Khadijah story side
Those two weeks at home felt longer than anything I had ever lived through. Every day came with new insults from my mom… and silence from my dad. The silence hurt even more. He didn’t call me, didn’t ask about Mansur, didn’t say a word. And that was what scared me the most.
The only peace I had was Mom2. She stayed by my side, comforting me, reminding me to be patient. She even promised to speak to my dad.
Mansur tried. He came to the house again and again… five times. Each time, my mom chased him away with words that cut deeper than anything. He stood there, calm, respectful… but no one saw his sincerity except Mom2.
The day my mom poured a bucket of cold water on him… that was the last time he came.
I begged her to stop. I cried. I knelt. But it only made her worse.
After that… Mansur stopped calling.
At first, I told myself he just needed time. Then I started calling him. Again and again. His number was not reachable. Sometimes it rang… but he wouldn’t pick.
Each unanswered call felt like something breaking inside me.
My mood changed. I stopped talking. I stopped eating properly. I had just one day left before returning to school… and still, nothing.
Out of desperation, I even called his mother, begging her to help me speak to him.
That night, I tried his number again… and this time, he picked.
Khadijah: As-salamu alaykum.
Mansur: (his voice low, distant) Wa alaykum salam.
Khadijah: Baby… I’ve been trying to reach you since last week. Your number hasn’t been going through. I know you’ve been through a lot because of me… but I can’t lose you. Please, I’m sorry. I’ll try my best to change their minds.
Mansur: There’s no need anymore, Khadijah.
Khadijah: (her voice shaking) Why? Don’t you love me anymore?
Mansur: Is it until I die before you understand how much I love you? Until my parents carry my dead body to your house before your family believes me?
(He pauses, his voice tightening.)
Mansur: The last time I came to your house… your mom poured a bucket of cold water on me. In that kind of weather. I almost froze before I got home. The next day, I was in the hospital. I didn’t even tell my parents the truth… because I didn’t want them to hate you. I was discharged today.
Khadijah: (gasps, covering her mouth) SubhanAllah… ahh… Modaran…
Mansur: I can’t do this anymore, Khadijah. I can’t. Allah knows my intentions. He knows how much I love you… how much I wanted to spend my life with you. But not like this. Not at the cost of my life.
(He exhales slowly, tired.)
Mansur: I told you I would support your education. Marriage doesn’t end your dreams. So why is your mother treating me like I have no home, like I’m nothing?
(Another silence.)
Mansur: I can’t continue. I want to end this.
Khadijah: (breaking down) Please… please don’t say that. There must be a way. I’m sure they will accept you one day. Just give me one more chance… please.
Mansur: How many chances, Khadijah? Until she brings out a cutlass? I matter to my parents too. I can’t let them lose me. I’m sorry… I can’t do this anymore.
(Softly)
Mansur: May Allah bless you with a pious husband.
Goodnight. As-salamu alaykum.
(The call ends.)
Khadijah: (whispering through tears) Wa alaykum salam… no… please wait… please…
(The phone slips from her hand.)
The room felt empty. Too quiet. Too heavy.
Khadijah: (crying uncontrollably) Ya Allah… what have I done…
Her chest tightened. Her head spun. Everything around her felt pointless.
Slowly… she stood up.
Her steps carried her to the store.
Her hands trembled as she reached for the insecticide.
Khadijah: (broken, whispering) At least… if I die… they’ll all be happy…
(She raises it to her lips.)
At that exact moment, Amira walked past.
Amira: Aunty Khadijah—!
(She screams, rushing forward, knocking it out of her hand.)
Amira: Help! Help!
(The house erupts into chaos. Footsteps. Voices. Panic.)
Dad: What happened?!
Amira: She drank insecticide!
Everyone: What?!
(Khadijah’s body gives way. She collapses.)
They rush her out, carrying her into the car. Even Mom1, shocked, drops everything and runs after them.
The drive to the hospital is filled with cries and prayers.
At the emergency unit, nurses rush her in.
Mom2 holds the younger ones close as they cry. The air is thick with fear.
Mom1 sits alone in a corner… silent tears falling down her face.
