EPISODE TWENTY SIX
Hazeemah: (shocked and hurt) I can't believe these words are coming from my own mother. I expected you to understand me better than anyone else.
Hajia Shukroh: (firmly) I know exactly what you’re capable of, which is why I’m telling you to set this dream aside and focus on giving your husband children. Prioritize being a mother over chasing money. Do you think if I had chosen my career over my family, you would be standing here today?
(Hazeemah lowers her head, sadness evident in her posture.)
Hazeemah: (voice trembling) Why? Why, of all people, don’t you understand me? What have I done wrong?
Hajia Shukroh: (raising her voice) Will you stop talking back to me? I still don’t understand how your husband allows you so much freedom despite you not having a child yet. How do you expect to build a happy home without children? They are the foundation of a strong marriage.
(She moves closer, her tone growing serious.)
Listen to me carefully—I am speaking as your mother, the one who brought you into this world. I want you to quit that job and focus on more important things. Give your husband a child!
Hazeemah: (tearfully) Wallahi, I am trying. Allah knows my heart.
Hajia Shukroh: (shaking her head) Then you are not trying hard enough. Try harder! Time is running out!
(She exhales deeply, her disappointment evident.)
Hazeemah, I fear you will be the cause of your own misery, and I only pray that you realize it before it’s too late. Because the day your husband changes, that will be the beginning of your downfall. Quit that job and go home!
(She rises, adjusts her wrapper, and turns to leave.)
Hazeemah: (desperate, following her) Mum, please don’t say this. Wallahi, I am doing my best!
Hajia Shukroh: (stops abruptly and turns) Don’t follow me! You’re only proving my point. Go ahead and marry your job, but when your husband leaves, know that you won’t suffer alone. Mark my words!
(Hazeemah breaks down, tears streaming down her face.)
Hazeemah: (pleading) Please try to understand me, Mum… please. Allah knows my intentions, even if you refuse to listen.
(Hajia Shukroh enters the kitchen and blocks the doorway.)
Hajia Shukroh: You are not welcome here unless you bring me a grandchild. Go back to your matrimonial home!
(She slams the door shut in Hazeemah’s face.)
(Hazeemah’s shoulders shake as she sobs. She places a hand on the door, her voice weak.)
Hazeemah: Mum, please… don’t do this to me. You’re all I have right now. That’s why I came—to seek your advice.
Hajia Shukroh: (from behind the door) And I have given you my advice—quit your job and focus on your family! Now leave!
Hazeemah: You know I love my husband more than anything.
(Suddenly, Hajia Shukroh swings the door open, grabs Hazeemah’s arm, and drags her to the living room. She forces her to sit on the couch.)
Hajia Shukroh: (sternly) When I say focus on your family, I mean free yourself from stress. Give your body the chance to conceive. How do you expect to get pregnant when you’re always exhausted? A woman’s body needs rest.
(She shakes her head, frustration evident.)
Hazeemah, you may not see this as a big deal now, but you should be concerned. There are no barren women in our family—neither mine nor your father’s. You are choosing this path for yourself.
(Her voice softens slightly.)
Your body needs rest. Even if you must spend a whole day sleeping, then do it. I can’t believe you’re so consumed by worldly affairs. Tell me, do you even pray your five daily prayers on time anymore?
Hazeemah: (gasps, horrified) A‘udhu billahi mina ash-shaytan ir-rajim! Never! I reject such backwardness!
Hajia Shukroh: (narrows her eyes) Then why do I find that hard to believe?
Hazeemah: (frustrated, voice rising) Mum! Why can’t you trust me anymore? Why are you treating me like this? Why now?
Hajia Shukroh: (sighs, but remains firm) You should know by now—I am not doing this because I hate you, but because I am worried. If you don’t take caution, your marriage will slip through your fingers.
(She stands and adjusts her wrapper again.)
I have said what I needed to say. Hmm!
(She walks back toward the kitchen.)
And don’t you dare follow me!
(Hazeemah, overwhelmed with emotion, buries her face in her hands. Her body shakes as she cries silently.)
***********************
(A few hours later, Hazeemah returns home, her heart heavy with sadness. As she steps into the living room, she finds her husband, M.K, napping on the couch. She moves closer and sits beside him, watching him for a moment.)
M.K: (shifting slightly for comfort, then sensing someone near, he opens his eyes slightly) Hmm… oh, it’s you. When did you get here?
(Hazeemah doesn’t respond, just stares at him, searching his face for warmth.)
M.K: (groans, turning away) Babe, I really need this sleep. It’s been a hell of a week for us. Please.
Hazeemah: (softly, her voice trembling) What have I done? Why do you hate even looking at me now? Why?
M.K: (sighs, visibly uncomfortable, then abruptly gets up and walks away.)
Hazeemah: (calling after him, realizing the weight of the situation) M.K! M.K, please! She quickly gets up and follows him. Wait up! Please, just wait.
M.K: (without stopping) You know I was in deep sleep when you came in, and you disrupted my rest.
Hazeemah: I don’t think that’s the real reason. Please, let’s talk. There’s something important we need to discuss.
M.K: (scoffs, shaking his head) I don’t have the strength for this. I just want to rest. (He reaches for the door to his mancave.)
Hazeemah: (hesitates, then quietly) Are you tired of me?
(M.K pauses for a brief moment but says nothing. Without another word, he steps into his room and shuts the door behind him.)
(Hazeemah swallows hard, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She drags herself back to the living room and lies down, exhaustion washing over her.)
Hazeemah: (whispers to herself) Insha Allah, when I wake up, I will think of my next step. I expected all of this… but not the delay in having a child.
******************************
(Weeks pass, and M.K’s silent treatment toward Hazeemah continues, despite her efforts to get him to open up. His responses remain the same—"It doesn’t matter." The cold distance between them lingers, making the house feel emptier.)
