Her mother collapsed to the ground, screaming, beating her chest. Then, in fury, she cursed:
> “That boy is a disgrace! People praise him in prayer, but he doesn’t even know God!
May Allah curse him!
It would have been better if this marriage never happened — better than this doomed two-week marriage that’s been cut to pieces!
He enjoyed you and then sent you home with this wicked paper!”
She continued shouting uncontrollably while Amrah silently walked to her old room and lay down, lost in thought about her shattered life — a life that now seemed like a terrible dream.
---
A few days later…
Within two days, the news spread throughout the neighborhood — and among her friends and the rich families who had attended her wedding.
Sympathizers came to console her, while gossips came to feast on her downfall.
Everyone had a different version of the story:
Some said Amrah had affairs with five men, which was why Salis refused to marry her.
Others claimed Nasir divorced her because he caught her with his friend Adam.
Soon, everyone despised her. Even her own mother avoided her out of shame.
Though she had officially completed her iddah (waiting period), she knew there was no true iddah for her — because Nasir had never even touched her after marriage.
---
Three months later…
On a Thursday evening — exactly three months and ten days after returning home — Amrah was still withdrawn, nursing her wounded heart.
Suddenly, a young boy entered the house and called out:
> “Someone’s here asking to see Amrah.”
Her mother called her sharply. Amrah came out, irritated, asking what the messenger wanted.
Her mother snapped angrily:
> “Go outside — someone wants to see you!”
Amrah frowned and said:
> “Tell him I’m not here.”
Before she could finish, her mother threw a cup near her and shouted:
> “You better go right now! If I have to come drag you, I’ll do it.
You should be grateful someone even bothers to come for you now. When was the last time anyone came to our door asking for you? Go and see who it is before I lose my temper!”
Amrah reluctantly pulled on her hijab and stepped outside, her face swollen from crying.
There, sitting in a car with both feet on the ground, was the same elderly man she had seen on the day of her divorce.
She froze, wide-eyed. The memory of that day flooded back — his calm face, his quiet dignity. She quickly greeted him respectfully.
He smiled kindly and replied:
> “You’re surprised to see me, aren’t you?
Actually, since that day, I followed you home to know where you lived.”
Amrah smiled faintly and asked:
> “Thank you, sir. But… what brings you here today?”
The old man smiled again and said softly:
> “I came to ask for your hand in marriage.”
Amrah’s eyes widened in shock.
> “But… I’m not a maiden. I was once married,” she said.
The man chuckled warmly, his white Makkah-style teeth flashing as he said:
> “I already did my research about you before coming here.”
Amrah frowned slightly and asked:
> “So you mean you still want me — after all that happened?”
The old man smiled again and replied:
> “Whoever you are, it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve seen and heard enough to know what I want.
I wish to marry you — even if you are, as people say, one of those who’ve been ‘shared among men.’
I’m not a young man chasing pleasure. I came with a sincere intention.
If you accept, we can marry as soon as tomorrow.”
Amrah’s heart thumped heavily in her chest. She had grown fearful of men — but something about this man’s calm, mature presence made her feel at ease.
He continued gently:
> “My name is Alhaji Hamza Mai Akwai.
I already have two wives and nine children.
Tell me, Amrah — can you marry an old man like me?
If you agree, I’ll give you your own house. You won’t have to live with my other wives.”
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