Binta

Chapter Nine — The Woman I Never Chose

I woke up before Binta.

For several minutes, I simply lay there, staring at the ceiling.

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

Beside me, Binta was still asleep.

I turned toward her.

For the first time since our marriage, I allowed myself to look at her without thinking about the expectations surrounding us.

She looked peaceful.

Almost innocent.

A few strands of hair had fallen across her face. Her breathing was slow and steady, and one of her hands rested near my chest.

This was my wife.

The word still felt strange.

My wife.

Not Tracy.

Not Trina.

Binta.

I had spent so long thinking marriage was something that happened to other people.

Something parents arranged.

Something that belonged to a future I hadn't reached yet.

Now it was lying beside me.

And the worst part was that I couldn't decide whether I was happy or terrified.

I carefully moved Binta's hand away and got out of bed.

I walked toward the window.

Monrovia was waking up.

Motorcycles were already moving along the road. Somewhere in the distance, a vendor was shouting about bread. A radio played softly from a neighboring house.

Ordinary life.

But my life no longer felt ordinary.

I looked at my reflection in the glass.

I had become a husband.

And I still loved another woman.

That thought hit me harder than I expected.

Tracy.

I hadn't spoken to her since the wedding.

I had told myself I was doing the right thing.

But there was a part of me that still wanted to hear her voice.

Still wanted to know whether she had cried when she heard I had married Binta.

Still wanted to know whether she had ever truly loved me.

I hated myself for thinking about her.

Behind me, Binta stirred.

"Issa?"

I turned.

She opened her eyes.

"You're awake."

"Yes."

She smiled.

"Good morning, husband."

I smiled despite myself.

"Good morning."

She sat up and pulled the blanket around herself.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"I'm trying to understand how I ended up here."

She laughed.

"With me?"

"With you."

She threw a pillow at me.

I caught it.

"You are still annoying."

"You married me anyway."

"I know."

She smiled.

Then the smile faded.

"Are you happy?"

I knew exactly what she meant.

"Yes."

She studied my face.

"Really?"

"Really."

She nodded.

But I could tell she was searching for something in my expression.

Perhaps reassurance.

Perhaps certainty.

Perhaps a love I wasn't yet capable of giving her completely.

"Issa?"

"Yes?"

"Don't lie to me."

I looked at her.

"I won't."

"Even if the truth hurts?"

I hesitated.

"Even then."

She nodded.

"Good."

She got out of bed.

"I need to help Father with the tea cart."

"You shouldn't have to do that."

She looked at me.

"Why?"

"You're married now."

"And?"

"You should rest."

She laughed.

"So marriage means I suddenly become a princess?"

"No."

"Good."

She smiled.

"Because I'm still Binta."

She walked past me.

Then stopped.

"And you're still Issa."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I didn't marry some perfect man."

She looked over her shoulder.

"I married the annoying one."

I laughed.

She disappeared into the bathroom.

For the first time that morning, I smiled genuinely.

Maybe this could work.

Maybe I could learn to love her the way she deserved.

Maybe love didn't always have to begin with fireworks.

Maybe sometimes it began quietly.

Maybe it began with tea.

With arguments.

With patience.

With someone standing beside you when the person you thought you loved had already walked away.

I wanted to believe that.

I really did.

Then my phone rang.

I looked at the screen.

Tracy.

My heart stopped.

I stared at her name.

Binta was still in the bathroom.

The phone continued ringing.

I should have ignored it.

Instead, I answered.

"Hello?"

For several seconds, there was only silence.

Then Tracy spoke.

"Congratulations."

Her voice was soft.

I sat down.

"Tracy..."

"You got married."

"Yes."

"I heard."

"I wanted to tell you."

"No."

She laughed quietly.

"You didn't."

I closed my eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

I didn't answer.

"Issa?"

"Yes?"

"Do you love her?"

I looked toward the bathroom.

"I don't know."

There was silence.

"That's what I thought."

"Tracy—"

"Do you still love me?"

The question was so simple.

But it destroyed me.

I didn't answer immediately.

And that silence was my answer.

She breathed in shakily.

"I knew it."

"What?"

"That you still love me."

I looked down.

"I never stopped."

The words escaped before I could stop them.

Silence.

Then Tracy whispered:

"Neither did I."

My heart began pounding.

"Where are you?"

"Does it matter?"

"Tracy."

"I'm outside."

I froze.

"What?"

"I'm outside your house."

I stood immediately.

"You shouldn't be here."

"I know."

"Tracy, I'm married."

"I know."

"Then why did you come?"

