whispered. “I will not… I will not let anyone take the rest of me away.”

Zayd, on the other hand, returned home late that evening.

He started the engine, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Where had he gone wrong? When did his love become cruel? He wondered as he drove away. He had gone to check on her before leaving but all he got was silence. She wasn't ready to talk or engage him in any conversation.

The house was quiet, eerily so when he arrived home. Salma was asleep, Hiba already in bed, and the air smelled faintly of the frankincense incense Salma loves so much. He collapsed onto the couch, head in hands, thinking of Su’ad.

He imagined her sitting by the window, the light catching her hair, her eyes distant, her hands folded over her lap. And he remembered every argument, every push, every silence, every tear she had shed since the night of the accident. The accident that ruined everything he held dear to his heart.

“I’ve destroyed her,” he whispered. “I… I didn’t… but I did. I pushed her, and then I left. I left her alone. And now… now she hates me. She must hate me.”

The guilt was a weight he could not lift. He wanted to call. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to beg her forgiveness, to explain himself, to erase the pain he had caused. But a voice inside stopped him.

She will not forgive you. Not yet. Not ever. Perhaps she should not.

The night stretched endlessly. He stared at the ceiling, the shadows moving like silent judges. Every memory of Su’ad that had once been warmth now felt like fire, searing him with the knowledge of what he had lost, what he had broken, and what he might never regain.

___

The next morning, Su’ad’s strength returned in small, trembling increments. She managed to wash herself, change her clothes, and even eat a little, though every bite felt heavy. Zainab arrived shortly after, with gifts, and engaged her in gentle conversation. They spoke little of Zayd, only of practical matters, food, rest, and her health.

Later, as Su’ad rested, Otunba entered quietly. His eyes softened at the sight of her, and he sat beside the bed.

“You are stronger than you realize, my daughter,” he said. “This… this is temporary. You will heal. You will breathe again. And in time, you will stand taller than before.”

Su’ad nodded slowly, letting the warmth of his words seep into her bones. “Thank you, Sir,” she said, forcing a smile. “I just… I just want to be seen,” she admitted.

“You’re cherished,” he replied firmly. “And no one will harm you. Not your mother-in-law, not your husband, not even fate itself. You are under my care now.”

For the first time in days, Su’ad allowed herself a faint, fragile smile. A smile not forced, but deep from her soul. She had wondered when her father-in-law finally accepted her, or maybe he was never against their union from the start. It might be Zayd's mother who engineered everything. She sighed deeply.

That evening, Zayd called his father. His voice was tight with frustration and guilt. “I need to see her. I must apologize. Please, Dad, I need…” His father had warned him earlier that afternoon when he came and Su'ad looked lost that he should stop coming for a while.

“Not yet,” Otunba replied calmly but firmly.

“You will see her when she is ready. Until then, you do not call. You do not visit. You reflect. You pray. You repent. You understand the gravity of your actions. And you learn patience.”

Zayd swallowed hard. He wanted to argue. He wanted to storm the house and demand forgiveness. But he knew his father was right.

Over the next few days, Su’ad slowly regained control of her body and mind.

She spent hours walking the garden under Otunba’s watch, meditating, speaking with Zainab who always checked on her, and Asiyah who visited occasionally, and resting in the quietude of nature.

Every step, every breath was a small victory, a reclaiming of herself.

And all the while, Zayd waited. Unseen, unheard, forced to confront the reality that his actions had consequences far greater than he had imagined.

By the end of the week, the space between them had grown into a vast, wordless gulf neither dared to cross. Zayd knew that when the time came, when he finally stepped into her presence again, he would not meet the same Su’ad who had smiled, laughed, and loved him so fiercely. She would be stronger, wiser, and guarded. And he would have to reckon with that.

© Zainab Abdul-Wasiu

Zainabscrib

𝐒𝐔’𝐀𝐃 𝟐

Chapter 24

Zayd’s anger did not cool when he stepped out of the room, it sharpened.

The door had barely closed behind them when he turned on his mother, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.

“Mum,” he said harshly, “I don’t like what you said to Su’ad. No matter what is happening between us as a couple, she is still my wife.”

Mrs. Komolafe stopped abruptly, her wrapper swishing as she turned to face him. Her lips curled in disdain.

“So now you want to challenge me because of that orphan?” she scoffed.

“Hmmm. May she not kill you the way she killed her parents.”

The words struck like poison.

“Mum…!” Zayd exclaimed, his voice breaking in disbelief. “How can you even say that?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t raise your voice at me. You think I don’t know people like her? Children of misfortune carry death wherever they go. Look at your life since she came, nothing but chaos.”

Zayd felt something snap inside him. Rage surged, hot and uncontrollable. “That’s enough, mum!”

