They descended the steps with calm and joy spread across their faces. He couldn't take his eyes off her, marveling at her cheerfulness and delight, something he hadn't seen in her for a long time since he promised her a return to the Islamic school located behind their street.

In the large living room, adorned with luxurious furniture, he sat on a lavish chair while she slid down to sit on the floor, her face radiating joy.

He stared at her, trying to discern who she was.

"Masha Allah," he said, seeing her so beautiful. She was a fair, beautiful young woman, barely twenty years old. He was also a handsome young man, dressed in well-tailored clothes that showcased his affluence, his skin smooth and fair, though not as fair as hers.

"Yah Sadam, when are we going home?" she asked, looking at him with her beautiful, sparkling eyes.

"You know what Hajja said, we shouldn't think about going home until you are close to giving birth."

Quickly, she lowered her head, which made him look at her hastily and then look away, smacking his lips.

In her sweet, melodious voice, she said, "So now I will be here, and I won't see my mom, Yah Sadam? Why can't you tell them what is on your mind?"

He shouted at her, his face hardening as if he wasn't the same person who had just been smiling, "No one does that to Sadam, no woman can. Not even one better than you, let alone you, a small girl with a fish brain. You want to challenge me? It won't happen. You won't go home, and if you mention going home again, you won't go to school. From now on, I won't be lenient with you, giving you the audacity to disrespect me. Unbelievable."

Her body began to tremble, and hot tears streamed down her cheeks. With her shaking hands clasped together, she started apologizing, but he didn't even look at her. He just got up and left angrily, slamming the door behind him.

She lay her head on the couch, starting a new round of crying. Her voice trembling, she began to speak, "What is my fault? Why is this happening to me? Why can't you be patient and support our life with open arms? Why, as a woman, can I accept what our parents did to us, but you, a man, cannot? Why do you despise me? What did I do to you?" She finished with a scream, banging her head against the arm of the couch.

As for Sadam, after leaving the large courtyard with high security, he got into a black Benz, sitting down with a frown. God knows he doesn't like that girl. He just does something because of her father. Indeed, she is a complete woman with beauty and figure, but he can't see it at all. She has never impressed him. Her youthfulness irritates him. How can she be ready for marriage if not for her father's outrageous stubbornness? He would have never wished to know Dr. Lukman for the rest of his life.

He sighed, taking out his phone, he found a number saved as "Sugar" and dialed it.

"Hello, love," came a voice from the other end.

"Where are you?" he asked, frowning.

"I'm at home, lying down, my heart and body filled with longing for you."

"Hmm, meet me at the office now," he said, hanging up.

She screamed with delight and hung up. Quickly, she got up, took some medicine, opened the fridge in her room, fetched water, and swallowed the pills. She washed her face, applied some thick body lotion, and put on a bra and panties that clung to her dark skin, then slipped on a large hijab and left.

"Amira, where are you going?" asked a woman who looked very much like her.

"I'm going to Rafi'a's house to pick up something," she said, pouting.

"Okay, come back soon. I'm going to visit Mama Muhammad to chat."

"Okay, see you later," Amira replied, relieved that her mother wouldn't question her. Then she left quickly, almost tripping.

She hailed a tricycle (Napep) and directed the driver where to take her. He agreed, and she got in, heading straight to his office, where he was a manager of a plumbing supplies store selling items like heaters, sinks, bathtubs, and the like. The workers liked the customer, so they never stopped her, allowing her to slip in easily.