She didn't answer.

I walked toward the window.

I looked outside.

There she was.

Standing beside her car.

Wearing a simple black dress.

She looked up.

Our eyes met through the window.

And suddenly, every memory came rushing back.

School.

Her laughter.

Our first argument.

Our first date.

The first time she held my hand.

The first time she told me she loved me.

The first time I told her I loved her.

Everything.

Everything I had tried to bury.

Tracy lifted her phone.

"I just wanted to see you."

I closed my eyes.

"I can't."

"I know."

"Please go."

She nodded.

But before she turned away, she said something that I couldn't hear through the glass.

Then she drove away.

I stood there watching her disappear.

"Who was that?"

I turned.

Binta stood behind me.

My heart sank.

She had heard enough.

"Tracy."

She looked at me.

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't."

"Binta—"

"I told you not to lie."

"I didn't."

"No."

She nodded.

"You didn't."

She walked toward the kitchen.

I followed.

"Binta."

She began preparing tea.

"Are you angry?"

"No."

"You're angry."

"I'm hurt."

She put the cup down.

"I knew this was possible."

"What?"

"That she would come back."

I stared at her.

"How?"

"Because people don't stop loving someone simply because they sign a marriage certificate."

I didn't know what to say.

She turned toward me.

"But I need to know something."

"What?"

"Did you want her to stay?"

I looked away.

Binta nodded.

"That's enough."

She continued making tea.

"Issa."

"Yes?"

"If you're going to love her, don't make me compete with her."

"I don't want you to compete."

"Then don't put me in a competition."

She handed me a cup.

"Drink."

I took it.

"Why are you being so calm?"

She smiled sadly.

"Because I knew what I was marrying."

I looked at her.

"What does that mean?"

"You."

She laughed softly.

"A man who doesn't know what he wants."

She walked away.

And somehow, that hurt more than anger would have.

---

For the next several days, I tried to prove to Binta that I was serious about our marriage.

I took her to the beach.

We walked through Paynesville Market.

We ate fried plantain from a roadside vendor.

She laughed when I complained about the heat.

I teased her about her stubbornness.

She teased me about my inability to bargain.

For the first time, we were simply a married couple.

Not a family arrangement.

Not a sacrifice.

Not a solution to a problem.

Just Issa and Binta.

And I began discovering things about her I had never noticed.

She loved old songs.

She hated thunderstorms.

She could fall asleep anywhere.

She remembered everyone's birthday.

She secretly loved expensive perfume but never bought it because she thought it was wasteful.

She cried during sad movies and pretended she didn't.

And whenever she was nervous, she played with the edge of her scarf.

I began noticing those little things.

And the more I noticed them, the more dangerous my feelings became.

Because I was starting to fall for her.

Not because my family wanted me to.

Not because she was my wife.

But because she was Binta.

One evening, we sat outside.

The sun was disappearing over Monrovia.

Binta rested her head on my shoulder.

"Issa?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember the first time we met?"

I smiled.

"Unfortunately."

She laughed.

"I remember you didn't even look at me."

"I was busy."

"You were rude."

"You were staring."

"Because I was curious."

"About me?"

"About why the doctor's son looked so miserable."

I laughed.

She lifted her head.

"Did you ever think you'd marry me?"

"No."

"Never?"

"Never."

She smiled.

"I didn't either."

"What changed?"

She looked at me.

"You."

I stared at her.

"Me?"

"You kept showing up."

She smiled.

"You were annoying, but you kept showing up."

I looked away.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe love wasn't always about the first person who made your heart race.

Maybe it was about the person who remained after the excitement disappeared.

The person who stayed.

The person who knew your worst qualities and didn't immediately walk away.

I looked at Binta.

She was watching me.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"I know."

She smiled.

"Why?"

"Because I'm trying to remember the moment I started seeing you differently."

Her smile became smaller.

"Have you found it?"

"No."

"Maybe you haven't yet."

I took her hand.

"Maybe."

She leaned closer.

And for the first time, I kissed her without thinking about Tracy.

That scared me.

Because it felt natural.

---

Then everything changed.

It happened on a Tuesday.

I was at the clinic when my father came up in my thoughts.

I was sorting through his old belongings when I found a notebook.

I opened it.

Most of the pages were filled with medical notes.

Then I found something that wasn't medical.

A name.

TRACY COLE.

I froze.

I read the page.

There were several dates.

All from before I met Tracy.

I turned the page.

There was another name.

BINTA.

Then another.

TRINA.

My heart began pounding.

Why had my father written all three names?

I continued reading.