(One weekend, the door opens, and Hazeemah’s face lights up with a genuine smile.)
Hazeemah: (excitedly) Look who we have here! It’s such an honor to finally see you walk back in here on your own two feet! (She pulls Miss Shola into a warm hug.)
Miss Shola: (chuckling) Glory be to God for that! (She returns the embrace.)
Hazeemah: And glory be to Allah. Please, come in! So, tell me, how are you feeling now?
Miss Shola: I feel better than ever. It’s just that Oye won’t stop calling me every minute, asking what I eat and drink all day. So annoying!
Hazeemah: (laughing) Yeah, that does sound annoying—but it only means he cares a lot about you.
Miss Shola: That’s exactly what he says! Every time I ask him why he’s so obsessed with checking on me, his excuse is always, “Because part of me is in you now.”
Hazeemah: (chuckles) Your husband, ehn…
Miss Shola: Ex-husband, remember?
Hazeemah: Oh! Sorry, my bad.
Miss Shola: (looking around) Where’s your husband? Don’t tell me he’s not around—it’s the weekend, after all.
Hazeemah: He’s actually here, but… he’s in his mancave.
Miss Shola: (gasps dramatically) He has a mancave? Show me, please!
Hazeemah: I’d rather not… He specifically told me not to bother him unless he comes out on his own.
Miss Shola: And you actually listen to that nonsense? (She stands up, determined.) Show me, dear. I’ll drag him out myself! Weekends are for spending time together, not hiding away in so-called privacy.
Hazeemah: Oh-kayy… (hesitant but leads the way.)
(As they start climbing the stairs, they suddenly bump into M.K. Hazeemah instinctively steps back.)
Miss Shola: (playfully) Well, well, look who decided to step out. I was just about to come break down that door you call a mancave!
M.K.: (smirks slightly, then moves closer to Miss Shola and gives her a brief hug) I hope you’re feeling better now?
Miss Shola: Absolutely! Thanks to both of you for everything. And especially you, Hazeemah—I owe you a lot, honestly.
(She turns to Hazeemah and pauses, noticing something off. Hazeemah quickly looks away, avoiding eye contact with her husband.)
Miss Shola: Hazeemah?
Hazeemah: (forcing a smile, looking up) Yes, ma’am?
Miss Shola: (glancing between the two of them, her eyes narrowing) Is something going on between you two?
M.K & Hazeemah: (almost in unison) Nothing!
Miss Shola: Ohhh, there is something! Let’s go to the living room and talk this out.
M.K: (quickly changes the subject) Uhmm… where’s Najat?
Miss Shola: With her father, as usual. That girl is a daddy’s girl through and through. I just wish I could have another child so I wouldn’t feel so alone.
(Hazeemah’s expression falters, and she looks down, sadness flickering in her eyes.)
Miss Shola: Come on! Let’s talk this out.
M.K.: We’re fine, Shola. There’s nothing to be worried about. (He moves closer to Hazeemah and suddenly pulls her into a warm embrace.) We’re fine…
Miss Shola: (raising an eyebrow) Alright then… if you say so. But I’m starving here.
Hazeemah: I just finished preparing lunch. Excuse me while I set the dining table. (She gently pulls away from M.K’s arms and walks off.)
Miss Shola: (watching her leave, then turning to M.K., admiringly) Damn, she’s nice. You should be grateful you have such a kind-hearted woman.
M.K.: (quietly, almost to himself) Yeah…
Miss Shola: Look, I know you two are fighting, but silent treatment never solves problems. Just sit down and talk things out, okay? I don’t think you’ll ever find another woman as beautiful, smart, intelligent, and religious as Hazeemah. Whatever it is, sit her down, express yourself, listen to her side, and come up with a solution.
M.K.: Alright… Thanks.
Miss Shola: Good. Now… (grins mischievously) Show me your mancave!
M.K.: (rubs his face in embarrassment) Who told you I have a mancave?
Miss Shola: Oh, come on! Lead the way! (playfully pushes him forward.)
***************************
(Middle of the night – 3:02 AM)
(Hazeemah stirs awake and instinctively turns to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. She sighs softly.)
Hazeemah: (whispers to herself) He’s probably in his mancave again…
(She slowly gets out of bed and heads to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she emerges, now dressed in a flowing white khimar. Without hesitation, she lays her prayer mat and begins her Qiyam al-Layl, her voice trembling with emotion as silent tears stream down her face.)
(Meanwhile, in the mancave, M.K sits restlessly, his eyes glued to his phone as he mindlessly scrolls through reels on social media. Despite the distraction, his mind feels heavy, his heart empty. Eventually, he grows tired and tosses the phone aside.)
M.K: (leaning back, lost in thought) Life feels so boring… so meaningless. (He exhales deeply.) Maybe I should ask her?
(He shakes his head, dismissing the thought almost immediately.)
M.K: No. That won’t be good… but still… I feel like she’s hiding something from me.
(His jaw tightens, frustration boiling within him. He can’t ignore the feeling any longer—he needs answers.)
(Determined, he gets up and storms out of the mancave, his steps heavy with anger. As he approaches their bedroom, he pushes the door open forcefully—almost breaking it in the process—only to freeze at the sight before him.)
(Hazeemah is in sujood, her body trembling as she sobs quietly into the prayer mat. The intensity of her emotions strikes him like a wave, instantly dissolving his anger. His breath hitches, his heart pounding—not with fury, but with something else… something deeper.)
(His fists slowly unclench. The tension in his shoulders fades. He watches her for a long moment, unable to move.)
(Finally, he exhales, turns around, and walks away—this time, not out of anger, but out of something he doesn’t quite understand yet.)
Watch out for the next episode!