They heard footsteps behind them and looked back.

Otunba Komolafe stood there, tall and unmoving, his face dark with fury so deep it seemed almost restrained by discipline alone. His eyes flicked from his wife to his son, and the silence that followed was deafening.

“Subhanallah,” he said quietly, but the single word carried the weight of judgment.

“Who made you this way?”

Mrs. Komolafe opened her mouth to respond, but he raised his hand sharply.

“I thought,” Otunba continued, his voice trembling now, “that I married a kind woman. A mother. A woman who supports other women regardless of class, background, or tribe.”

He took a step forward. “And yet you stand here and say such filth about a woman who just lost her child. Accusing a grieving woman of killing her parents.”

“She…”

“You will not interrupt me,” he snapped.

“You said she killed her parents?”

He turned slightly, pacing once before facing her again. “Do you know what it means to lose a child? Do you know what it means to wake up and feel your body empty where life once lived?”

Mrs. Komolafe folded her arms tighter.

“Women lose pregnancies every day.”

Otunba’s jaw tightened. “And yet, we do not strip them of dignity.”

He shook his head slowly. “You have spoken rubbish today. And I am warning you now, never, ever make the mistake of uttering such words in front of that young woman. The day you do, this house will no longer be yours.”

Mrs. Komolafe stiffened, her face flushing with humiliation and rage.

Her eyes widened. “You would choose her over me?”

“I choose justice,” he replied.

Otunba turned to leave, then stopped suddenly and turned back, his eyes locking onto Zayd.

“And you,” he said coldly, “instead of humbling yourself, instead of begging, you succeeded only in making your wife angrier.”

Zayd swallowed hard.

“I used to ask myself since you maltreated that woman,” Otunba went on, his voice now cutting, “who fathered you. But I trusted my wife. Today, I have my answer.”

Zayd’s chest tightened painfully.

“Like mother,” Otunba said quietly, “like son.”

He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Mother and son stood frozen, the weight of his words hanging heavily between them.
Mrs. Komolafe recovered first.

“Ah!” she cried bitterly. “The day you met that witch was the day my peace ended. Your father never insulted me like this before. He always saw the goodness in me until she came into this family.”

She turned on Zayd, her eyes blazing.

“You brought calamity into this house. Calamity! Your father will answer for the nonsense he just called me.”

She stormed off, leaving Zayd alone.

For a long moment, he did not move.
His head throbbed. His heart felt squeezed, heavy with shame and confusion. Every direction felt wrong. Going back to Su’ad now would only pour salt into an open wound. Yet walking away felt like cowardice.

He chose the lesser evil.

He would give her space.

Slowly, he turned toward his father’s study.
Otunba was seated behind his desk, his gaze distant. Zayd knocked softly.

“Come in,” his father said.

Zayd stepped inside and stood awkwardly, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he murmured.

Otunba looked up sharply. “Stop that.”

Zayd raised his head.

“Stop apologising uselessly,” his father said. “You do not owe me an apology. You owe that woman.”

Zayd’s throat tightened.

“I cannot believe,” Otunba continued, “that you did not speak to your wife for three days after pushing her during a heated argument. And let me remind you, this is not the first time.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“That is always your defence,” Otunba interrupted. “Intent does not erase consequence.”

He leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Her uncle summoned me when we went to seek her hand in marriage. He almost prostrated. Begged us to be good to his daughter.”

Zayd felt his chest constrict.

“Yes,” Otunba said firmly. “His daughter. That is what he called her. He entrusted her to us.”

He shook his head. “And your mother dared to call her an orphan.”

Silence fell.

“If your love was truly as strong as you claimed,” Otunba continued, “strong enough for you to bring her back into your life as a second wife. How then do you watch her suffer like this?”

Zayd clenched his fists. “I love her,” he said hoarsely.

“Love without responsibility is cruelty,” his father replied. “Go and beg Su’ad. Not me.”

“I’ll make peace with her,” Zayd said quickly.

Otunba gave a short, bitter laugh. “Make peace? That depends on whether she is willing.”

He stood. “She is not here as my daughter-in-law. I brought her here as my daughter. And I will protect her from anyone with the last strength in me.”

Zayd nodded slowly, shame weighing him down.

“I’ll return home now,” he said. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“She is in safe hands,” Otunba said. “But save your thanks. I am not convinced you truly care.”

Zayd flinched.

“I’m sorry on Mum’s behalf.”

“She will answer for herself,” Otunba said coldly.

Zayd sighed and took his leave.

He went to the mosque before heading home.

He knelt long after the others had gone, whispering prayers that felt inadequate. Forgiveness tasted distant. Every time he closed his eyes, Su’ad’s face rose before him: tearless, broken, resolute.

