The Twins Chapter 17
Zainab remained seated alone in the café, lost in thought, long after Zara and the others had left. Suddenly, a voice startled her.
"May I have a word with you?"
She turned around and found herself face-to-face with Umar Abdullahi.
Before she could respond, he took a seat across from her without hesitation.
Still, she greeted him politely.
"How have you been, Zainab?" Umar asked, his gaze steady.
"I'm fine," she replied lightly.
Umar had once been a part of her life, a memory from her school days before her marriage to Mubarak. She had almost forgotten about him—until now.
"It's been so long," Umar continued, his voice tinged with pain. "I tried calling you so many times, but you were unreachable. What happened, Zainab? What about the promise we made?"
Promise. The word echoed in Zainab's mind.
She remembered when she first came to this school—how they meet and started dating, how they had promised each other marriage. But it seemed fate had other plans. Now, thinking back, she cringed.
She felt a twinge of guilt but had no words to offer. He wasn't wrong to ask, but the truth was beyond her control.
Her marriage had happened without her consent, leaving her with no choice. Her brother, Yusuf, had ensured she had no means of resistance—going as far as breaking her SIM card before the wedding, cutting her off completely.
Looking at Umar now, she couldn't help but pity him. He had been left without an explanation.
"I'm sorry," Zainab began, but Umar cut her off with a small shake of his head.
"No need to be, Zainab," he said, his voice calm but firm, surprising her.
He hesitated for a moment before placing a small package on the table. "I can't talk to a married woman for too long. I just wanted to give you this."
Zainab stared at the package.
"I wish you a happy married life," Umar added, his face carrying an unreadable expression. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.
"Thank you," Zainab called after him, a mix of emotions swirling within her. She hadn't expected him to let go so easily—to part with just a few words and a simple gift.
She picked up the package, curiosity flickering in her eyes, but before she could unwrap it, her phone buzzed. Mubarak's name flashed on the screen.
"I'm waiting for you in the parking lot," he said curtly before ending the call.
Sighing, she grabbed her things and made her way to the car.
Sliding into the passenger seat, she greeted Mubarak, but his response was brief, barely above a mumble. His expression was tense, his grip on the steering wheel tight. Zainab, too distracted by the package in her hands, failed to notice his growing irritation.
She carefully started unwrapping the gift, a small smile forming on her lips. But before she could fully unveil what was inside, Mubarak's hand shot out, snatching the package from her grasp.
Startled, she turned to him just in time to see his jaw tighten. Without a word, he rolled down the window and, to her utter shock, hurled the gift outside.
"What are you doing?! What is the meaning of this?!" Zainab yelled, her voice rising in frustration. It was the first time she had ever raised her voice at him.
Mubarak remained calm, his gaze steady as he responded, "You can't bring another man's gift anywhere near me."
Zainab froze, shock washing over her. "Another man?" she repeated, her heart pounding. "How did you even know?" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Are you keeping an eye on me?"
Mubarak said nothing, his silence fueling her anger.
"I asked you a question, Mubarak!" she demanded.
Finally, he exhaled and met her gaze. "Yes, I am. So what? Am I not your husband?"
His admission stunned her. "Yes, you are," she said, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief, "but that doesn't give you the right to spy on me! Don't you trust me?"
"Zainab, stop trying to twist this," Mubarak said, his tone firm. "Why would you accept a gift from another man?"
"You still haven't answered my question," she shot back, her fury evident.
"Do not talk to me like this, Zainab," Mubarak told her, his voice tinged with frustration.
"And so what if I did?" Zainab shot back, her anger escalating. "On one hand, there's another guy who wishes me well, even after I left him. And On the other hand, I have the one I married who doesn't trust me."
"Zainab, are you comparing me to someone else?" Mubarak asked, his voice sharp.
"Yes, I am," Zainab replied, her tone unwavering.
Mubarak fell silent, trying to keep his anger in check, but the tension was palpable. He could see how upset she was. The truth was, he had been keeping an eye on her long before they where even married. Even if he hadn't, Zainab was well-known at the university—people talked, and he had his ways of knowing.
The ride back was filled with silence, and when they arrived home, Mubarak spoke again. "You don't understand. I just hate seeing so many people's eyes on my wife," he confessed.
Zainab's eyes narrowed. "That was the trick you used to marry me, right? Telling my brother about this," she snapped, the bitterness in her words evident.
Mubarak felt a twinge of guilt, but he couldn't ignore her words. A'udhu billahi min ash-shaytan ir-rajim, he read, shaking his head slightly, trying to suppress his frustration. It felt as though Shaytan was trying to drive a wedge between them.
This was the first time Zainab had ever spoken to him so harshly. Her words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions, making the weight of their unresolved issues feel more suffocating than ever.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to let go of his anger. If he wanted to make things right, he had to stay calm.
"I'm sorry, Zainab," Mubarak said, his voice softer now.
"No, you're not," Zainab shot back, her tone cold and unwavering. "If you can't trust me, then maybe you should find someone else."
Without another word, she stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind her.
