The morning rays stung her red, swollen eyes as Amara peeled them open. She had forgotten to draw the curtains last night but that was less of her concern. Turning her head, she noticed the room was empty and she lay there, still wearing her day's clothes from yesterday. Hoping it was all a bad dream, she closed her eyes and willed herself back to sleep.
Her plan for respite was cut short when the door creaked open, and Sha'aban entered. Feeling his gaze upon her, Amara pulled the blanket over her head, bracing for the onslaught of words that had haunted her since the day before. Yet, none came. Instead, he gently tugged the blanket away, exposing her face to him.
"Amara, good morning," he said softly as the bed dipped under his weight.
She stared at him in silence, her throat tightening as tears welled up. His eyes were puffy, his voice cracking with regret. "I'm sorry, Amara for everything for hitting you, for my hurtful words," he whispered.
Uncontrollable tears streamed down her face as he pulled her into a tentative embrace, rubbing her back and murmuring apologies until her sobs quieted. When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse. "Sha'aban, do you even know him? The man I'm supposed to marry?"
His expression darkened as he pulled away, standing abruptly. "Get ready," he said flatly. "Auntie Rashida and Laila will be here soon to help you dress."
Amara jumped out of bed before he could leave. "You didn't answer my question, Sha'aban. Do you know this man?"
"I've seen him twice," he said curtly. "He's a gentleman, I assure you."
Her heart sank. The weight of his words felt like a stone pressing on her chest. A stranger. 'Ah! Amara, you're nothing but a sacrificial lamb, they tied me to a total stranger.' Hot tears threatened to spill again, but she blinked them back. "Get out, Sha'aban. I don't need your assurances," she spat.
*
*
*
She sat through the preparations in numb silence. Yesterday, she had become a bride but without joy or ceremony. No henna, no laughter, no teasing friends, no love-filled gathering. Just Auntie Rashida and Laila, moving briskly as if trying to make up for what had been denied her.
Auntie Rashida scrubbed her from head to toe like a child, applying scented oils with long known precision. Laila worked feverishly on her face, brushes and pencils moving with purpose and accuracy. "All done!" Laila announced, stepping back to admire her work.
"Now, get her into the dress kuma ki daura dankwallin nan da kyau, we don't have all day." Auntie Rashida ordered, passing a bundle to Laila. "I pray it fits," she said, moving towards the door.
Amara watched as Laila unfolded a simple yet elegant burgundy dress, its lace fabric adorned with pearls at the sleeves and neckline. It was beautiful, something Amara might have chosen for herself under different circumstances. As they helped her into the dress, Laila remarked quietly, "I would have gone with your favourite colour black, but we're not mourning anyone's death."
Amara bit her lip to hold back a bitter laugh. Aren't we?
When Auntie Rashida returned, she carried a jewelry box and a shoe case. She set the jewellery box on the bed beside Amara and the shoe case on her laps, smiling softly. Her first smile since she came into the room. "These are from your father," she said, opening the box to reveal golden earrings, a necklace, and bangles. "They belonged to your mother. He wanted you to have them."
Amara's throat tightened as Auntie Rashida placed the jewelry on her with trembling hands. "Your father loves you, Amara. Never doubt that my dear." She took Amara's hands in hers, her grip firm yet comforting. Her voice, though low, carried the weight of years of experience. "I know this isn't how you dreamt it would be, but life doesn't always give us what we want, and sometimes, it takes us down roads we never chose. I'm sure you feel betrayed, and I don't blame you. But let me tell you something my own mother once told me, 'the strength of a woman is not in how hard she resists, but in how wisely she shapes her world with what she's given.'"
She paused, taking a deep breath. "I won't lie to you and say this will be easy. It won't. But love and happiness, they don't always come at the start. Sometimes, they grow in the quiet moments when you least expect them. Be patient, Amara. Give yourself time. And if you find yourself lost, remember who you are. You're your mother's daughter, and you carry her courage in your heart. No one can take that away from you. Not a husband, not your father, not anyone."
Her eyes grew misty, but her voice remained steady. "But patience, my dear, does not mean silence. It doesn't mean letting anyone trample on your spirit. It means learning when to bend and when to stand tall. I know you'll find your way, even if it takes…"
The sound of car doors slamming outside interrupted them. Auntie Rashida dapped her eyes with the white handkerchief she always goes around with, while Laila moved to the window. "They're here." she said as she peeped through it.