You pushed me.

The words echoed.

When he finally got home, the house was quiet.

Salma waited in the sitting room, worry etched into her face. She wheeled herself toward him instinctively, then paused when she saw the distance in his posture.

“How is she?” she asked softly.

“She’s fine,” he replied absently, already walking toward the bedroom.

Normally, he would have helped her. Tonight, he didn't.

He collapsed onto the bed face down when he got to the room.

“Should I tell Eni to set the table?” Salma asked gently.

“No,” he said. “I’m not hungry.”

He sat up and helped her onto the bed.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Later, when Salma slept, Zayd lay awake, unable to sleep.

The silence was unbearable.

His mind replayed everything, Su’ad’s screams, her accusations, his father’s disappointment.

What if I had no one to call? I could have died with my baby.

His chest tightened painfully.

For the first time, fear crept in not of losing Su’ad’s love, but of realizing he already had.

He turned onto his side, gripping the pillow.

I didn’t mean to.

But meaning did not resurrect a child.

Meaning did not heal a woman.

Meaning did not undo silence.

He thought of how she used to look at him even in anger.

And he understood then, with a sinking certainty, that something had closed quietly inside her.

Some wounds do not bleed.

They seal themselves shut.

And by the time you realize, it is already too late.

____

The next morning, Zayd prepared to leave for his father’s house shortly after the dawn prayer.

The house was unusually quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against the ears and made every movement feel louder than it should. He buttoned his shirt, his mind already elsewhere. He had just reached the doorway when Salma’s voice stopped him.

“Zayd.”

He turned, already tired.

“Yes?”

She hesitated, her fingers gripping the arm of her wheelchair as though drawing courage from it. “Do you remember… Today is my clinic appointment.”

The reminder landed softly, but it weighed heavily disrupting his plan for the day.

Zayd closed his eyes briefly and exhaled.

“Okay,” he said at last. “Get dressed. I’ll be waiting in the sitting room.”

He turned and walked away without another word.

Salma remained where she was, staring at his retreating back. On a normal day, Zayd would have crossed the room in two strides, already asking what she wanted to wear, already reaching for her clothes, already teasing her gently as he helped her prepare. He would wheel her out with care, as though the task itself was an act of love.

Now, she felt like an obligation.

Tears pooled in her eyes as she watched him leave.

When she had heard that Su’ad had lost her pregnancy, she felt genuine sorrow. No woman deserved that kind of loss. No woman deserved to carry such pain alone. Yet beneath the sympathy lived fear, fear of the change she had seen in her husband’s face since that day.

Only now was Salma truly seeing herself.

A woman who needed help. A woman who waited. A woman whose presence slowed things down.

She wiped her eyes quickly and forced herself to move. Dressing herself was difficult, but today she tried harder than usual. Her hands shook slightly as she reached for her clothes, but she managed step by step finding it easier than she had expected. That realization brought no comfort. It only reminded her of all the times she had relied on him.

When she wheeled herself into the sitting room, she froze.

Only her daughter was there, seated with the house help, who was reading softly to her. The sound of Hiba's laughter filled the space briefly before dying down.

“Where is Daddy?” Salma asked.

“He stepped out to make a call,” the help replied gently, standing up immediately. “I can help push you out, madam.”

Salma shook her head. She leaned down, kissed her daughter’s forehead, and forced a smile. “I’m going out with Daddy. Be good.”

She wheeled herself outside.

Zayd was pacing back and forth in the compound, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. His face was tense, his brows drawn together in frustration.

“Enter,” he said absently when he saw her, opening the passenger door before heading to the driver’s side. He slid into his seat, started the engine, then froze.

He looked up.

“Oh…” He quickly got out again, embarrassment flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry.”

Salma swallowed hard as he helped her into the car. She nodded, unable to speak.

He drove off immediately.

Zayd’s frustration simmered beneath the surface. He had been calling Su’ad since before dawn. No answer. He had called his father, no response. His mother, his sister, all he got was silence.

He glanced sideways at Salma. She had been quiet the entire ride, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the road ahead.

He tried calling his sister again. No answer.

A tight knot formed in his stomach.

By the time they reached the hospital, his mind felt scattered. He helped Salma inside, sat through the appointment, nodded at the right times, but he heard almost nothing. The doctor confirmed what they already knew: Salma was stable. She only needed to keep up with her medications and proper nutrition.
Salma smiled faintly at the reassurance, but Zayd barely noticed.

As they walked out, he studied her face more carefully. He knew he was being cold towards her but he was just finding whom to dump his aggression on. Feeling exhausted already, he decided to visit Su’ad the next day, the thought of it alone planted fear in his heart.

© Zainab Abdul-Wasiu

Zainabscrib