Chapter Three — The Eighth Time- Anaya
1829 Words
Four months.
It had been four months since the seventh man had walked away.
Four months since Anaya had told herself she was done.
No more introductions.
No more families coming into her home.
No more awkward conversations.
No more men sitting across from her and telling her how beautiful, intelligent, and religious she was before eventually finding a reason why they couldn’t marry her.
She had been done.
Until Karim came.
His name was Karim.
And from the very beginning, he had been different.
At least, that was what Anaya believed.
He had spoken to her directly.
Not through their parents.
Not through his mother.
Not through someone else.
He had called her.
They had talked.
Sometimes for hours.
He asked about her work.
Her interests.
Her faith.
Her childhood.
Her family.
Her ambitions.
He had never once asked her why she was in a wheelchair as though it were something she needed to apologize for.
The first time she had cautiously brought it up, Karim had simply said:
“Anaya, I know you’re disabled. I knew before I spoke to you. It doesn’t change anything for me.”
She had cried after that call.
Not because she was sad.
Because for the first time in a long time, someone had made her feel normal.
Karim’s mother had been kind too.
She had spoken warmly about Anaya.
She had told Hauwa that she was happy her son had found an educated, religious woman from a good family.
Everything had seemed perfect.
So when Karim said he wanted to marry her, Anaya allowed herself to believe him.
She allowed herself to hope.
And that was dangerous.
Because hope had hurt her before.
But this time…
This time felt different.
⸻
“This is the eighth time.”
Anaya looked at her mother through the mirror.
Hauwa was fixing the edge of her hijab.
“The eighth time is the charm,” her mother said confidently.
Anaya smiled.
“That’s what you said last time.”
“And I was wrong.”
“Very wrong.”
Her mother laughed.
“But this time, I mean it.”
Anaya looked at herself.
She was dressed in a beautiful ivory abaya with subtle embroidery around the sleeves. Her hijab was perfectly arranged.
She looked beautiful.
She knew that.
She wasn’t arrogant.
She simply knew that she had never been unattractive.
Her glasses rested on her face.
Her wheelchair was beside her.
Today, she had chosen not to hide it.
Not completely.
But she had positioned herself outside on the ramp before the guests arrived.
She didn’t want everyone watching her maneuver the chair around.
She didn’t want someone staring while she transferred from the chair.
She didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.
She just wanted everything to be perfect.
For once.
Her mother touched her shoulder.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“Karim is going to love you.”
Anaya smiled.
“I hope so.”
“He already does.”
Anaya looked down.
“Maybe.”
Her mother frowned.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Doubt yourself.”
Anaya smiled faintly.
“I’m trying.”
Her mother kissed her forehead.
“Today is your day.”
Anaya whispered:
“Insha’Allah.”
⸻
By noon, the house was full.
More than fifty guests had arrived.
Family.
Friends.
Neighbors.
People from the community.
People who had known Anaya since she was a child.
Her mother had wanted the nikah to remain intimate.
But perhaps she had also wanted to celebrate.
Perhaps she wanted people to see that her daughter was finally getting married.
Perhaps she wanted to silence the whispers.
Perhaps she simply wanted to be proud.
Whatever the reason, Anaya couldn’t blame her.
She wanted the same thing.
She wanted to finally be someone’s wife.
Not because she needed a man to validate her.
But because she wanted companionship.
She wanted a home.
She wanted children one day, if Allah blessed her with them.
She wanted someone who would hold her hand when life became difficult.
Someone who would ask how her day went.
Someone who would sit beside her while she worked.
Someone who would love her exactly as she was.
And Karim had made her believe that perhaps she could have those things.
Her phone was in her lap.
She looked at the screen.
Their last conversation was still there.
Karim: I’ll see you soon.
Anaya smiled.
She had reread those words at least ten times.
She checked the time.
12:15.
The nikah was supposed to begin at noon.
Maybe there had been traffic.
12:30.
She checked again.
12:45.
Her smile disappeared.
1:00.
Still nothing.
Anaya’s fingers tightened around her phone.
She looked toward the road.
Nothing.
No cars.
No Karim.
No Karim’s parents.
Nothing.
Her mother approached.
“Anaya?”
She looked up.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Her mother looked toward the road.
“He’ll come.”
Anaya nodded.
“Yes.”
Her father stood nearby.
She could see the worry in his face.
Adam was speaking quietly with one of the men who had come to help with the nikah.
Something wasn’t right.
Anaya knew it.
She simply refused to accept it.
Not yet.
She opened her phone.
She sent Karim a message.
Anaya: Are you okay? Everyone is waiting.
No response.
She waited.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Nothing.
