A choice and A chance

The living room in Yusuf's parents' mansion was filled with quiet tension.

His mother, seated gracefully in her emerald kaftan, sipped her tea with deliberate calm. His father, however, didn't bother with subtlety.

"You are a man, Yusuf. A Muslim man. It is not forbidden to take a second wife."

Yusuf's jaw tightened. "It's not about religion, Baba. It's about Zainab."

His mother raised an eyebrow. "Zainab left. You're raising a child in two different homes. That's not stability."

"She didn't leave," Yusuf replied calmly. "She chose peace. And I'm trying to be worthy of it again."

His father slammed his cup on the table. "She's not coming back! A good woman has already been suggested—Fatimah. Respectable. Polite. From a good family."

"I'm not marrying someone I don't love," Yusuf said. "Zainab might never take me back, but I won't betray what we had by pretending with someone else."

His mother sighed. "Stubborn like your daughter. Both of you—fire and spirit. But fire burns, Yusuf. Don't forget that."

He stood, bowing slightly. "And spirit heals. You taught me that, Mama."

Then he left before they could say more.

---

Meanwhile, Naima sat across from Musa at the outdoor café. It was the third time they'd met in two weeks. The conversations were getting deeper, the laughs more natural, the silences more meaningful.

Naima stirred her coffee slowly. "You know, I didn't think this would feel easy."

"What?" Musa asked, eyes on her.

"This," she gestured between them. "Talking. Not running. I've always been the one walking away first."

"Maybe you were just walking toward the wrong people," he said, shrugging.

She smiled, shaking her head. "You sound like Zainab."

"I'll take that as a compliment. She's brave."

Naima looked away. "We weren't always brave. We were just... hurt. And tired of pretending we weren't."

Musa reached for her hand. She didn't pull away this time.

"You don't have to be brave with me, Naima. You can be scared. You can be honest. Just... be with me."

She blinked, her walls cracking. "You really think we can work?"

"I think we already are."

---

Zainab was at her publisher's office, staring at a print mock-up of her book cover. The Real Wife was no longer just a digital success—it was going to print.

The publisher, a smartly dressed woman in her 30s, beamed. "You've got interviews lined up, a podcast invitation, and requests for readings."

Zainab exhaled. "Wow. That's… fast."

"You wrote from truth, Zainab. Women feel your words. And they don't just want to read your story. They want to see you win."

Zainab smiled, heart warm. "For the longest time, I thought I was broken. Now I'm starting to think… maybe I was just becoming."

---

That night, Yusuf sat quietly outside Zainab's apartment. He hadn't knocked, hadn't called. Just… waited.

Zainab opened the door eventually, sensing his presence the way one senses a storm just before it rains.

"You okay?" she asked.

"They want me to remarry," he said simply.

Her lips parted. She said nothing.

"I told them no," he added. "Not because I'm expecting anything. But because you're not replaceable, Zainab. Not as a woman. Not as the mother of my child. Not as... my peace."

She stepped aside again, letting him in. The baby was already asleep.

Yusuf sat on the couch, hands folded. "Do you hate me for what I used to be?"

"I don't hate you," she said. "I just can't go back to that version of us."

"Neither can I," he said, voice steady. "I only want to move forward. Even if it's as a friend. Even if you fall in love again and it's not with me."

Zainab's eyes glistened. "But what if I already started falling… with you again?"

Yusuf looked up, stunned.

She smiled softly. "You gave me space. And in that space, I saw a man learning to love me the right way. Not with noise. But with patience."

He stood up slowly, closing the gap between them.

"I'm still learning, Zainab. But I promise—every lesson is for you."

---

Across town, Musa and Naima walked along the beach. The breeze tangled in her scarf, his jacket draped over her shoulders.

She laughed at something he said, and he paused mid-step, just watching her.

"You're staring," she teased.

"I'm memorizing."

Naima bit her lip. "You're dangerous."

"I'm safe," he corrected. "You're just not used to being cared for right."

She leaned into him then, just a little. He took her hand fully this time.

"I'm not running this time," she whispered.

"Good," he said. "I wasn't going to let you anyway."