Aliya.
The sun was shining brightly when I opened my eyes the next morning.
Well, afternoon.
Checking Muslim Pro, it was fifteen minutes to Zuhur. I couldn't fall asleep yesterday due to the jet lag. I only managed to get a shut eye after praying Subhi.
'Welcome to hell Aliya. Hope you leave in one piece.'
I didn't even know what to make of that statement. He sounded like he was making a promise to me, one that didn't spell well for me. And the casual way he said 'hell,' it was like these people were mad.
No, they were mad.
How could they causally throw the word 'hell' around? I always found it odd when I watched it in films and read it in books. Jasra said it was all a figure of speech but honestly, some words shouldn't be used to figurate speech at all.
Sighing, I got down from the bed to brush my teeth and perform ablution. I wasn't going to take another bath since I took one around ten in the evening yesterday.
The room Hafiz left me in front of was huge, like a presidential suite kinda huge. It had a living room, two balconies, an unnecessarily large bathroom, and a master bedroom, all in a theme of cream and beige. It was like a self-contained apartment without a kitchen.
I understood what he meant when he said it would be creepy to stay alone in his estate. It was weird enough being alone in such a huge space.
"The world of the rich sure is different alright," I mumbled. Saying the prayer for entering the bathroom, I relieved the pressure in my bladder first before brushing and washing my face. I then performed ablution and left the bathroom.
Rummaging through my trolley, I picked a comfortable set of loungewear with lace lining on the edges and changed into them. Auntie told me my clothes would arrive tomorrow evening or the day after in the morning since it was getting shipped by sea.
I only brought four sets of casual clothes and pyjamas with me. Dressing, I walked back to my bed for my phone. The signal bar was still flat and I couldn't place a call.
"Tch, Airtel," I hissed as I walked around the room, even stepping out to the balcony. It overlooked the well-trimmed lawn with well-arranged cherry blossom trees.
After appreciating Allah's beautiful artwork, I walked back to the room, hands on my waist and sighed. "Guess I have to go ask."
A house this big should have a wifi, logically speaking. On the way down, I didn't see anybody. The place was even more magnificent with the late morning sun pouring in through the floor-length windows.
Tracing the way to the living room with the memory of the day before, I came upon Auntie's husband sitting on one of the couches and reading a newspaper. Guess people still did that, or it was just for the aesthetic because he looked good doing that.
With the light casting a faint halo on his frame, golden frames perched on his nose and...well, all I wanted to establish was that he looked good.
His eyes left the paper and settled on me, visibly softening. Not knowing what to say, I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind.
"Happy birthday."
"Whose? Yours?" He chuckled, confused.
"No. Someone's. Somewhere. In the world."
"I guess so?" He cocked his head sideways like he couldn't decipher what lead me to that thought process.
And that made the two of us.
I didn't understand what led me there as well.
"How was your night?" He said in an attempt to change the subject.
"It was good, Alhamdulillah. What about yours?" I walked to the couch beside his and sat down.
"Alhamdullilah. Come, take a seat. Are you hungry? I hired a Nigerian chef because the food here probably won't appeal to you."
I stared at him, incredulous. "You didn't have to hire a chef just for me. I can cook for myself. Like I've always done."
"Nonsense, no daughter-in-law of mine is going to be cooking. We have the means to provide you with maximum comfort and stability. There's no need to shortchange you. You can cook on occasions, leave the day-to-day tasks to the workers, that's what they're paid to do."
So even though I married a scum man, I lucked out when it came to my in-laws. "Thank you," I smiled, touched.
"Don't mention it. What do you want to eat?"
"Nothing in particular, I don't have much of an appetite."
His gaze sharpened. "Why? Are you feeling sick anywhere? Any medical conditions I should be aware of?"
I frowned.
Was he worried I wouldn't be able to...conceive?