Auntie Rashida wanted to continue but decided otherwise as her eyes fell on the jewellery box. She helped Amara to her feet and brought her to the full length mirror in the room.
As she fastened the necklace around her neck, Amara stared at her reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back looked beautiful—an almost perfect bride. Yet, it felt like looking at a stranger. Who was this woman wearing her mother's jewelry and wrapped in a dress chosen by others? Was this really her life now?
She reached out, running her fingers over the delicate lace of her dress. It was beautiful, but it felt like borrowed armor, shielding nothing of the battle raging inside her. She clenched her fists, the weight of the necklace suddenly feeling like chains around her throat. This isn't me. I didn't choose this. How can they dress me up like this, paint my face, and expect me to play along? A bitter laugh threatened to escape her lips. A lamb doesn't need to be beautiful when it's led to the slaughter.
But then her gaze shifted to Auntie Rashida's watery eyes, filled with hope and concern, and to Laila's nervous smile as she stared back at her. She saw their love and effort, their quiet desperation to make her day feel special, even if it wasn't what it should have been.
Do they really believe this is what's best for me? Or are they just as powerless as I am? The thought softened the edges of her anger, but only slightly. She wasn't ready to forgive. Not yet.
The sound of laughter from the yard floated in through the window, a cruel reminder of what was to happen in few minutes.
Auntie Rashida turned to her daughter Laila, "Go get ready before I come back. I need to go welcome our guest," she ordered before walking out briskly.
*
*
*
When her auntie returned to the room, Laila was already dressed in a fine blouse and a flared Ankara skirt.
"Laila, pass me the veil," Auntie Rashida said, her voice calm but firm.
Amara watched in the mirror as her auntie crossed the room and carefully draped the bridal veil over her head. When Auntie Rashida turned her around to face her, Amara's throat tightened. She wanted to scream, to tear the veil off, to escape. But she swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill.
"Amara," Auntie Rashida began softly, her hands steady on Amara's shoulders. "Don't forget what I told you. You're beautiful, inside and out. Don't let this change that. Always remember we love you and..."
"Mama, we can't keep them waiting," Laila interrupted hesitantly. "It'll look bad if we delay..."
"Shut up!" Auntie Rashida snapped, startling both girls. Her tone was sharper than they'd ever heard before. "They'll wait for as long as I want. We're not in a hurry to part with her," she spat, her frustration bubbling over.
Amara almost smiled despite herself. For a moment, it felt like someone was standing on her side.
"But, Mama" Laila began, only to be silenced again.
"No buts, Laila. Just be quiet, please," Auntie Rashida said, her voice trembling now. She turned back to Amara, her expression softening. "As much as I don't want to take you out there, I have to, my dear." She pulled Amara into a tight hug, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm sorry, bazan iya zuwa da ke ba, I can't come with you. Your father needs me here. But Inna Wuro, Maman Hanan, Auntie Fatimah, and the others will be there for the presentation of gara and budan kai. Laila will stay with you, but only for two nights."
As she released Amara, Laila stepped closer. Amara looked at her cousin and mouthed, "Thank you." It was a small, fleeting gesture, but one that carried the weight of her gratitude.
Amara took a deep, steadying breath, her resolve hardening. "Auntie, I have to walk out of this room and face them. If I'm to play the bride, so be it. But I'll do it on my terms, not theirs."
Before moving, she allowed herself one last moment of reflection. Closing her eyes, she sent a silent plea into the universe. 'Ya Allah! give me strength. I'll need it.'
When she opened her eyes, her heart still felt heavy, but her steps were firm as she walked to the door. "Auntie, let's go."
The sitting room felt oppressive the moment she entered. Her father and Sha'aban stood near the doorway, joined by three young men and two elderly women she didn't recognize. The housemaid and gateman carried bags to a waiting car, each piece of luggage an unspoken declaration that her life was being packed away.
Amara's gaze lingered on her father and brother. Sha'aban, always proud and. imposing, now looked like a shadow of himself, his shoulders slumped and his eyes fixed on the floor. Her father, once the bedrock of her world, seemed small and frail, his throat working convulsively as he fought back tears.
This was supposed to be a day of joy, a celebration filled with laughter and tears of joy. Instead, it was steeped in sorrow.
Without a word, she turned toward the waiting car. As she stepped inside, her gaze lingered on her family for a moment longer before the door closed behind her. She had no idea what awaited her, but she knew one thing was certain, she was leaving behind her home, h
er family, and the life she once knew.
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