Aonat’s dilemma

The Night Everything Shift

Aonat’s Dilemma

 Chapter Three (Part One)

The house woke before the sun.

By dawn, our compound was already overflowing — voices, footsteps, laughter, and Mama’s favorite Hausa songs mixing with the clatter of pots in the kitchen. The air smelled of fried meat, perfume, and dust, drifting through open doors and windows. Guests had come from everywhere — Kaduna, Kano, even Sokoto. It felt like every relative we’d ever met had suddenly remembered where we lived.

Mama moved through the chaos like a commander, her wrapper tied tight, her voice firm, warm, and excited all at once. Baba hosted his friends from the masjid in the sitting room, and Yahaya—two days away from being a married man—was greeting guests with calm, practiced smiles.

I carried trays of zobo and snacks like someone navigating a storm. Zulaiha was decorating the house, tying ribbons to everything she could reach. Baba hated “excess,” but Zulaiha said weddings were not weddings without “small i********: drama.”

By mid-morning, the knock we’d been expecting finally came.

Mama rushed to the door, straightening herself even though she had been waiting since daybreak.

Maryam—my brother’s bride-to-be—stepped in with her mother.

She was… elegance in human form.

Peach abaya. Neat veil. Soft henna. A polite, gentle smile.

The kind of girl Baba would describe as “well raised.”

The kind of girl who fit into our world effortlessly.

“The girl is pure adab,” Mama whispered proudly.

I nodded, watching Maryam laugh quietly with Zulaiha, watching how naturally she blended into our home.

I tried to imagine myself in her place.

I couldn’t.

After lunch, Yahaya’s friends arrived to discuss last-minute plans, and the house grew even louder. Baba’s voice carried from the sitting room as he talked about the dowry. Mama and the aunties were arguing about colors and fabrics.

I slipped into my room for a moment of air.

My phone buzzed.

Wadhud:

how’s the wedding chaos, my groom’s sister?

I smiled.

Me:

loud. tiring. the whole world is here.

Wadhud:

i should come and collect my own jollof.

Me:

come and help Mama fry meat first.

Wadhud:

lmao. say no more. i’ll come after class.

I shook my head, smiling like an i***t.

A knock came.

“Can I enter?”

It was Maheen.

She sat beside me, concern in her eyes.

“You look tired. Or… something else.”

I hesitated. “It’s just a lot. Yahaya is marrying someone Baba chose and he’s okay with it. I don’t think I could ever be that calm.”

She stared at me for a moment.

“You’re thinking about Abdul again.”

I looked away. “Maybe.”

Maheen sighed softly.

“Aonat… you know I care about you. But don’t risk everything for something uncertain. You and he—”

“Maheen.”

I didn’t mean to sound sharp, but I did.

She softened her voice. “I’m only trying to protect you.”

But her words left a cold weight in the room.

By evening, the house finally quieted. Yahaya and Baba were discussing the next day’s walimah. Mama and Zulaiha were sorting fabrics like the wedding depended entirely on the shade of pink.

I stepped outside to breathe.

The sky was painted in orange and purple as the muezzin called for Maghrib. After praying, I sat on the verandah steps.

Another message from him.

Wadhud:

you didn’t accept my challenge. should i come for the fried meat or not?

Me:

if Baba sees you, he’ll turn you into suya.

Wadhud:

then sneak me some.

I laughed before I could stop myself.

Then his next message came:

Wadhud:

you sound exhausted. you okay?

I typed slowly.

Me:

i’m just overwhelmed. everything is too much.

A few seconds later:

Wadhud:

let’s meet tomorrow. just one hour. dinner. breathe a little. please.

My heart said yes immediately.

My mind whispered Baba’s rule: “No boyfriend. No shame.”

But I typed:

Me:

okay. one hour.

The next day moved like a blur.

Guests. Errands. Food. Laughter.

Maryam blending perfectly into the family.

By evening, my phone buzzed again and again.

I slipped out quietly, telling Mama I was taking wrappers to the tailor.

The restaurant near Samaru was small, warm, softly lit.

Wadhud was already waiting, smiling the moment he saw me.

“You came,” he said, standing up.

“You doubted?” I teased.

“I hoped.”

We sat near the window, the world outside glowing under the dim streetlights. The waiter brought drinks. For a few quiet minutes, we listened to the hum of students passing by.

“You look tired,” he said softly.

“I am. Everything is… too much.”

“Then talk to me.”

So I did.

About the wedding.

About expectations.

About how I didn’t know where I fit anymore.

He listened with an honesty that disarmed me.

“You’re trying to be perfect for everyone,” he said. “But you don’t owe the world that much. Just be you.”

We laughed, talked, teased.

We shared food.

Our hands brushed — light, soft, warm.

Then—

a sharp click.

I turned.

Standing near the counter was Uncle Bashir.

Baba’s cousin.

Wedding guest.

Family.

His phone was raised.

A picture glowed on the screen.

My heart dropped.

“Uncle—” I tried to speak, but he turned and walked out quickly.

Wadhud touched my hand. “Who was that?”

“My father’s cousin,” I whispered. “He… he took a picture.”

The air shifted.

My throat tightened.

“I have to go.”

“Aonat, wait—”

But I was already out the door, the night air slapping my face as I hurried into a keke.

All I could hear was that single camera click echoing in my head.

When I got home, the house was still buzzing with wedding noise. Mama didn’t notice me slip inside. I went straight to my room, shaking.

My phone buzzed.

Wadhud:

maybe he won’t say anything. breathe.

But far across town,

under the glow of his phone screen,

Uncle Bashir was staring at the photo.

Then he opened w******p.

Searched for:

“Alhaji Isa — Aonat’s Father.”

And pressed send.

The message delivered instantly.

A few seconds later—

my phone vibrated again.

This time, it was Baba’s name glowing on the screen.

And right there, I felt my world begin to c***k.