Chapter one

He inhaled deeply, savoring the quiet of the dimly lit room, where his thoughts were the loudest. Then, in a slow exhale, the weight of reality pressed upon him.

With a languid, half-conscious gesture, he extended his arm towards the bedside table, fingers grasping for the familiar bottle. The amber liquid inside sloshed as he poured it into the glass. Star. It used to be enough, but not tonight. Tonight, he craved something stronger. Vodka, perhaps. Anything to numb the relentless ache that gnawed at his heart.

Saif knew he'd been a fool, believing in something that was never meant to be. Adesuwa had warned him, Tony had cautioned him, but he had let his stubborn heart lead him astray.

Groaning, he dragged himself up from the disheveled sheets and shuffled towards the mirror. Disgust gripped him as he stared at the reflection that met his gaze. How had he become the object of Premier Model's desire, not once but multiple times in succession? His overgrown beard begged for a shave, and his unkempt hair pleaded for care.

"I want you to be there. Will you do this for me, Saif?" Ruqayyah's voice echoed through his mind, a haunting reminder of what he had lost.

He couldn't contain his anger and frustration. His fist met the mirror, shattering the image of the girl who had captured his heart. But one punch wasn't enough. He kept striking the glass, over and over, until it lay in ruins on the floor.

His chest felt hollow as he gazed at the fragments of his reflection. Ruqayyah's words continued to haunt him. "I need to tell you something," she had said, and his heart had swelled with hope. This was his moment, the chance to confess his love, to tell her she had never left his thoughts since their junior school days.

"Me too," he had replied, eager and trembling with anticipation, as they sat side by side on the sofa.

"Okay, you go first," she had said with a coy smile, her beauty accentuated by the long, free-flowing yellow gown adorned with embroidered sunflowers and a pink khimar. She looked enchanting.

"No, you go first. Ladies first," he had insisted, his eyes briefly straying to her enticing attire before quickly returning to her face.

With a hint of annoyance, she tapped him. "Were you even listening to me?" she asked, her arms folded beneath her breasts, highlighting their curves.

He swallowed hard, tearing his gaze from her captivating figure and directing it back to her face. "Sorry," he admitted with a sheepish smile.

Rolling her eyes playfully, she relented, and the smile returned. "Toby proposed to me!"

What!

In that moment, the world as he knew it crumbled around him.

Nusaiba pushed the creaking door open with one hand, carefully balancing a tray laden with food in the other. The aroma of the meal wafted through the room as she placed it on Saifan's cluttered reading table. Her eyes, filled with concern, quickly scanned the disheveled state of her brother and his equally chaotic surroundings. A whole month had passed, and Saifan showed no signs of improvement.

"You shouldn't have gone to that wedding," Nusaiba's voice carried a mix of frustration and genuine concern as she surveyed the wreckage that was her brother's room.

Saifan's voice, laced with brokenness, barely rose above a whisper. He remained hunched over, his gaze fixed on the mess he had created. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," she stated matter-of-factly, stepping further into the room. She shook her head in dismay. "Shaqiq, yah Allah (brother, oh my God), it's been weeks since her wedding. You need to forget about her. If mother sees you like this, she won't be proud. You should thank Allah she's in Arab," she chided gently, kneeling beside Saifan.

Nusaiba's words only seemed to agitate him further. He struggled to rise, only to falter and fall back down.

"Why did you go to the wedding when you knew it would hurt you more?" Nusaiba's curiosity was evident as she battled to pull him up.

"I really needed you there, Saif. You're my best friend. Dan Allah (please)," her words were tinged with genuine concern.

In an inexplicable moment, he found himself nodding. He mustered a feeble smile, and Nusaiba pulled him into a hug.

"She invited me," he muttered, leaning heavily on his sister.

Nusaiba scoffed, her frustration evident. Every time she asked him that question, the answer remained the same, and she couldn't bring herself to believe it. She glared at her brother, her resentment for Ruqayyah growing with each passing day for the way she had tangled Saifan's life.

Suddenly, the ringing of Saifan's phone pierced the tense atmosphere. He frowned, perplexed, as he had intentionally turned off his phone to prevent himself from obsessing over Ruqayyah's honeymoon pictures on Instagram. The fact that it was ringing now raised questions.

"Nusaiba!" he called out, a warning etched into his voice, though his pounding headache twisted it into more of a protest.

Nusaiba paid him no heed, snatching the phone from the table. "It's father," she informed him, handing over the phone.

The mention of their father snapped Saifan out of his stupor. He knew that his strict and stern father would not take kindly to a slurred voice during their conversation. It was an automatic switch from inebriation to alertness.

"Abi, Salam alaikum (father, peace be upon you)," he greeted.

"Walaikum Al Salam, Saifan. How are you?" his father's voice was measured.

"I'm fine, thank you, sir," Saifan replied, struggling to conceal his slurred speech.

"How's Nusaiba?"

Saifan's eyes darted to his sister before he responded, "She's fine, sir."

"How's Nigeria? I hope you're enjoying your mother's country."

This was unusual. His father rarely engaged in small talk unless he had significant news to deliver. Typically, news that one might not like. It reminded Saifan of the time his father had informed his brother, Khalil, that he would not be marrying Zainab due to her having a child with another man.

"Yes, Father," Saifan replied cautiously, his heart racing as he awaited the impending news.

"Very good. Pack your bags, leave whatever you're doing in Nigeria, and come back to Arab tomorrow."

"Abi, tomorrow? I have a job here," Saifan protested, even though he had taken a leave of absence to nurse his broken heart.

"Aiwa (yes), nothing more. You'll find another job here," his father declared, and with that, the call ended, leaving Saifan with a sense of foreboding and uncertainty about the future.

Hey 😊

So how's it? Forgive my Arabic, I got it from Google. If it's not correct you can correct me.

What do you think about the new Saif?

Do you think killing yourself for someone who doesn't love you and is already married worth it?

And why do you think his father told him to come back to Arab?

Next update will be next week Friday