Mubarak sat frozen for a moment, her words echoing in his mind. Did she just tell me to find someone else?
Frustration tightened in his chest. Instead of staying back, he gripped the steering wheel and drove away, leaving Zainab standing there, watching his car disappear in shock.
____
As soon as Zara reached home, a wave of nervousness and anxiety washed over her. She hesitated at the entrance, wondering why her brother had summoned her so urgently.
She was certain Lukman must have told him something—perhaps reported her.
Instead of walking through the front door, she quietly slipped in through the back, relieved to find it unlocked.
Just as she stepped into the kitchen, she froze upon hearing a familiar voice.
"Lukman, I am very disappointed in you," Yusuf said, his tone laced with unmistakable pain. "I thought Zara was like a sister to you. What were you thinking?"
Zara's heart pounded. What is going on?
"Even if you weren't married to her, can't you at least take care of Zara for me when I'm not around?" Yusuf continued, his voice filled with frustration.
Zara's curiosity got the best of her. She quickly made her way to the parlor, desperate to understand the situation.
As she entered, her eyes landed on Yusuf, seated on the main couch, his face tense, his bloodshot eyes a reflection of his anger—or was it disappointment? Lukman, on the other hand, sat on the floor, his head bowed in silence.
As soon as they noticed her arrival, all heads turned toward her.
Zara's gaze locked with Lukman's for a brief moment. His eyes, just like Yusuf's, were bloodshot. But as soon as their eyes met, he quickly looked away.
"Oh, my dear Zara, come here," Yusuf said, his voice softer now.
She walked over to him, greeted him, and sat down on the floor beside him—deliberately keeping a distance from Lukman.
"Zara, why didn't you tell us what you've been going through in your marriage?" Yusuf asked, his voice filled with both concern and disappointment.
The moment he asked, it was as if a dam had broken. Tears welled up in Zara's eyes, and before she could stop herself, she started crying.
Yusuf's heart ached at the sight. He reached out to her, his tone gentle yet firm. "Please, Zara, stop crying. Calm down, my dear. Get a hold of yourself."
But she couldn't. She had been holding in so much for so long.
Lukman finally spoke, his voice low and filled with guilt. "Zara, please stop crying."
But she didn't even look at him.
It took Yusuf almost thirty minutes to soothe her, speaking to her in hushed tones, reassuring her that she wasn't alone. Eventually, her sobs quieted, and she wiped away her tears.
"Lukman told me everything, Zara," Yusuf said, his voice heavy with emotion. "He admitted how he treated you."
Zara lifted her tear-streaked face, her bloodshot eyes meeting Lukman's for a fleeting moment. He really did? She wondered why he would confess on his own.
"I'm sorry you had to face this alone, Zara," Yusuf continued, his voice filled with regret.
He kept apologizing on behalf of the family, guilt evident in his tone. Then, turning toward Lukman, he asked, "Lukman, don't you have something to say to Zara?"
Lukman hesitated for a moment before finally speaking.
"I'm sorry, Zara. I know I've hurt you a lot. You've suffered so much because of me. Please, forgive me," he said, his voice low, his eyes glued to the floor, too ashamed to meet hers.
Zara felt nothing. Whether he was sincere or not, whether he had truly changed—it didn't matter anymore.
She remained silent.
Yusuf turned to her, hopeful. "Zara, please forgive Lukman. I've talked to him, and InshaAllah, nothing like this will happen again."
There was a long pause before Zara finally responded.
"Fine. I have forgiven him."
She didn't even glance at Lukman as she spoke. She still couldn't grasp what was really happening until Yusuf started speaking again.
He urged both of them to put their past behind them, to remember their family bond—being cousins made their connection even stronger. He reminded them that instead of dwelling on the past, they should work toward building a better future together.
After some time, Yusuf stood up, ready to leave.
Zara immediately followed.
"Zara, what are you doing?" Yusuf asked, confused.
"I'm going with you," she replied firmly.
"Zara," Yusuf called her name softly, taking her hand and leading her outside to the house premises.
"Since Lukman has promised to change, I want you to give him a chance," he said gently. "I've already spoken to him. Zara, you're too young to go through a divorce, especially when he wants to make amends. Please, stay and give him an opportunity to make things right."
At that moment, everything became clear to Zara. Lukman hadn't confessed out of guilt—this was a calculated move. He wanted reconciliation, while she wanted an end. He knew that if she left and returned to her family, coming back would be difficult. But by admitting his wrongs, he had ensured that her family, especially Yusuf, would push for her to stay.
She looked at her brother in disbelief.
"Please, Zara," Yusuf pleaded. "Please try. You have my number; you can always reach out to me if anything happens. Please, for the sake of Allah, will you?"
Yusuf's hopeful eyes searched hers.
Minutes passed before Zara finally gave a reluctant nod.
"Thank you, Zara. May Allah be pleased with you," Yusuf said, relief evident in his voice. "Please, be a good wife, dear. Don't worry—I'll check on you soon."
They exchanged a silent farewell with a small wave before Yusuf turned and left.
Zara stood there, frozen, watching him go—stunned and unable to move.