I left, counting the number of steps I took to the gate, exactly two hundred and thirty three steps.
I wanted to record everything, to know each step I took towards my breakthrough and success story, to have a laudable story to tell my fans.
It was 2:47am, but I was lucky to see a cab that took me to Emma’s house. Emma was my music producer, and the guy I was in love with. Despite our religious differences, we understood and respected each other.
He had given me the hope to continue living, to not abandon my family. We were engaged to be married. While on the ride, my heart fluttered. Finally, I was going to be free to love him and do the music I want in the most righteous way.
The type of music I made was not one condemned by Allah. Father just liked being autocratic and making too much fuss about everything. He was a staunch Muslim. To him everything was Harām (forbidden), none was ever halal (lawful).
“Ma’am, where to?” the driver asked.
“Please take me to Mishanu.”
Emma had travelled but I had a key to his house.
I looked at the driver’s face properly before entering his cab, making sure he had no horrifying scars. If a driver had scars on his face or body, I never entered his cab. To me, the scar was a proof of violence, therefore, he must be a thug.
“You’re lucky to have met me. It’s not right for a young girl your age to be roaming around the streets of Jos by this time.”
I smiled, Allah had approved of my decision by being with me.
Emma’s house was the last on that street. I brought out my key and unlocked the door. I had never felt such peace. Finally, our love was going to be sealed and we’ll make many music together.
I went to see the room where he had taken my flower, to reminisce and miss him till he gets back.
Terrifyingly, Halima was riding Emma. Emma’s eyes were closed. Halima moaned in ecstasy, her hands tightly gripping the sheets. He had lied about travelling.
“Emma!” my jaw dropped, I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was startled. He just stared at me, still on top of her. Salty liquid saturated my eyes. Someone I left my family for.
I raised my hands in the air forcing myself to speak. When nothing came. I threw them down angrily and made for the door. He made no attempt to run after me.
I had hiccups on my way back home, the tears couldn’t stop falling. Instantly, I hated music. I realized he was the reason I even pursued music. I prayed dad had not read my letter.
It was morning when I came back. He was sitting on his mat, his skull cap still on his head and his garment gracing the ground.
I could see my writing – he had read the letter. I covered my face and wailed. My body trembled, I couldn’t hold my balance, I fell to the ground.
“Don’t cry my child. I knew when you dropped that letter, I gave you my blessing and prayed Allah shows you the way. He has brought you back.” Dad had said, patting my back and wiping my eyes.
Go Back: Haram 1
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