An unfinished story

An Unfinished Story – Part 1

I was a girl who lived in the countryside with my parents and my little brother. I was studying in my second year of high school. One day, my mother decided that we would visit my grandmother and my aunt in the city. I was very happy, because behind that visit there was a deep joy hidden in my heart.

We went to my grandmother’s house and sat for a while. Suddenly, we heard a knock on the door and a voice calling, “Grandmother, grandmother.” My heart started beating fast. Yes, it was him. It was my cousin, my aunt’s son, who was five years older than me, 25 years old. He was the person who had always shown interest in me, but I had refused him because of my principles and morals. I was raised to follow what is lawful and to stay away from meaningless relationships in the name of love.

A tear fell from my eye, because I loved him deeply.

My grandmother opened the door, and I hurried to see him as if he would escape. I forgot that we were visiting them, since his house was next to my grandmother’s. He greeted my mother and my brother, then came to me and said, “Hello, dear cousin.” I shook his hand quickly so he would not notice my trembling fingers.

He invited us to have lunch at his house. I rushed to wear my shoes, forgetting to help my grandmother walk. It was my heart that was leading me, not my feet.

We arrived at his house and sat down. He sat facing me, without knowing that I was stealing glances at him and smiling every time. After lunch, my aunt and my mother started talking. By chance, I heard my aunt say, “We will marry Ismail.” A tear rolled down my cheek. I sat in a corner, but curiosity pushed me to go to the living room and ask them, “Who will get married?”

My aunt answered, “Ismail.”

I asked, “And who is the girl? Where did he meet her?”

She replied, “She is from this city, a neighbor of Ismail’s aunt.”

I felt pain for my fate and for my hidden, dying love. I asked, “Is she beautiful?”

She said, “Yes, very beautiful.”

I looked at myself. I was wearing a wide, colorful djellaba, mismatched shoes, and an ordinary hijab. Everything about me was different and simple.

Then my aunt said, “Tomorrow, we will go to see the bride.”

That night, I could not sleep at all. I waited for dawn, thinking about what would happen. Should I kidnap him? Should I end my life? Or should I tell him how I feel? That every time he tried to get closer to me, my love for him grew stronger, and that I only refused him because of my principles and my fear of being hurt.

In the morning, my aunt woke us up to go and see the bride. I washed my face and went to my bag to look for clothes. I started crying, as if I was begging my bag to give me the most beautiful outfit so I could look more elegant than the bride. I knew very well that city girls are stylish. But it was useless. I took my wide djellaba and left the room.

I met Ismail in his formal clothes, combing his hair in front of the mirror. He looked very happy. He said, “Khadija, do I look elegant?”

I answered him only with a movement of my face.

Then we went together to see the woman he was going to marry. I hated hearing her name because of its beauty. They called her Basma.

When we arrived, they welcomed us into their living room. We sat for a while waiting for the bride. My heart was about to explode, and my mind was full of questions. I kept looking at the floor so my secret would not be revealed.

Suddenly, I raised my head to steal another look at him… and I saw him staring at something with amazement.

It was her.

Oh God, how beautiful and elegant she was. I heard a weak voice inside my heart saying, “She is much more beautiful than you…”

Ismail kept looking at her. Then I spoke and said, “Basma, do you study?”

I thought she would admit defeat by saying no. She answered, “No.”

For a moment, life returned to my heart… until she continued and said, “No, no… I already got my university degree.”

It was a double blow: elegant, beautiful, and educated.

Ismail looked at me and raised his eyebrow as if he were saying, “I won the challenge.” He did not know what was happening inside me.

I asked permission to go to the bathroom, just to make sure I had not turned into a lifeless body. I cried there. By chance, she heard me and came to me. She asked, “Why are you crying?”

I told her, “I am sick.”

She brought me a painkiller, forgetting that she was the one who had lit the fire in my heart. Yet, I did not blame her for a single moment. My bad luck was the only reason.

When I came out, they announced the engagement date, as my mother later told me. I was already dead inside, with no senses left.

We got into the car. I wished it would turn over because of how much they praised Basma, forgetting what was hurting me. All the way, he was talking to her. Every message she sent him moved my feelings and shook my heart.

After we arrived, he called me, “Come here, Khadija.”

For a moment, I refused, but my foolish mind convinced me that maybe he had felt my pain. I went to him, and every step expressed my love for him and my death because of him.

But then he asked me, “Which picture do you like so I can send it to Basma?” 😢

That was the last straw. I answered, “I don’t care. All the pictures are beautiful.”

He only said, “You are just a village girl. You don’t understand these things.”

He was joking, but his joke was like a knife stabbing my heart.

I left him and went up to my room, the only place that understood me and comforted me with its silence…

To be continued…