Dad walks up to her, anger burning in his eyes.
Dad: Why are you crying now? Isn’t this what you wanted? You wanted her dead, right? You should be celebrating.
(Mom1 looks up, shaking.)
Dad: I’m even surprised you followed us here. You should have stayed at home with your phone.
(His voice drops, cold and sharp.)
Dad: Stop those useless tears. The only thing you should be doing now is praying for her. Because if anything happens to Khadijah…
(He leans closer.)
Dad: I will make your life a living hell.
(He walks away, leaving her there.)
Mom1 breaks down completely… her quiet tears turning into deep, shaking sobs, filled with regret.
Fatimah story side
(Three months later)
Since that day… nothing in my life has felt normal again.
I wasn’t the same girl anymore. Something in me had gone quiet… broken. The memories wouldn’t leave me. They came back in flashes, in silence, in my sleep. Sometimes I would just sit there, staring at nothing, feeling everything all over again.
But no one noticed.
Not even my mom. She was always busy, always distracted. One thing or the other. I could have disappeared in that house, and I don’t think she would have seen it.
I ended things with Abdulateef that same day. He kept calling, begging, saying he still loved me. I blocked him. Even when we crossed paths on the road, and he tried to talk to me, I would just walk past him like he didn’t exist.
I did my freedom last month. My dad even bought me a sewing machine. Now I sew for people… I earn my own money. From the outside, it looked like I was moving forward.
But inside… I was still stuck.
(One morning)
I was about to leave for work when my dad called me.
Fatimah: You called me?
Dad: Yes. (hands her some money) Take this and go and register for NECO.
Fatimah: (her expression changes) I’m not interested in school anymore.
Dad: (sharp) What did you say?
(She stays quiet.)
Dad: Ungrateful child. Fatimah… leave my presence before I lose my temper.
Fatimah: (voice breaking) Why won’t you listen to me? All you do is insult and beat me. No one wants to hear me out.
(She turns and walks inside.)
Dad: Is that how you talk to me now? Come back here! You ungrateful child! I’ll deal with you when I return from work!
(The next day)
Morning came like every other day.
My dad was getting ready for work. My mom was outside arranging her provisions.
I was in my room… curled up on my bed.
For days now, I hadn’t been feeling right. My body felt heavy. Weak. I couldn’t work like before. Food irritated me. Even the smell made me uncomfortable. My chest felt different… everything felt strange.
Mom: Fatimah!!!
Fatimah: Ma…
Mom: So you heard me and you’re ignoring me?
(I tried to stand… but my head spun.)
Fatimah: I’m coming—
(The room tilted. Darkness rushed in.)
(I collapsed.)
Mom: Fatimah! If I come in there, eh—
Dad: Fatimah! Are you not hearing your mother?
(No response.)
(Dad walks in, irritated… then stops.)
Dad: (shocked) Fatimah? Fati?
(He rushes to her, lifting her head.)
Dad: Fatimah, talk to me! Iya Fatimah!
Mom: (running in) What happened?
Dad: Come and see! She’s unconscious!
Mom: (panic rising) What? Did you hit her?
Dad: No! I met her like this! Bring water, quickly!
(She runs to the kitchen, comes back with a bowl. They sprinkle water on her face… nothing.)
Dad: Hospital. Now! Go and bring my wallet!
(They rush her into the car.)
The same hospital.
The same emergency doors.
Mom: Doctor! Please help us! It’s an emergency! Egbami o!
(The nurses rush forward, carrying her in.)
Outside, the waiting area is already filled with another family… praying, crying.
Two different families.
One pain.
Mom: (crying uncontrollably) Ya Allah, help me! She was fine yesterday… what is this? Please save my daughter!
Dad: Iya Fati, sit down. Everything will be fine.
Mom: How can I sit down when my child is like this?
Dad: Nothing will happen to her. I trust Allah.
Mom: I pray so… I pray so…
(Khadijah’s story side — same hospital)
Both families sit in the same reception.
Dad: (turning to Mom1, who is quietly crying) Look over there. Look at that woman… see how she’s crying for her daughter. That is a mother.
