The Proposal
736 Words
The house was still trembling from aunty's attack. The knife lay on the floor where she dropped it, blood smeared on the blade. Aunty sat on the mat, head in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Uncle held her shoulders, murmuring soft words I couldn't hear. Isa and the boys stood by the door, knives still in hand, breathing hard. The younger cousins huddled in the corner, wide-eyed and scared.
I stood frozen in the middle of it all. My legs felt like lead. My heart pounded so loud I thought everyone could hear it. The air smelled of blood, sweat, and fear.
Mudy was gone. Limping away into the night. But his words hung in the room like smoke.
"I love you, Mariam."
They echoed in my head. Over and over. Mocking me. Torturing me.
Isa broke the silence first.
"He came here. After everything. To ask forgiveness?" He laughed bitterly. "He's mad. Completely mad."
Uncle looked at me. His eyes were red. "Did you know he was coming?"
I shook my head. "No."
Aunty lifted her head. "I stabbed him." Her voice was small. Broken. "I stabbed him and I don't regret it."
Uncle pulled her close. "You did what you had to. But now... now we wait."
We waited.
For police. For revenge. For him to come back.
But nothing happened that night. Or the next. Or the next.
Days turned into a week. Then two.
I stayed inside. Didn't go to the shop. Didn't walk the streets. Sophia and Saphina came every day. We talked about Moshi. About school. About anything but him.
But he was always there. In my dreams. In my thoughts. In the bruises that slowly faded but never really left.
One afternoon, I was in my room resting. The house was quiet. Aunty was in the kitchen. Uncle at work.
Then... a knock.
My heart stopped.
Aunty opened the door.
I heard her gasp.
Footsteps.
Heavy. Familiar.
Mudy stepped into the living room.
No blood. No limp. The wound must have been shallow. He wore a clean uniform. Cap in hand. Eyes locked on me.
Aunty screamed again.
Isa and the boys rushed in.
Uncle came running.
Mudy raised his hands.
"I didn't come for trouble," he said. Same words as before. Voice calm. Low.
Isa stepped forward. "You again? After she stabbed you?"
Mudy looked at aunty. "I deserved it."
Aunty stared. Shocked.
Uncle pushed forward. "Get out."
Mudy didn't move.
"I came to speak to Mariam. Alone."
The room exploded again.
Isa lunged.
Uncle stopped him.
Mudy looked at me.
"I know I hurt you. I know I broke you. But I can't live with it."
Silence.
He continued.
"Since I became aware of myself, I've never begged anyone. But for you... I beg. Don't despise me."
Isa laughed. "You think words fix this?"
Mudy shook his head.
"No. Words don't. But I have to try."
He looked at me.
"I love you, Mariam."
The words hit harder this time.
Aunty cried out.
Uncle stepped between us.
"Leave."
Mudy didn't.
"I want to marry you. Make it right."
The room froze.
Isa laughed again. "Marry? After what you did?"
Mudy ignored him.
"I know I don't deserve you. I know I broke every trust. But I can't let you go. I need you. I need to fix this."
I stared. Couldn't breathe.
"You... want to marry me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I love you. And because... I can't live without you."
Aunty whispered, "He's mad."
Uncle spoke.
"Get out of my house."
Mudy looked at uncle.
"I won't leave until she hears me."
Isa raised his fist.
Mudy didn't flinch.
"If hitting me brings peace, hit me. I won't fight back."
Silence.
I stood up. Legs shaking.
"Leave," I whispered.
Mudy's eyes softened.
"Mariam..."
"Leave," I said louder. "You took everything. You don't get to come back and ask for more."
He bowed his head.
"I understand."
He turned to go.
But before he reached the door, he stopped.
Turned back.
"I won't stop," he said quietly. "I'll wait. I'll prove it. One day... you'll see."
Then he left.
The door closed.
Silence.
Aunty collapsed crying.
Uncle held her.
I stood there.
Numb.
He was gone.
But his words stayed.
"I'll wait."
And I knew... he meant it.
Deep inside... something twisted.
Not hate.
Not fear.
Something new.
Something dangerous.
Something that whispered:
What if... he's telling the truth?
- Writer
