Humaira's POV
The day had finally arrived, the day Professor Bello was supposed to come pick me up. A mixture of anticipation and nervous excitement coursed through me, making sleep nearly impossible the night before. I had spent hours tossing and turning, imagining what awaited me beyond the familiar walls of our home.
Ummah and I had prepared meticulously for his visit. She had helped me pick out my best clothes—a simple but elegant outfit that struck a balance between modesty and grace. As I smoothed my hands over the fabric, I couldn't shake the feeling that today marked the beginning of something bigger than I could comprehend.
"Everything will be fine, Insha Allah," Ummah reassured me, her warm eyes filled with hope.
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. I wanted to believe her. I needed to believe her.
As the morning wore on, our anticipation grew. We sat in silence, our breaths held in quiet expectation, ears straining for the faint hum of an approaching engine. Any moment now, I told myself, Professor Bello would arrive, and this waiting would be over.
But as the hours ticked by, the silence outside remained unbroken. No car, no knock on the door—just the distant chatter of our neighbors and the occasional bark of a stray dog. I shifted uneasily, glancing at Ummah. She hadn't said much, but I could see the concern creeping into her features. Her eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, her brow furrowing.
"He should be here by now," she murmured, more to herself than to me.
I swallowed hard, forcing down the knot of worry forming in my chest. Had something happened? Had he changed his mind? The thought made my stomach twist uncomfortably. I had been so sure, so ready to take this step—but now, with each passing minute, doubt started to settle in.
Ummah sighed and placed a reassuring hand on mine. "Let's wait a little longer," she said gently. "Maybe he's just delayed."
I nodded, but the seed of unease had already been planted.
At first, we made excuses for him. Maybe he got caught up with work. Maybe his phone was off. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
But as the hours dragged into days, those maybes started to feel hollow. Ummah's concern deepened, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She tried calling again and again, each attempt met with the same cold response—unreachable. She sent messages, hoping for even the smallest acknowledgment. Nothing.
By the third day, the truth became undeniable, Professor Bello wasn't coming. And he wasn't going to explain why.
Every time a car engine rumbled outside, my siblings would rush to the window, their tiny hands gripping the frame, their faces filled with anticipation. They would scan the street below, their eyes searching for a familiar face, a familiar car. And every time, their shoulders slumped, their excitement fading into quiet disappointment.
I stopped watching after the first few times. The wait was suffocating. Each passing second felt like a betrayal, as if the world had played a cruel joke on us. I wanted to believe there was a reason for the silence, a justifiable explanation. But deep down, a gnawing fear had already taken root—Professor Bello wasn't coming.
I wanted to argue, to tell her that maybe something had happened—maybe there was a reason for his silence—but deep down, I wasn't sure I believed it myself. The longer the days stretched without a word from him, the harder it became to hold on to hope.
Ummah's frustration simmered, turning into something sharper, something bitter. She would shake her head whenever his name was mentioned, her lips pressing into a thin line. "A man who truly wants to help doesn't disappear like this," she muttered one evening as she stirred the masa batter, her movements brisk and tense.
The disappointment settled into my bones, heavy and unshakable. I had spent weeks picturing my new life, imagining what it would be like to study, to leave this place, to finally have a real chance. Now, that future felt like a cruel illusion—dangling just close enough for me to see it before vanishing completely.
But even as the anger and hurt settled in, I knew one thing for sure: I couldn't afford to dwell on it. Life had to go on.
But I couldn't bring myself to give up on him. Something inside me refused to believe that he would abandon us without a word. I held on to the thought that something must be stopping him, that there must be a reason for his silence. Even when Ummah lost hope, I continued to hold on, my heart refusing to give up on the promise he had made to us.
A whole month passed, and we still hadn't heard from him. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. No calls, no messages—just silence. At first, I reassured myself that he would come, that something must have delayed him. But with each passing day, my hope dimmed, and the reality of our situation became harder to ignore.
Then, my uncles began to visit. At first, they came under the guise of checking on us, but it wasn't long before their real purpose became clear. They brought up the marriage issue again this time they were adamant.