(He shakes his head.)
Dad: Now look at yourself. Have you ever played that role in Khadijah’s life? If anything happens to her, I will never forgive you. Never.
(He walks away, joining his children and Mom2.)
Mom2: Please… stop. I can see she’s already regretting everything. What matters now is Khadijah’s life.
Dad: (sighs deeply) You’re right… you’re right.
Amir: Dad… will Aunty Khadijah be okay? She won’t die, right?
Khalid: We love her… we don’t want her to die.
Dad: Nothing will happen to her. We just need to pray.
(He looks at them.)
Dad: Let’s go to the mosque. We will pray two raka’ah and ask Allah to return her to us.
Amira: Okay.
Dad: (to Mom2) We’re going to pray.
Mom2: But it’s not time for prayer yet… it’s just 10am.
Dad: I know. But we need to make du’a. Allah listens… especially to children.
(They begin to leave.)
Mom1: Let me come with you.
Dad: No. Stay here.
Mom2: Please… don’t talk to her like that.
Dad: (softens slightly) I’m sorry… but she should stay.
(Just then, Mansur comes running toward them, breathless.)
Dad: Young man… what are you doing here?
Mansur: (panting) Good morning, sir. I heard Khadijah drank insecticide… is it true?
Dad: How did you know?
Mom2: I called him.
Mansur: (voice shaking) How is she? Please… tell me.
Dad: We haven’t heard from the doctor yet.
Mansur: (holding his head) This is my fault… if anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.
Dad: What do you mean your fault? Did you give her the poison?
Mansur: No, sir… but last night, I ended things with her. Because of everything… the way her mom treated me…
Dad: What did she do?
Mom2: She poured a bucket of water on him at the gate.
Dad: SubhanAllah… I’m so sorry.
Mansur: All that matters now is her life. If you give your blessing… I will still marry her.
Dad: You already have my blessing. But her mother—
Mansur: Please… don’t call her names. Where is she?
Mom2: She’s over there.
(Mansur takes a deep breath and walks toward Mom1.)
She sits alone, crying quietly. When she sees him, she lowers her eyes, unable to face him.
(He bends slightly in front of her.)
Mansur: Ma… I know you don’t like me. But please… don’t do this to your daughter. She always spoke well about you. She never told me how you treated her.
(He pauses.)
Mansur: Not knowing… she was only describing the mother she wished you could be.
(Her shoulders shake.)
Mansur: Her life is in danger now. She needs you… your prayers. We are going to the mosque. Please… come with us. For the sake of Allah.
(Mom1 slowly raises her head, tears streaming.)
Mom1: I’m sorry… for everything. Please forgive me.
Mansur: You’re forgiven, ma. Let’s go.
(She stands and follows him.)
(After prayers, they return)
The waiting feels endless.
Mom2: Any news?
Mom1: (shakes her head, sitting back down)
(The doctor finally walks out.)
Dad: Doctor! How is my daughter?
Doctor: You are her father?
Dad: Yes… yes.
Doctor: Please, come to my office—
Mom2: Whatever it is, please say it here.
Dad: Yes, doctor… please.
(Mom1 rushes forward.)
Mom1: Doctor, please… how is my daughter?
(The doctor sighs.)
Doctor: We did our best to stabilize her. The poison has been removed. But…
(They hold their breath.)
Doctor: She is in a coma.
(Silence drops heavily.)
Doctor: Her body is weak, and she is under severe emotional stress. At this point… only prayers can help. She may wake up… or she may not.
(He walks away.)
Mom1: (screams) Ahhh! My child! What have I done!
(She collapses into tears.)
Mansur sinks into a chair, his face buried in his hands.
Mom2: SubhanAllah… this cannot be happening…
Dad: (turns to Mom1, tears in his eyes) Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted? Your daughter is dying!
(He breaks down.)
Khalid: Mommy… Daddy… I don’t understand. What did the doctor say?
Mom2: (forcing calm) Your sister is… she’s just sleeping. She needs rest.
Khalid: Then why are you all crying?
Mom2: Because… we don’t know when she will wake up.
(The room fills with quiet, helpless tears.)
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