<p> </p><p> </p><p>—</p><p>The wedding song for the bride and groom was being sung. Everyone clapped as we headed to the designated area. Ibrahim was the one who made me sit. He leaned close to my ear and said, “Smile, so people won’t notice we don’t love each other. I’ll also fake a smile.” I didn’t even respond to him and instead kept looking around. The place was beautifully decorated. I wished I were marrying the person I truly loved. Some people misunderstand love, thinking it’s tied to wealth, power, or poverty.</p><p>In the midst of the event, they played a very pleasant song. Although I’m not a music lover, I truly enjoyed this one. Then I heard them announce that friends of the bride and groom should step forward. To my surprise, my friends from Bauchi, Gombe, and even Potiskum—who weren’t yet married—came out. I was shocked at how organized they were. “Ibrahim, who invited Hauwa and Fakiratu?” I asked.</p><p>“Why are you asking me? How should I know? You’re the one who wanted this marriage. You should have invited people earlier instead of asking now. Anyway, they’ll tell you who invited them before leaving,” he replied sarcastically.</p><p>I kept quiet. Soon, we were called to step forward as the bride and groom. I hesitated, but Ibrahim gave me a firm look, forcing me to stand up. He held my hand as we walked to the stage, where another song was played. The most annoying part was how Ibrahim held onto me, even lifting me as if I were a doll. The crowd cheered for us, including my friends, who wore matching expensive outfits. Afterward, we returned to our seats, and my friends approached us.</p><p>We exchanged greetings, and I asked, “Who invited you to my wedding?” Hauwa replied, “It was Ibrahim. He even paid for our transportation and bought us matching outfits. You should thank him!”</p><p>“Nusaiba, aren’t you lucky? I’ve been secretly hoping to talk to your brother for a while now. I was even planning to ask you for his number, but imagine my surprise when he personally called and told me about the wedding. He even said we’d stay in Borno, not Damaturu. You’re lucky to have a husband who loves you,” Fakiratu said. “But between him and Muhammad, who loves you more?”</p><p>I didn’t answer. Walida Ibrahim then teased, “Our dear bride, tonight, we’ll stay with you for a chat. Don’t try to act shy; just relax. You know we’ve waited for this moment for so long.” I playfully hit her, and we laughed until it was time for them to leave. They boarded a different car, while Ibrahim and I entered ours.</p><p>We didn’t speak the entire journey, like strangers. When we arrived, I went to my room and cried bitterly. This marriage felt like a strange and confusing chapter in my life. I hadn’t even told my mom yet. And I didn’t know how JB was doing. This marriage felt like one meant for someone without a family or dreams.</p><p>What should I do?</p><p>I was struggling to let go of my feelings for JB. Despite everything, I couldn’t remove him from my heart. My friends, Hauwa and Fakiratu, stayed with me that night. They noticed my sadness and gave me advice about being patient with my husband. They praised his character and how much he loved me.</p><p>“It’s true that Ibrahim doesn’t fit the type of man I usually envision for myself, but he has shown me kindness,” I admitted.</p><p>That night, we stayed up talking. I was still preoccupied with thoughts of JB and wondered how he was doing. My phone was with my father, and I didn’t know when I’d get it back.</p><p>The next morning, Ibrahim came in with large bags and handed gifts to each of my friends. He even transferred money to their accounts. Despite not being the one who invited them, I appreciated their presence. Ibrahim drove them back, and I already missed them.</p><p>“Please take me to Inna’s house,” I said to Ibrahim.</p><p>“Not now. I’ll take you later,” he replied.</p><p>On the way home, he asked, “Do you need anything? We should buy it now because once you’re inside, you won’t easily come out.”</p><p>I pouted and replied, “I don’t need anything.”</p><p>When we arrived, I saw a new car parked outside. I didn’t say anything and went straight to my room. Inside, I found several boxes. I ignored them and started tidying up the house. Ibrahim stayed at home until around noon before going to bid farewell to his friends. I didn’t follow him and ended up sleeping. In my dream, I saw Muhammad advising me to fear God, be obedient to my husband, and avoid causing harm. I woke up feeling unsettled.</p><p>Later, Ibrahim returned and handed me my phone, saying my father had given it back. He also reminded me that we’d have visitors the next day. Tears streamed down my face as he prepared to leave the room.</p><p>“So this is the kind of marriage we’ll have? Should I endure your indifference or the pain you’ve caused me?” I cried bitterly. Ibrahim embraced me and said, “Please forgive me, Nusaiba. You’ve entered my life in a way I didn’t expect. How could you hide your love for your cousin from me? If I had known, I wouldn’t have pushed for this marriage. But I love you deeply and can’t bear the thought of losing you. Promise me you’ll leave him behind.”</p><p>I smiled faintly. Ibrahim had shown me patience, care, and love in ways I hadn’t imagined. That night, he treated me with kindness, and we slept peacefully. The next day, we prepared to receive our guests. Before he left to pick them up, I called JB.</p><p>After exchanging greetings, he asked why I hadn’t been answering his calls.</p><p>“JB, I’m sorry. I need to tell you something. Last Friday, I got married. I’m now in Borno,” I said.</p><p>He was shocked and began reciting prayers and crying. “You can’t marry and leave me like this. Even though your husband has treated me kindly, I won’t forgive him. I’ll take revenge,” he declared.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p> </p>
