Madina’s POV
It’s been two days since Abubakar told me the wedding was next week. Two days since I heard the words that still echo in my chest like an uninvited knock.
I’ve been waking up early, bathing, moisturizing, dressing up like I’m preparing for a celebration I’m not invited to enjoy. My lashes curled. My scarf ironed to perfection. My brows shaped with precision. If you looked at me from the outside, you’d think I was fine.
And maybe that’s the point.
I have no role in the wedding preparations. No one expects me to cook, or clean, or even welcome her. Everything is being handled, decorators, event planners, personal shoppers. All I have to do is figure out what I’ll wear and how I’ll carry myself.
So, I pretend.
But what I can’t pretend not to hear is his voice. His laughter.