There was one sentence under them.

Three women. One son. One decision.

I stared at the words.

My father had known.

Before I met any of them.

But how?

I turned another page.

A date.

The date I first met Trina.

Another.

The date Tracy and I became official.

Another.

The date my family first mentioned Binta.

My father had recorded everything.

I flipped to the final page.

There was only one sentence.

When Issa finally chooses, the truth must be revealed.

I stared at it.

Then my phone rang.

My mother.

"Hello?"

"Issa."

Her voice sounded frightened.

"What's wrong?"

"Where are you?"

"At the clinic."

"Don't leave."

"Why?"

"Someone came looking for you."

"Who?"

She hesitated.

"Daniel Cole."

My stomach tightened.

"What did he want?"

"He asked for Binta."

I stood.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Mother."

She began crying.

"Issa, please come home."

"I'll be there."

I ended the call.

Then another message appeared.

From an unknown number.

You think Binta chose you.

Another.

She didn't.

Another.

Your father chose her for you.

I stared at the phone.

Then the final message appeared.

But you still don't know why.

---

That night, I asked Binta.

We were sitting in our room.

"Binta."

"Yes?"

"Why did my father choose you?"

She became quiet.

"I don't know."

"That's not true."

She looked at me.

"What did you say?"

"I found something."

"What?"

I showed her the notebook.

Her eyes widened.

"Where did you get that?"

"My father's office."

She took the notebook.

She read the names.

Her fingers began trembling.

"Issa..."

"What?"

"I've never seen this."

"Then why are you afraid?"

She closed the notebook.

"Because I know what it means."

My heart stopped.

"What?"

She looked at me.

"Your father didn't choose me because he thought I was the perfect wife for you."

"Then why?"

She looked away.

"Because he knew something about my family."

"What?"

She didn't answer.

"Binta."

She whispered:

"He knew my father was dying."

I frowned.

"What?"

"He had a serious illness."

"I know."

"No."

She shook her head.

"You don't know."

She looked at me.

"He didn't just have an illness."

"What did he have?"

"Information."

I stared at her.

"About what?"

"Your father's death."

Silence.

I felt the room become colder.

"What does your father know?"

She shook her head.

"I don't know."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"Then tell me."

She began crying.

"Issa, please."

"What?"

"I don't want this."

"Neither do I."

"Then let it go."

"I can't."

She wiped her tears.

"That's why your father chose me."

I stared at her.

"He knew that one day you'd have to find the truth."

"And you were supposed to help me?"

She nodded.

"How?"

She looked at me.

"By becoming your wife."

I felt something inside me collapse.

"So our marriage was never about love."

She shook her head.

"Not at first."

The words hurt.

"But now?"

She looked directly into my eyes.

"Now it's different."

"How?"

She came closer.

"Now I love you."

I couldn't speak.

She touched my face.

"I didn't expect to."

I closed my eyes.

"Neither did I."

She smiled through her tears.

"Then don't let the past ruin what we have."

I opened my eyes.

"I won't."

She kissed me.

And for a while, there were no secrets.

No families.

No Tracy.

No Trina.

No Gold Creek.

Only us.

---

Later that night, after Binta fell asleep, I remained awake.

I looked at her.

I thought about everything she had said.

Now I love you.

I believed her.

That was the terrifying part.

I believed her completely.

But there was still something I couldn't explain.

The notebook.

My father's notes.

The three names.

Three women.

One decision.

I reached for the notebook again.

I turned to the last page.

Then I noticed something I hadn't seen before.

A faint indentation beneath the paper.

I held it against the lamp.

There were words written on the page underneath.

I could barely make them out.

I read them slowly.

Issa must never know that Binta was not the first woman chosen for him.

My heart stopped.

I turned the page.

Nothing.

I checked again.

Then I saw another line.

The first choice was Tracy.

I stared at the words.

Tracy.

My first love.

The woman I had believed I had chosen for myself.

The woman who had entered my life before Binta.

My father's handwriting continued:

But Tracy's father refused.

I felt cold.

Why?

I kept reading.

Because he knew what would happen if the two families were joined.

The next sentence had been crossed out.

I could barely read it.

But I could make out one word.

Gold Creek.

Then another.

Blood.

I looked at Binta.

She was still sleeping.

I slowly closed the notebook.

Then my phone vibrated.

A message.

From Tracy.

Issa, we need to talk.

I stared at it.

Another message came.

I finally know why your father wanted you to marry Binta.

I swallowed.

Then the final message appeared.

And if I tell you, you'll never look at your wife the same way again.