Her heart began beating faster.
Then she heard it.
A whisper.
“Is he coming?”
Another woman answered quietly.
“I don’t know.”
Someone else whispered:
“This is happening again.”
Anaya froze.
Her eyes remained fixed ahead.
Another voice.
“Poor girl.”
“Eight times?”
“I told you.”
“Maybe she should stop.”
“She’s a doctor. She has a good career.”
“Maybe marriage isn’t meant for everyone.”
“Men won’t accept it.”
Anaya’s throat tightened.
She wanted to disappear.
She wanted the ground to open beneath her.
But she couldn’t move.
She was already sitting outside on the ramp.
Everyone could see her.
Everyone could see the wheelchair.
Everyone could see the empty space beside her.
The space where Karim was supposed to be.
Her hijab suddenly slipped slightly from her head.
She reached up to fix it.
Her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn’t get it right.
Her mother immediately rushed over.
“Let me.”
Anaya pulled away gently.
“No.”
“Anaya.”
“I can do it.”
She adjusted the hijab herself.
Her vision blurred.
She blinked several times.
She couldn’t tell whether it was her eyesight or tears.
Probably both.
She looked at her phone again.
Still nothing.
She called him.
Once.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Her heart sank.
“Ya Allah…”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Her mother sat beside her.
“He will come.”
Anaya looked at her.
“Mama…”
“He will.”
“Please don’t lie to me.”
Her mother’s eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t know what’s happening.”
Anaya looked away.
The guests continued whispering.
She heard everything.
She wished she didn’t.
But she did.
“Maybe she should just focus on her career.”
“She is already almost thirty.”
“Maybe no man wants that responsibility.”
“Her father has money, but money can’t make someone love you.”
“Eight times…”
Eight.
The word seemed to echo inside her head.
Eight.
She had tried eight times.
And every single time, she had believed.
Every single time, she had prayed.
Every single time, she had allowed herself to imagine that perhaps this man would be different.
And every single time…
She was left waiting.
Anaya lowered her head.
Her tears finally fell.
She wiped them quickly.
She didn’t want anyone to see.
She didn’t want pity.
She didn’t want people looking at her as though she were broken.
She wasn’t broken.
She was just hurt.
There was a difference.
Her father came toward her.
He crouched beside her.
“Anaya.”
She looked at him.
His eyes were red.
“Baba…”
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t.”
“I should never have allowed—”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“Please.”
He stopped.
Anaya looked down.
“I just want him to come.”
Her father closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“Maybe something happened.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe his car broke down.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe his phone…”
“Anaya.”
She looked at him.
Her father couldn’t lie to her.
Not anymore.
Something had happened.
Karim was not coming.
She knew.
Her mother knew.
Her father knew.
Adam knew.
Everyone knew.
Except perhaps the guests were still waiting for someone to confirm it.
Anaya closed her eyes.
“Ya Allah.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“Please.”
She took a shaky breath.
“Please let him come.”
Another tear rolled down her cheek.
“I don’t want to do this again.”
Her hands came together.
“Please.”
She had prayed for this man.
She had prayed during the night.
She had made istikhara.
She had asked Allah to guide her.
And she had believed that Karim was the answer.
“Please let him come.”
Silence.
No car.
No footsteps.
No Karim.
Nothing.
Her heart began to crack.
She looked at her phone one final time.
No message.
No call.
Nothing.
She whispered:
“That’s enough.”
Her mother heard her.
“What?”
Anaya shook her head.
“Nothing.”
But inside, she knew.
If Karim didn’t come today, she was finished.
She couldn’t do this anymore.
She couldn’t sit in front of people and wait for another man to decide whether she was worthy.
She couldn’t watch her mother’s face fall.
She couldn’t watch her father’s shame.
She couldn’t hear strangers whispering about her.
She couldn’t keep pretending that rejection didn’t hurt.
She was tired.
So tired.
Anaya lifted her face toward the sky.
Her tears continued falling.
“Allah…”
Her voice trembled.
“I trust You.”
She swallowed.
“I’ve always trusted You.”
Her eyes closed.
“But I’m tired.”
She pressed a hand against her chest.
“Please don’t let me lose my faith because of this.”
A sob escaped her.
“Please.”
She didn’t know how long she remained there.
She didn’t know who was watching.
She didn’t know what anyone was saying anymore.
She only knew that her heart was breaking.
Again.
And this time, something inside her was different.
For the first time, Anaya wasn’t praying for a husband.
She was praying for the strength to stop wanting one.
Because perhaps…
Perhaps marriage simply wasn’t written for her.
And perhaps she needed to finally accept it.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD