Chapter 1

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Afrah always liked the feel of the wind in her hair. It made her feel lighter, as though she didn't have any care in the world. There were times when she imagined a powerful gust of wind blowing through the earth and lifting her off her feet, into the oblivion which lay just beyond her reach. 

It was a typical Saturday morning, with the streets empty and the sun barely risen from the horizon. Alone in the street except for Bruno, Afrah took a deep breath and quickened her sprint. The path was familiar to her, as she had been through here nearly a thousand times already. She knew exactly where the road sloped downward, and she knew where each car was parked everyday so she could avoid them. She knew which trashcans smelt awful so she could cross to the other side of the street to avoid them, and she knew which houses had the wildest dogs so she could steer clear of them completely. Bruno might be a German Shepherd, but he was an unfortunate coward. 

Nearly twenty minutes later, she returned finally to the gates of her father's house, drenched in sweat but feeling marginally happier than when she had left an hour ago. 

The gatekeeper opened the door for her wordlessly, having greeted her earlier when she left. 

"Is Abba awake?" she asked, knowing fully well that her father never woke up until 11am on Saturdays. If it were a weekday, then he would have been awake and out of the house no later than 7am. 

Afrah sometimes did that, asking questions which she already knew the answer to. It was in a bid to fill the empty silence which usually surrounded her every other time. 

"I don't think so," Salisu shook his head. "If he were awake, he would have come downstairs." 

Afrah nodded as she headed towards the front door, while Bruno barked jovially as he jumped around Salisu. 

"Well, well...," a familiar voice nearly startled her as she reached the veranda, "if it isn't Mrs Usain Bolt herself." 

Amina sat up from the chair where she had been reading 'The Fault In Our Stars' just a few minutes ago. Unlike Afrah, she was a little bit on the heavy side, with doe-shaped eyes just like her sister, and a tiny mouth which curled into a grin. She was much taller than Afrah though, and she never missed an opportunity to point that out to anyone who was within hearing range. 

"Did you break any world records today on your run?" she asked with a slight chuckle. 

"This is the thousandth time you're saying that," Afrah replied as she feigned annoyance. "Can't you come up with something original?" 

"I could if I wanted to," she shrugged. "But what fun would that be if I won't get to see that oh-so-familiar glare in your eyes?" 

"Shut up," Afrah said as she turned towards the front door. 

"Careful," Amina said. "Umma is awake, and she is already fussing about and trying to clean the house." 

"What for?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten that Aunt Safiya is coming over today," Amina said. 

"Alone?" Afrah frowned. 

"What do you think?" 

"It's not even 9am yet," she groaned, glancing at the watch on her wrist. "What sane human being wakes up before that time to visit someone?" 

"Someone who clearly has an ulterior motive in mind," she shrugged, her tone not giving anything away. "I don't know about you, but I plan to hide in my room until they leave. The last time she was here, I overheard her complaining to Umma about me not wearing a hijab. In my own father's house." 

"What wouldn't she complain about?" Afrah sighed as she stepped into the house. The heavy scent of incense hung thick in the air, and the living room was deathly silent except for the low humming of the air conditioner. The curtains were still drawn, though they were slightly parted, bathing the room in a warm glow from the faint sunlight outside. 

The television was on, and just by glancing at it, Afrah knew exactly who had been sitting in the room. So long as it was Africa Magic or Arewa24, then it must have been her mother. If it was the news or National Geographic, then that meant her father had been sitting there. E! Entertainment, Nickelodeon or Trace Naija would mean it was Amina, while any other channel would mean Amir was the one in possession of the remote. 

Her footsteps echoing off the cold tiles, she hurried towards the stairs so the smell of her sweat wouldn't contaminate that of the incense sticks which Umma had arranged carefully on the center table using the small, silver holder. 

Right on the landing, she nearly bumped into a tall and lanky young man with a patchy beard across his face and his hair tousled roughly. From the irritated look in his eyes, she could tell that he had been woken up unceremoniously from his sleep. 

"Ew!" Amir said as he skirted around her. 

"Yuck!" she replied with the same enthusiasm as she headed upstairs while he headed down. Her room was the first on the right, while Amina's was the first on the left. Amir's was down the hallway, while their parent's rooms were through the hallway to the right, just after her room. 