I was horrified. How could they even suggest such a thing? I was still just a child. My dreams, my education, my future—none of it mattered to them. To them, a girl's worth was measured by how soon she could be married off.
The day they sat in our parlor discussing potential suitors, I broke down. I sobbed until my chest ached, my frustration spilling out in heaving breaths. "Why should I be forced into marriage instead of being in school?" I cried, my voice shaking with desperation.
But my tears meant nothing to them.
Abdulkareem and Qasim tried to calm me down, their voices gentle, their hands reaching out to comfort me. But I was too far gone, too consumed by the unfairness of it all. Why did they get to go to school while I was stuck selling masa and kosai with Ummah? Why was my future being decided for me, as if my dreams didn't matter?
I lashed out at them, my frustration boiling over. "It's not fair!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "You get to study, to have a future, but what about me? What about what I want?"
They looked at me, stunned, their faces filled with hurt, but I couldn't stop. My anger was a storm, and I was caught in its center.
That day, Ummah didn't say a word to me. She didn't scold me, didn't try to comfort me, just silence. And somehow, that hurt more than anything.
I spent the rest of the day alone in my room, curled up on my thin mattress, my emotions raw and simmering. The walls felt like they were closing in, trapping me in a future I didn't want.
One night Ummah came to my room, she took a deep breath, her hands folded in her lap, as if steadying herself for what she was about to say. "Humaira," she began, her voice gentle but firm. "I know this isn't what you want, but I need you to understand… we don't have many options."
My throat tightened. I already knew where this conversation was going, and I wasn't ready for it. "Ummah, please," I whispered, shaking my head.
She reached for my hands, squeezing them with a warmth that both comforted and unsettled me. "You think I want this for you?" Her voice trembled slightly. "You think I don't dream of seeing you in school, of you having a life better than mine? But dreams don't put food on the table. They don't pay hospital bills. They don't protect us from the shame of our situation."
Tears pricked at my eyes. "But marriage isn't the solution," I argued, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's a cage."
Ummah closed her eyes for a moment, as if swallowing back her own pain. "And what is our life now, Humaira? Are we not already trapped?"
Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. I could see it in her face—the exhaustion, the quiet resignation. This wasn't about what she wanted for me. This was about survival.
I wanted to scream, to fight, to make her see that there had to be another way. But looking at her, at the woman who had sacrificed everything for us, I felt my resolve waver.
The weight of our reality pressed down on me, and for the first time, I felt truly powerless.
"Please, Humaira, just agree," she said, her voice cracking. "I have no choice, no strength to fight for you. This man, he's from a good family, a wealthy background. He'll sponsor your education, give you a better life." Her words felt like a suffocating shroud, wrapping around me, squeezing tight. I thought of all the times I'd dreamed of going to school, of learning, of growing. Now, those dreams seemed to be slipping away.
As I looked around our living room, I felt a wave of frustration wash over me. Why should I be forced into marriage instead of being in school? I thought, my anger and frustration simmering just below the surface. Memories of happier times lingered in every corner, taunting me with what could never be again.
Ummah's eyes seemed to bore into my soul, as if searching for a glimmer of understanding. I nodded, pretending to agree, but inside, I was screaming. The sound of my own heartbeat was deafening, a reminder that I was trapped, with no escape.
My uncles arrived soon after, their faces stern and unyielding. "This is the best decision for you, Humaira," one of them said, his voice firm and unrelenting. "You'll be well taken care of, and your education will be sponsored." But I saw the greed in their eyes, the way they looked at me like a commodity to be traded. Ummah informed them that I had agreed to the marriage, and soon, preparations were underway.
Ummah busied herself with wedding plans, each detail tightening the noose around my dreams. I wanted to go to school, to learn and grow, but Ummah's mind was made up, knowing she stood no chance to fight with my Uncles, especially Uncle Shamsudeen who doesn't joke with that thing called marriage.
These were the darkest days of my life. But just as things seemed to be moving forward, Professor Bello appeared a few weeks before my wedding, his arrival a surprise that would change everything. His eyes, kind and gentle, seemed to see right through me, to the desperation and fear that lay hidden beneath my surface.