I shivered in a mixture of repulsion and fear. No way was I allowing that living dirt to lay a finger on—
"Aliya? I need to know. Your mom and I had been married for six years before we were able to conceive. I later on found out it was because the lining of her womb was faulty so anytime she got pregnant, she'll have a miscarriage."
My gaze sank, disappointed. What was I expecting?
"You were angry she couldn't conceive earlier?" I snarked.
He looked at me, put off. "I couldn't care less about that. It made her sick, she always had irregular periods and severe stomach pains. She even fainted one time. I hated myself for not realizing it earlier, putting her through all that. Actually, if I knew, I would have just gotten a spermodectomy."
My eyes widened, my mouth falling open in shock. "What?"
"There's no need to make her suffer for a child. If we did have a child, they'd just divide her attention, who the heck wants to share his wife with someone?" He said, annoyed.
"But...it's a child. Your child. Not someone," I whispered.
"Who cares? Thankfully Hafiz, that annoying thing, was an especially obedient and cute child. Else..." he trailed.
I hesitated before asking. "Else what...?"
He smiled brightly at me in reply. I silently lit four candles in thanks for Hafiz. I had a feeling he wouldn't be here if he were a loud child.
"You've never considered treating her?" I asked, changing the subject.
"What was the point? She was already five months along by the time I found out. Alhamdulillah she didn't have too much of a hard time, I wouldn't have minded—"
"Thank you for minding then!" I cut him off.
"What?" He laughed knowingly.
"You're weird."
"I am?" He watched an eyebrow. "I've heard I'm rich, handsome, hot, even delicious, what is wrong with the people in your generation by the way? But never weird. What led you to that conclusion."
"The way you disregard everything to love."
He laughed. "What's weird about that? I was the one who took her away from her family and brought her to a strange place. I have to give her enough love to make up for her family and friends."
I sighed, placing my palms against my cheeks. "Neat."
He laughed again. "You have this dreamy look in your eyes."
"Do I? I wonder why."
He shook his head, amused.
"Ah right! The reason why I came down," I shook my head to snap out of my daze. "WiFi, I want to call home."
"Phone," he stretched out his hand, muttering a 'what's with Gen Zs and iPhone' when I handed it over.
"It's comfortable to use," I replied.
He tapped away on the screen. "So is Samsung, password?"
"Four zeros, it's aesthetically pleasing."
"So is Samsung, what kind of ridiculous password is this?"
"Makes it easier to type with muscle memory. Some Samsungs have ugly shapes."
"Then you should have chosen the numbers on any of the vertical or horizontal rows and columns. For example?"
"That's true," I nodded in agreement. "S24 ultra."
He stopped what he was doing and looked at me, sceptical. "Do you even know what you just said? 24 ultra?"
"What?" I smiled. "It's all a matter of taste."
"Something I've decided you are lacking," he looked back at my phone. "If you like the iPhone so much, why are you still using the what, 12pro max? According to market research, crazy customer obsession is among the driving forces behind Apple's high sales. Doesn't that mean you itch to get the new iPhone as soon as it's released?"
"That might be true for rich people, yes."
"Aren't you one? A rich person. My wife won't shortchange you."
"Definitely, but I have a bottom line. Believe it or not, I bought this phone myself."
"Oh? I'm impressed. How?"
"Savings."
"Technically still my wife's money."
"Technically still my money that your wife gave me."
He chuckled. "Here, it's done."
"Thank you."
The phone vibrated with incoming messages, missed calls, IG notifications and snaps. I opened WhatsApp, smiling at the barrage of messages asking how I landed and how I was feeling in a new environment.
I entered my DM with Auntie, she was among the ones who called me, and video called her. It rang for a few seconds before she picked up. The video was blurry for a few seconds before it cleared up.
I cleared my throat awkwardly. "Good morning."
"Aliya, how are you? How are things over there? You're not feeling too jet lagged right?"
I smiled. "I'm fine, Alhamdulillah. Everything is okay, and I shook off the jet lag yesterday."
"That's good, MashaAllah."
