The Bride He Never Wanted

Kano, Nigeria Ameerah pushed the front door open as quietly as she could, her heart hammering in her chest like a frantic drum. Every step seemed to echo in the empty hallway, but the house was never truly silent when her stepfather was home. Today, though, the quiet felt wrong—thick, heavy, suffocating. She slipped off her shoes slowly, trying not to let the soft tap of her heels betray her presence. Her mother’s voice shattered the stillness. “Please, Mallam… don’t force her,” it cracked, trembling like a fragile bird. “She’s only twenty-one. Let her finish school—” Then came the sharp, punishing c***k. A slap. Ameerah froze, her blood turning cold. Her mother’s small, pained cry followed, reverberating in Ameerah’s ears. Without thinking, she ran into the sitting room, heart hammering so violently it felt like it might burst. And then she saw him. Her stepfather loomed over her mother like a judge over a criminal, chest rising and falling with anger, palm still raised. Her mother’s hand pressed to her reddened cheek, tears brimming in her terrified eyes. Even after years of surviving under him, seeing him now made Ameerah’s knees weak. He turned toward her slowly, deliberately, like a predator acknowledging its prey. His expression was calm, almost casual, untouched by the violence he’d just inflicted. “So, you are back,” he said, flat, hard, unbothered. Ameerah swallowed, tiny, tentative. “Good… evening.” Her mother tried to stand, shaking. “Ameerah, go inside. Please.” “No,” he snapped. “She will stay. She will hear it.” He dragged a chair across the floor with a harsh scrape, sitting down and locking eyes with her. In that look, Ameerah felt the same cold ownership she had always feared. She belonged to him, not the other way around. “You have been given out for marriage.” The words didn’t sound real. Her ears rang. Her mouth went dry. “…What?” she whispered, barely audible. He leaned forward, eyes cold, piercing. “A rich family. Influential. Their son needs a wife immediately. The wedding will happen. Your mother has already started preparing.” Her mother shook her head, tears streaming silently. “I told him it’s too soon. I told him you still have your exams—” A stool flew across the room with sudden force. Her body flinched instinctively. “Shut your mouth. You and this girl should be thanking me. Do you think her useless education will feed us? Do you think anyone would want an orphan with nothing?” His words cut like knives, twisting inside her chest. Ameerah’s hands trembled as she took a careful step back, instincts screaming at her to run—but the door felt impossibly far, and he was too strong. “Why?” Her whisper was fragile. “Why me? Why now?” His jaw tightened. “Because your bride price will clear my debt. And after that, you will no longer be my burden.” Her heart shattered quietly, the pieces falling into a hollow, cold pit she couldn’t reach. Her mother crawled toward her, voice trembling. “I tried to stop it,” she whispered. “Wallahi, Ameerah, I tried.” He pointed at the door like a general commanding troops. “Two weeks. Prepare yourself. You are marrying Alhaji Rayhan Umar Ibrahim. Whether you like it or not.” Ameerah stared at him—the man she feared more than storms, darkness, or loneliness—the man who controlled her life with fists, threats, and cruelty. And in that moment, clarity struck. No one was coming to save her. Not her mother. Not anyone. She would walk into this marriage alone—a girl sold to a stranger whose bride had disappeared, a replacement no one wanted, a sacrifice made to pay another man’s debt. The weight pressed against her chest, suffocating. She felt herself collapse slightly against the wall, knees weak. Every breath was shallow, every heartbeat deafening. She wanted to scream, to fight, to vanish—anything to erase the impossible choice that loomed ahead. Her mind raced. Who was this man? What did he want? Would he care that she had never spoken to him, never seen his face? Could she survive two weeks—let alone a lifetime—under his roof? Her mother’s sobs cut through her thoughts. “Ameerah…” she crawled closer, trembling. “I know… I know you are strong. But this… I am so sorry. Wallahi…” Ameerah’s own tears pricked her eyes, but she could not cry yet—not when her stepfather watched. Her fingers clenched the fabric of her dress, knuckles whitening. She had survived before. She would survive this too. Somehow. --- The days that followed blurred into a haze of packing, whispered threats, and stolen moments with her mother, who tried desperately to teach her small ways to survive—prayers whispered under trembling breaths, instructions on how to behave, how to stay small, how not to give anyone reason to hurt her further. Ameerah packed silently, carefully folding the few clothes she owned, hiding letters from her father, photographs of herself as a girl before the world had taught her invisibility. Each piece she placed into her small suitcase felt like a farewell—not to her home, but to the life she thought she knew. The wedding preparations were underway in her stepfather’s small compound. The courtyard had been decorated in a rushed attempt at grandeur—strings of lights hung unevenly, white fabric draped over rough wooden poles, plastic chairs lined the edges. The scent of rosewater mixed with dust from the dry Kano air. The contrast between pretension and harsh reality made Ameerah feel like she was standing inside someone else’s nightmare. She arranged her clothes for the ceremony with trembling hands—a modest, pale blue abaya with delicate embroidery at the sleeves. She stared at herself in the cracked mirror, barely recognizing the reflection. The girl who had laughed with friends, who had quietly dreamed of graduating from the University and a future she could shape—she seemed to have vanished into the folds of the abaya she now held tight around herself. Her hands shook as they ran over the fabric. She wanted to cry, to scream, to run. Instead, she whispered the little prayers she knew. Ya Allah… give me strength. Help me survive this. Help me protect my heart… The courtyard echoed with the footsteps of arriving relatives, gossiping cousins, women laughing and judging, children running obliviously. Each sound made her flinch, a reminder this was no longer her home, no longer a safe place. She sat on the edge of a small wooden chair, fingers tracing the embroidery on her abaya, trying to steady her racing heart. Every tick of the clock felt like a countdown. Every whisper from the adults nearby felt like a threat. Her mother came to her side, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Ameerah, you are brave,” she said softly. “I… I know this isn’t fair. But you… you can endure it. Allah is with you.” Ameerah nodded silently, swallowing hard. She forced herself to straighten, shoulders stiff, chin high. She would survive. She had no choice. Her stepfather appeared at the edge of the courtyard, glancing to ensure everyone had arrived. His eyes caught hers briefly, and a shiver ran down her spine. In that look, she saw control, calculation, ownership. She would have no say in anything. The small courtyard felt enormous, the walls pressing in as the sun began to set. The sky turned a dull, heavy orange, casting long shadows over the rough concrete and scattered chairs. Every step of preparation felt unreal, like moving through someone else’s life, not her own. Ameerah tightened her fists in her lap, whispering another prayer. Her chest burned with fear, anticipation, and an unnameable tension. She had not yet met the man she was promised, but she could feel the weight of his name hovering over the courtyard, over every whispered conversation, over the flickering lights and dusty air. Her stomach churned. Her heart hammered. As the evening cooled against her flushed skin, she realized one truth: there was no going back. The life she knew was over. The life she would now live—unknown, uncertain, dangerous—was about to begin. Ameerah exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. One thing was certain: when the ceremony eventually began, when she finally faced the man she was promised, her world would shift forever. And deep down, a chill ran straight to her bones… Nothing would ever be the same again.