"Marry me, Hauwa."
The words hang between us, heavy yet absurd. My breath catches, my heart pounding so hard it drowns out the silence. I blink up at Ali, convinced I misheard.
"What?" My voice barely escapes my lips.
Ali doesn't flinch. His gaze stays locked on mine, filled with a determination that sends a shiver down my spine.
"Marry me," he repeats, softer this time. A plea.
I laugh. It isn't funny, but I laugh. It has to be a joke.
"Forgive me, but I don't find things funny these days."
"This isn't a joke, Hauwa. I need you."
I jerk back, pulling my hands from his. My pulse roars in my ears. "Are you insane?" My voice cracks. "Ali, I'm already married. To your father!"
Something dark flickers across his face. "I know."
"Then what are you saying?" My breathing turns ragged. "This is impossible. It's haram. It's a sin."
Ali exhales, running a hand over his face. "Do you think I don't know that? That I haven't battled with this?" He hesitates, jaw tightening. "I loved you before I even met you."
I stare at him, confused. How is that even possible? "What?"
Ali swallows hard, stepping closer. His voice strains with something raw. "The day my mother sent me your picture, the day she told me you were going to be Alhaji's wife, I felt something I had no right to feel. I stared at that picture for hours, Hauwa. Imagined your voice, your laugh." He lets out a bitter laugh. "And then, when I saw you… it was worse. You were his, but it didn't stop the yearning—"
My hands tremble. This is getting deeper than I expect. "Ali, stop."
"I tried." His voice drops, gaze burning into mine. "I told myself it was wrong. I prayed against it, day and night. Avoided you in my head. But it didn't change anything. Every time I saw you, I hated him. I hated that he got to have you. That you were trapped."
The ground slips beneath me. "Ali, you don't understand—"
"I do." His voice sharpens. "I see the sadness in your eyes. The way you flinch when he touches you in front of people." His fists clench. "You're suffering, Hauwa. And I can't stand by and do nothing."
My chest tightens. I should scream at him, tell him how dangerous this is. But the part of me that longs for kindness, for warmth—for something other than pain is crumbling.
I shake my head as if that would make the crazy thoughts fall out. "It's still wrong."
Ali moves before I can stop him, his hands framing my face gently. My breath hitches as his thumbs brush against my cheeks, his touch featherlight. Reverent.
"You do want to," he murmurs. "Don't lie to me, Hauwa."
Tears prick my eyes. "Wanting something doesn't make it right."
He exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against mine. "I know." His hands drop to my arms. "But tell me, when he touches you, do you feel anything other than pain?"
I freeze.
The answer is immediate. But I can't say it.
Ali lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "And when I touch you?" His fingers trail down my arm, slow, deliberate. "What do you feel now?"
Heat spreads through me—not shame. Not disgust. Warmth. Safe.
I hate him for making me feel it.
"Ali, please…" My voice is weak, pleading.
But he doesn't stop.
His lips brush my forehead first, a whisper of a touch that sends shivers through me. Then, before I can think, before I can stop him—his mouth meets mine.
The moment our lips touch, all my resistance crashes.
It's nothing like the rough, forceful kisses Alhaji shoves onto me in the dark. Nothing like the suffocating weight of a man who sees me as a possession.
Ali kisses me like he means it. Like he's been starving for this moment for years.
And Allah help me—I kiss him back.
His hands slide down my back, pulling me closer. A soft whimper escapes as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, coaxing me to open for him. I do.
I let myself feel.
I let myself want.
His hands grip my waist, firm yet gentle. When he pulls me against him, his body fits against mine like it was always meant to.
I moan into his mouth, encouraging him to continue. To take every part of me and own it. Slowly he slips his hand into my dress and between my legs.
The feeling is rather unpleasant so I pull his hand away, almost unconsciously as my mouth is still buried in his. As soon I do so, he stiffens.
He pulls back, breath ragged. "Hauwa—" His brows furrow. "You're hurt."
I blink, confused—until I feel it too.
The soreness. The sting. His touch had awaken it.
Ali's expression darkens. "What happened?"
Shame floods me. I turn away, but he catches my chin. "Tell me."
Tears well in my eyes. "Last night. He… he wasn't pleased with something I said." My voice cracks. "He beat me up, and went rough with me."
Ali goes completely still.
His hands tremble where they hold me, his entire body rigid with barely restrained rage.
Then, he exhales sharply, pulling me against him. "I swear to you," his voice is steel, unyielding, "from this moment on, I will never let him touch you again."
I bury my face in his chest, my body shaking. I doubt the possibility, but I am pleased that he actually cares.
Ali presses a kiss to my hair. "Even if this is a secret, even if it's wrong in the eyes of the world—I don't care. I love you, Hauwa. And I will protect you."
Tears spill down my cheeks.
"Say it back," he whispers. "Just once."
I hesitate.
I shouldn't.
But for the first time in so long, I don't want to be strong. I want to be selfish.
I tilt my face up, lips brushing his. I don't know if I mean it, but I say it anyway.
"I love you too, Ali."
His eyes flash with joy and he smiles softly.
He kisses me again, softer this time, but no less consuming. By the time we pull apart, I'm breathless.
Ali presses a final kiss to my forehead. "I have an appointment with a patient. But when I get back… we'll talk more."
I nod weakly, my heart still racing.
One last lingering glance, and he's gone.
I touch my lips, my body still buzzing.
I've crossed a line I can never uncross.
And it feels good.
⸻
Later, I slip into a gown and matching hijab, stepping out of Alhaji's prison for a walk. The open air is a fleeting taste of freedom.
I touch my lips again, still tingling. Maybe, just maybe—
A sleek black car slows beside me. The driver, a middle-aged man, rolls down the window. "As-salamu alaykum."
"Wa alaykumu as-salam," I respond cautiously.
He leans forward. "Alhaji sent me to pick you up. It's urgent."
My brows furrow. I recognize him from Ali's homecoming party, but is he really Alhaji's driver? Of course, I don't have Alhaji's number to confirm. What kind of husband refuses to give his wife his phone number?
Unease coils in my stomach.
I try calling Uwar Gida. No signal.
The driver taps the wheel impatiently. "Madam, we don't have time. My job is on the line."
Something feels wrong. But the fear of Alhaji's wrath is worse.
Swallowing my doubt, I reach for the car door.
The moment it clicks shut behind me, a strong hand clamps over my mouth.