The conversation stopped there, an awkward silence enveloping us. Opposite me, Hafiz's father raised a brow at me, expression seeming to say I should give him the phone if I wasn't going to say anything.
"How's Ummi?"
"I'm sorry."
"She's fine."
"Why are you sorry?"
We stared at each other for a second before chuckling, speaking at the same time once again. "You go first."
"Elders first," I motioned.
"The house was so silent and odd yesterday. It's just you missing but it felt deserted. That was when I realised it wasn't the number but the impact the person has on a day-to-day basis. We miss you so much, both your mother and I. It made me wonder whether I..." she sighed.
"I know it's not fair to say this, but thank you. You don't know how much what you're doing means to me."
I smiled, dry and helpless. "You've done much more for me, Auntie. As Muslims, we should repay kindness with more kindness."
"May Allah bless you, and your union."
"Ameen, thank you. Where's Ummi?"
"She's out running some errands, it's just me and her now."
"Will you two be fine?" I asked, worried. I wasn't comfortable with the thought of it being just the two of them. At least when I was there, I did most of the house chores so Mom had more time to focus on her things.
"What do you mean? We aren't that fragile. We were once like you too," she chuckled. "I'm thinking of getting a house help though. Your mother said she wanted to start a business."
I gaped in surprise. "Ummi said that? Why?"
"Something about being too idle. She started one online, an Instagram store where she sold bags and jewellery. She wants to set up a store and a pastries cafe."
"Huh," I said in disbelief. I mean I had been trying to convince her to start a business for years now. Even though we weren't well off, we did have our savings, mine from Auntie's allowance and hers from her pay.
Plus there's also Dad's savings, no matter how small it was.
"It's good, she'll have something to keep her busy so she won't go sick missing you," Auntie teased.
I snorted. "I doubt she'll miss me."
"You mother and daughter duo are wired the same."
We chatted idly for a while, not saying anything of significance. Looking at the man beside me who was about to drill a hole through me, I finally relented and handed him the phone.
The way his eyes lit up was cute and funny.
Giving them space, I wandered into the kitchen, refusing to be surprised at how vast and beautiful it was. It was all metallic grey and caramel wood. But it looked more like a set for an Ad than an actual kitchen.
"Kudos to the cleaners."
Except if they like, cooked in some kitchen outside. After looking around, I walked towards a door at the far right that seemed to lead outside.
The air wasn't anything different, it was just tinged with the scent of flowers and nature. The backyard had a longleat hedge maze in the middle, with more than three cobbled paths leading to different entrances.
The beautiful thing about it was the assortment of coloured flowers arranged in between the hedges. From where I stood, I could see the entrance adorned with purple hydrangeas.
It was the manipulation of Allah's creation at its finest. Just thinking of adventuring through it was fascinating, it would be even nicer if there was a gazebo in the middle of the maze.
"It'll be so cool reading there."
I walked back into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards for something to eat, a feat that ended in failure.
"There's food on the dining table."
Surprised, I turned around to see a shirtless Hafiz strolling into the kitchen, checkered pyjama pants riding low on his waist.
Seeing him walking towards me, I walked the other way, staying out of his way. He raised a brow at me but did nothing.
He just opened up the fridge and took a bottle of water out.
Not wanting to bother with him, I went back to the living room, passing across it to the dining table. It was made of black glass with six comfortable arc-shaped chairs. Taking a seat, I opened up the coolers to see what was in them.
Boiled yam and egg sauce, tea, coffee, acara and pap.
I chuckled at the sight, it was pretty Nigerian yes.
Seeing as my stomach wasn't feeling all too well, I settled for four pieces of yam and tea. Maybe it was just me but there was something nice about eating plain boiled yam.
Just as I took my first bite, a chair beside me was dream and Hafiz settled down on it. I turned and stared at him, boring a hole into his face until he relented and looked back at me. My eyes moved from his flat ones to the four other chairs that weren't right next to me.