Afrah walked into her bedroom quietly, with the curtains drawn just like the living room. Her bed was as tidy as she left it, having stretched out the sheets before she left for her run. Her wardrobe was open, which was odd as she was certain it had been closed when she left. Not paying too much attention to it however, she headed straight for the shower. 

The warm water cascading down her back woke her up more effectively than the run had, like the gentle hand of a lover. Her joints were soothed from the warmth, and she simply stood underneath the streaming jet as she stared at the wall blankly. 

The thought of having to interact with anyone today made her feel uncomfortable. There was nothing she loved to do more than curl up in bed on a Saturday afternoon, with her blanket over her, a cup of coffee beside her and a good book to lose herself in. It was all she really enjoyed doing, besides sitting on the terrace and watching the sun set behind the opposite house. Hers was a quiet life, where everything moved at a leisurely pace and she never had to worry about venturing beyond her comfort zone. Her family understood this, and it was here alone that she was awarded all the comfort she could possibly want. It was little wonder why she hated going out of the house for anything other than a quick run. 

She stepped out of the shower exactly fifteen minutes later, before her skin got too dry. The steam had covered the mirror over the sink. Wrapping her thick white towel around her frail figure, she wiped the steam off with her left hand. A thin, fair, doe-eyed and slightly bored looking lady of twenty-four stared back at her, with her lips slightly parted and her eyes staring dreamily at her reflection. It was easy to forget, when she looked at her reflection, that she hid a deep, dark secret. 

Afrah was deathly afraid of men. 

The entire male gender scared her witless, and she dreaded anything which would bring her close to anyone of them. 

Except for her father and brother, that is. 

Sometimes, she was able to remind herself that not all of them were bad. There were a few who - she supposed- could qualify as decent human beings. But more often than not however, she found herself shying away from all forms of contact with them. Where that proved difficult, she tended to push them away by being overly aggressive or extremely rude. 

There was a time when she hadn't been like this though. Like a distant and long-forgotten dream, she remembered a time when she had been like any other girl in the world; innocent and happy. Sometimes, if she concentrated hard enough, she could see the little girl she had once been, and take a peek into her mind for a brief moment. But occasions like that were rare, and she chose to dwell in the present more often, as going back to the past would mean having to relive the horrors it held each time. 

Surprisingly, her mother was sitting on her bed when she stepped out of the bathroom. She was fussing over her pink and blue native garments, and a black veil which she had picked out herself. 

"Good morning, Umma," she smiled at her. "I didn't hear you come in." 

"When was the last time you wore these clothes?" her mother asked by way of greeting. 

"I think it was two months ago," she said. "That was when we went to pick Abba from the airport." 

"Well, you're going to wear it today," Umma said. "You look pretty in it, and I want you to look pretty today." 

"Umma," she smiled, "I'm twenty-four years old. I don't need my mother picking out clothes for me." 

"You'll never be too old for me to pick out clothes for you, Afrah," she replied. "Now, put them on and stop arguing." 

"Why are you suddenly interested in what I choose to wear?" she asked. "Is it because aunt Safiya is visiting?" 

"Of course not," she shook her head a little bit too quickly. "Just do as I say and be downstairs in twenty minutes. We still need to cook the food before they arrive." 

"What about Amina?" 

"I'm not letting her anywhere near my kitchen ever again," Umma said jokingly. 

Afrah glanced down at the clothes silently, her knuckles white from gripping the edge of the bed. 

"If it makes you happy," she said, "I'll wear them." 

"That's why you're my favorite," her mother smiled affectionately at her as she stood up. "Just don't tell your sister I said that, or we'll never hear the end of it." 

She left the room then, leaving Afrah to stare at the clothes even longer. She couldn't help but feel that her mother was hiding something from her, and that it more or less had to do with aunt Safiya's visit. This wasn't the first time they would be visiting, but it had been a while since she saw her cousins, despite the fact that they lived in the same city. 

Whatever it was, surely she would find out soon enough. 

As she stood up from the bed and moved towards the dressing mirror, Afrah, - and indeed the entire household - was oblivious to the fact that several miles away, also unaware that the woman he was destined to marry had no clue who he was, her future husband had just risen from his bed. 

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