Not long after, she came out wrapped in a towel. She had just performed ablution, and her long hair was dripping wet from washing with shampoo. Standing before the mirror, she dried her body with a small towel, then reached for lotion and rubbed it gently across her skin. After that, she picked up a comb and began brushing her long, silky hair, applying scented oils that released a delightful fragrance into the air. She then powdered her face and painted her lips with lipstick.

One look at her and it was obvious—Zainab was truly beautiful. Her figure alone was enough to overwhelm any young man, for God had blessed her with a form that captured the heart at first sight. She was of chocolate complexion, medium height—neither tall nor short—with dazzling, wide eyes that sparkled, and finely shaped brows. Her small mouth, with its tiny white teeth, added charm to her long face and slender nose, delicate like a pen. From head to toe, God had given her a perfect figure.

Her shape was what people called the “eight figure.” She had striking hips and full breasts that could stir desire in any healthy man’s heart.

When she was done dressing up, she stood tall, took a flowing gown from her wardrobe, and slipped it on. She used the matching scarf as a veil. After spraying herself with perfume, she returned to the mirror and examined herself. Seeing her own overwhelming beauty, tears welled in her eyes as she thought of her late parents. She struggled to swallow her sobs, touched up her makeup, and spread a prayer mat to perform her prayers.

As she sat making supplications for her parents, Aunty Maijiddah entered the room. Seeing Zainab deep in prayer, she quietly sat on the edge of the bed, waiting. Zainab took her time reciting various prayers before finally wiping her face and turning, speaking softly and respectfully:

“Good afternoon, Aunty.”

With a smile, Maijiddah replied warmly,

“I’m fine, Zeey. How are you feeling? I hope you’re better now.”

“Yes, I feel better, Aunty.”

Maijiddah exhaled, full of sympathy.

“That’s what I wanted to hear. Come to the parlor—Abbanu Jawaheer and Doctor Nazeer are waiting for you.”

Quietly, Zainab answered,

“I’ll be out soon.”

“Alright, I’ll be waiting,” said Maijiddah, as she left.

In the parlor, Doctor Nazeer sat with Abbanu Jawaheer. A tray of food and snacks lay before them. They ate and joked while Maijiddah watched, laughing along.

Inside, Zainab adjusted herself carefully, determined not to let anyone suspect her inner turmoil. She put on her hijab over her gown, slipped on heeled sandals, and walked out, closing her door gently behind her.

By the time she entered the parlor, Jawaheer’s children were already asleep on the carpet. The men had finished their meal; Abbanu had retired to his room with Maijiddah. Zainab quietly sat at a distance from Doctor Nazeer, her head lowered, while his eyes burned with longing as he watched her. His heart pounded with love and yearning, desperate to win her affection and have her accept him as her husband the second time around.

The room grew silent as both sank into their thoughts. At last, unable to endure her reserved silence, Doctor Nazeer spoke:

“Zeey, no words from you today?”

Shyly, she lifted her eyes.

“Good afternoon, brother Nazeer.”

He smiled gently, touched by her softness.

“Only after I begged for it?”

She fell silent, unsure what to say. His dignified presence made it difficult for anyone to meet his gaze carelessly. When she remained quiet, he chuckled softly.

“You’ve gone quiet, little sister.”

“What do you want me to say?” she asked softly.

He sighed deeply.

“How are you feeling, Zeey?”

“I’m much better.”

“Good. Let me examine you, to see if your pain has eased.”

Without delay, he opened his briefcase, took out his tools, and came to her side. As he ran tests, her heart pounded furiously. She sat stiffly, hardly able to move, overwhelmed by the nearness of the man who had captured her soul.

When he finished, he wrote down some prescriptions, stealing glances at her from the corner of his eye. She fiddled nervously with a thread in her hand. Their eyes suddenly met and locked. Through his gaze, he poured out pure, fiery love. She held his eyes for a moment before forcing herself to look away.

With a sigh, he said softly,

“Success, Zeey. Your pain has eased a lot. Here are the medicines—once you take them, by God’s will, you’ll be free from this illness as if it never was.”

In a low voice, she replied,

“Thank you very much, brother Nazeer.”

“Don’t thank me, little sister,” he murmured. “It is you who deserves pity.”

Then he added,

“Go call your brother Hayatu, so we can greet one another.”

She rose quickly.

“Alright, I’ll call him now.”

Leaving the parlor with a heavy heart, she knocked gently at Barrister Hayatu’s door. Aunty Maijiddah’s voice came from inside:

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Aunty,” Zainab answered.

“What do you want, Zainab?”

“Aunty, Doctor Nazeer wishes to greet Abbanu Jawaheer.”

“Oh, so he has finished your check-up?”

“Yes, Aunty.”

“Alright, he’ll come now.”

“Okay, Aunty.”

Zainab returned to the parlor and told Nazeer softly, her head bowed,

“Brother Nazeer, he’s coming out.”

He handed her the prescription. She took it reluctantly, and he said,

“Alright, you can go now.”

Without a word, she walked away to her room. He watched her until she disappeared, then turned to the television. Soon, Hayatu entered the parlor, wearing a fine, dark shadda. He apologized for keeping him waiting, but Nazeer brushed it off.

After some banter, Nazeer grew serious and confessed,

“Please, Hayatu, help me. Convince Zee to marry me. I can’t sleep at night because of my love for her. It overwhelms my heart every day, yet she refuses to accept me.”

Hayatu felt pity for his friend.

“Be patient, Nazeer. If she is destined to be yours, she will marry you, whether she wants to or not.”

Nazeer shook his head, his face full of pain.

“You can’t understand, Hayatu. Zainab’s love has consumed my heart and blood. How can I tear her out of my soul? Please, understand—I am drowning in love with her.”

Hayatu placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“I do understand. But remember, she is still burdened by the wounds of her past. Her ex-husband, Laweezi, harmed her deeply. That is why she struggles to move on.”

Nazeer’s heart tightened with sorrow.

“What exactly did Laweezi do to her? What kind of life did he put her through?”

Hayatu sighed.

“It’s a long story. I’ll come to your office and tell you in detail.”

Nazeer nodded.

“Alright, Barrister. Whatever you say.”

Soon after, Nazeer excused himself and left. The two men walked out together, hand in hand, talking warmly until they reached the parking lot. Before parting, Hayatu said,

“Greet Daddy and baby Khairat for me.”

With a faint smile, Nazeer replied,

“I will. And please—keep persuading Zeey. Without her, my life feels empty. Losing her could destroy me.”

Hayatu’s heart filled with pity. He forced a smile and reassured him,

“By God’s will, she will be yours. Every hardship comes with ease.”

“Amen,” Nazeer whispered before driving away.

---

At his home—a large, elegant mansion—Nazeer parked in the lot and remained seated for a long while, drowning in thought. His face carried the weight of sorrow. Finally, he stepped out, locked the car, and walked inside, greeting the guard cheerfully to mask his grief.

He went straight to his room, showered, wrapped a towel around his waist, and then dressed in a jalabiya after applying lotion. Sprawling on his bed, he closed his eyes and thought of Zainab. In his mind, she was there before him, listening to his heart. Truly, God had tested him with an intense love for her—a love that began when she was still a maiden, before Laweezi married her. Losing her then had driven him to marry the late mother of his daughter Khairat, who had died ten months ago during childbirth…