Madina’s POV
It’s been three days since the wedding. Three mornings of waking up to a house that feels the same yet tastes different, the air thicker, the walls quieter, my heart learning to live with an ache that doesn’t go away when the sun rises.
Abubakar left early this morning. He said he had errands to run and would stop by Samira’s house. He said it so casually, Samira’s house. I nodded like it didn’t matter. I’m getting used to nodding.
By midday, the house was full again. Aunties, neighbours, cousins all coming to greet amarya ta biyu, the new bride. Some stop by my house too, to greet me, the first wife, the one who “made it all easy for him.” That’s what they say.
“Allah ya saka da alkhairi, Madina.”
“You have a good heart.”
They sip my tea and eat my fried snacks and tell