'Must you sit this close to me?'
'Yes, what are you going to do about it?'
Reading the answer to my question in his gaze, I clicked my tongue, standing up and taking a seat adjacent to him.
He opened up the coolers, nose scratching at the sight of the food. I watched, amused, as he poked the pap with his spoon.
"The fuck is this wobbly concoction?"
"Pap, it's pretty good."
Throwing me a sceptical look, he closed the lid and opened the next cooler. He did twice so more before settling his spoon on the table.
"Are you trying to give me food poisoning?" He arched a brow.
I took a bite of my food, shrugging. "It's food, you won't be poisoned."
He stood up and walked to a cabinet behind me, where I noticed a landline was settled.
He pressed a button and put it against his ears for a few seconds before speaking when the call connected. "Get me some croissants, espresso, beacons and scrambled eggs."
He strolled back and took a seat beside me, propping his chin on his fist, he stared at me. His gaze was so sharp I had to stop eating.
Gulping my tea to wash down the yam, I turned around and looked at him, coughing as I asked. "What? Why are you beside me again?"
"This is my house," he said in reply.
"This is your father's house," I replied.
"Which makes it my house by default."
I mumbled my reply. "Don't take pride in something that's not yours."
"Thought you didn't have an appetite?"
I turned towards the direction of the voice to see Uncle waking over. "I didn't. That's why I'm eating four pieces."
"You're done?"
I looked down at the one-and-a-half pieces left before meeting Hafiz's creepy insistent gaze. "Yes, I am."
"Good, follow me somewhere," he said. "You too."
"Where are we going? Do I need to dress up? I don't have any 'people-meeting' appropriate clothes."
"Nowhere special. You can go like this, it's within the estates."
I nodded as I stood up. "I'll go get my shoes," I said before rushing upstairs. The only pair I had were the ones I wore yesterday, pairing wedges with my current clothes made even me, a person who nonexistent fashion sense, cringe.
So I headed back down again, where Uncle and Hafiz were waiting for me. The latter had gone up and was now wearing a cream shirt together with his pyjama pants.
"I don't have any shoes," I said, sheepish.
"I guessed a much," Uncle said, pointing a step away from him where a pair of white crocs stood. "They're my niece's so they should fit you."
I walked over and put them on, flexing my feet at the comfortable feel of them. "Thank you, they fit just right."
"Good, let's go?"
I nodded.
He stepped out of the house first, and I followed after him with Hafiz trailing behind me. We walked around the estate where a small iron gate led to a path lined by trees to block out the sunlight.
Everything about this estate was picturesque, having a comfortable vibe to it. It didn't take long before the path opened up to another estate identical to Uncle's.
Hafiz paused a step behind me so I turned around to look at him. He seemed...nervous.
Deciding it was none of my business, I shrugged and strolled forward. Uncle opened the door with his thumbprint, revealing the interior splashed with gold and ash.
A man in a suit and glasses greeted him, his hair was brown with traces of silver, a mark left by time.
"How is he today?"
"Fairly coherent, probably because he wants to meet the little Hakimi's wife," the man smiled. His dark eyes settled on him, and his smile deepened a little. "You must be the new Mrs Hakimi. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, you can call me Dylan."
"Likewise Mr Dylan, my name is Aliya."
"So I've heard. You'll have your hands full with this one," he pointed at Hafiz behind me. "I'll lead you to the Master, he's been eagerly awaiting your arrival."
We followed him to a backyard overlooking a clear manmade lake. A few steps away from the lake was a small cream canopy. When we walked closer, I saw a man with white hair and a small frame staring out at the water.
Our footsteps got his attention and he turned around, I instantly knew who he was. Because the resemblance was striking.
"Dad, salamalaikum, how are you?" Uncle squatted down in front of him and held his wrinkled hand gently.
"Oh Mubarak, walaikumu salam, you're back. Welcome back," he laid his free hand on Uncle's hair. "How's Amina? She didn't come with you?"
"She's doing fine, you know she won't want to come back here."
"Yes, I've never felt guilty towards anyone like I do towards her. She's been through a lot here, it's understandable she'll not want to come back."
Behind me, Hafiz snorted, just loud enough for me to hear. "Fucking imbeciles."
A tinge of anger caused a ripple in my mind but before I could ask what he meant by that, his grandfather's eyes moved to me so I smiled.
He looked stunned for a moment before smiling back. "Hafiz, your wife is very beautiful mashaAllah."
It was my turn to be stunned. I waited for Hafiz to snort out a snarky reply but he was silent. The one time his rudeness would be in line with the occasion, he decided to go MIA.
Rubbish.
"Salamalikum Sir, how are you? I think you might have made a mistake," I said, unwilling to let the misunderstanding deepen.
"What about?" He asked, confused.
"Don't entertain her Dad. She has this warped view about her physical appearance," Uncle took a seat beside his father on the bench. "And don't call him 'Sir.' Call him Grandfather like Hafiz does."
"It's not a warped view, it's the truth. You're the ones with the warped—"
"Grandfather," Haiz cut me off. He strolled forward and bent over to hug him. "You're looking very good this morning."
I frowned, realising there was probably something wrong with him. I looked around the yard and sure enough, I caught sight of two nurses, one male and the other female, watching us from a distance.
"I am, aren't I? I feel good," he hugged him back. "How's Nigerian?"
Hafiz pulled away and sat on the grass, leaning his head against his grandfather's knee. "Hot, apart from that, it's just like any other place."
"I told you it's not that bad. I mean look, you even got yourself a wife," he teased.
"Grandpa, please."
My gaze glided over their cozy frames to uncle who was watching them with a smile. When he sensed my stare, he motioned me over, patting the space beside him on the bench.
I was pretty sure this wasn't how a daughter-in-law's relationship with her spouse's father should be, but I still went ahead and sat down beside him.
Hafiz's grandad turned his attention to me when I sat, his eyes were a warm brown, shining in kindness. "Aliya, how are you feeling?"
"Great, the weather's pretty good."
"Not that, how do you feel? Being away from home?"
I stared at the grass, a lost smile on my face. "Not that great, there's always this sense of imbalance, like a lucid dream."
"It's always like that the first time. But please, feel free with us. Mubarak is like a father to you, and me, a grandfather. And most importantly, you have Hafiz. He's a good child."
I glanced askance at the man sitting obediently on the ground, sceptical. His grandfather sure loved him, looking at him with such a thick lens filled with roses.
"Well, he's your grandson after all," I nodded. Of course, you would think he was good. Who would think badly of their descendant?
"I'm not sugarcoating it. He is good, he might need a nudge in the right direction once or twice but he takes well to corrections."
Uncle and I shared a look, probably both thinking about his behaviour before getting married to me.
"Sure," we both said, smiling.
"He grew up alone you know? I do feel guilty towards Amina, but Hafiz? There's nothing I can do to make it up to him. I know how he is more than anybody, he's hateful at times. But he's pitiful too. I know it might be shameless considering the circumstances you two find yourselves in, but please take care of him. He's never had anyone do that before, except Unais."
"If there's one person who can care for him like Unais does, it'll be you."
Shaking off why that name sounded vaguely familiar, I nodded unsurely. "I'll try my best."
"Thank you."
Hafiz turned to stare at me, a hesitant look in his eyes. I scrunched my nose at him and looked away, not wanting to stare at his dumb eyes that looked so fine in the morning.
"And Hafiz."
"Yes?"
"Take care of Aliya, she's loved at home, not lacking anything, yet she still agreed to be with you. You have a duty to her both morally and Islamically. You can shortchange and harm yourself but you aren't allowed to commit an iota of injustice against her. You'll have me to answer to otherwise."
He pursed his lips, eyes boring a hole in the ground.
His grandfather sighed, laying a hand on his head. "It's enough, Hafiz. Don't live like this anymore. It breaks my heart to see you this way."
Hafiz's eyes widened, and when they looked at Uncle, they were filled with anger and shame.
"Josh is already gone, I can't do anything about him. I'm worried about his son as well, I don't want him to grow up a khafir. But you know how Calista is, I can't do anything about it. So I hope you at least can change, I hope we can see each other living well in the next world."
"Aliya, the burden we placed upon you is in no way light. We can only be shameless and help you with our prayers. The Almighty said in the Quran, that wives are a place to find peace, stability and calmness. We hope you're the soldier that Allah will use to guide him."
I clenched my fist, chest tight. The thought struck me once again.
Is this the opportunity to repay a debt that I keep asking Allah for? Can I do this? Can I guide and help this man in the way of our Deen, with my Lord's help?
I stared at him, who had his head bowed, fingers intertwined tightly. This was probably the side effect of blood relations but he was so loved. So many people worried about him and wanted to see him doing well.
Resigned, I looked up at the older man's kind eyes filled with pleading. "I'll try my best," I said solemnly. A promise that would continue to hunt me for the rest of my life.
His shoulders slumped in relief. "Thank you," he breathed out. "I should go in and pray, while my mind is still clear. I haven't prayed for a while now."
The sad glint in his eyes made me frown, a tight feeling in my chest.
"I'll help you in," Uncle stood up.
"Don't bother, Noel and Roland are here," he waved in dismissal. "Make sure to come visit again."
His two nurses came forward and helped him back into the house. When their figures disappeared, Uncle sat back down and sighed, hand covering his face.
Hesitant, my hand hovered over his shoulder before I dropped it back down. "What is wrong with him?"
"He has Alzheimer's."
"But he's Nigerian?"
"Yes, it's rare but not unusual. He had an accident more than forty years ago. He was paralysed from the waist down, and he remained in a coma for almost a year. We thought he would never wake up."
He looked up at the sky.
"That was the hardest year of my life. My mother and younger brother left Islam with the belief that there was no point worshipping a god that couldn't protect his servants."
"Astagfirullah," I said, shocked.
"Yeah, I had to send my little sister to Saudi, where Uncle Masooud, Dad's friend was living, to protect her from their influence. That was how my family fell apart, though Alhamdulilah Josh, Summaiyah and I still have a good relationship. But it still hurts you know? The thought of Josh dying a khafir scares us. We can't even pray for him," he looked at me, eyes slightly red.
"But Hafiz doesn't get it. He doesn't understand that fear because he doesn't believe."
"And is that why you fucking told Grandpa!? Are you trying to aggravate his condition!?"
We both turned and stared at Hafiz, who was on his feet and glowering down at his father.
"If you cared about his condition, you wouldn't be living like this. You more than anyone should understand the pain in his heart. Don't put on a show by acting like you care. No one is buying it," Uncle snapped.
"Living like this living like this! I'm sick and tired of you bastards saying this! Who gave you the right to look down on how others lived!?"
"You can say what you want, but at the end of the day, you're just ashamed of yourself. The thought of the people you care about knowing how you live scares and embarrasses you. But guess what? You're going to be embarrassed a lot more because not only have I informed your grandfather, I've also told your aunt as well."
His eyes went wide and he flinched as if he was slapped across the face. "Father!"
"What? You've always been righteous when asking after our self-entitlement, why are you so deflated now? Hafiz if the life you're living makes you too ashamed to face the people you love and respect, don't you think that's too ridiculous? Whatever you can't stand us seeing, means you shouldn't be doing it. That's how I judge whether my actions are right or wrong. How would I react if the people I loved saw me committing that action?" Uncle sneered at him
"You should keep aside your pride and be honest with yourself," he stood up. "Let's go, Aliya."
I followed after him quietly, glancing for a moment at Hafiz's dark face. I didn't feel bad for him in the least because he deserved it.