Naila.

“I know, Maigida.” A soft sigh, more from the pleasure of having a husband to call maigida than anything else, escaped Naila’s lips. “Honestly, I understand. I just wish you didn’t have to leave this morning. It’s too soon, maigida,” she said pensively, hand on his shoulder. The word was sweet on her tongue, and soothing in her heart. Maigida. Man of the house.

Clearly, Auwal liked being called maigida, and it showed in the way he stood an inch straighter every time she referred to him that way. His shoulders would become slightly broader, and his eyes would cloud with affection that he dared not show too freely.

Regardless, he genuinely cared for Naila, and would die for her in a heartbeat. She was constantly on his mind, and she held priority in most of his decisions. Except this one. His amarya and her feelings would have to come second just this once.

“You know these boys will rip me off if I dare ask them to handle this shipment, Naila,” he said softly, with her cheek in his palm. “They’ve been out to get me since I fired Hameed — and this deal?” He puffed. “This deal is honestly too big to risk messing up. I’ll be back on Friday, you hear?”

“I’ll see you soon.” She didn’t call him maigida this time.

“I’ll miss you, Kyau Daya.” Beautiful One.

And with that and a brief hug, he was gone. Naila sank into a sofa slowly, absently cupping both hands around her growing stomach. The baby was taking a huge toll on her, and her first few months as a newly married woman, an amarya, were tired, frustrating months.

Some days, she would sit and think of her friends, and wonder how life would have been if she’d just been allowed to go to university like they were. She saw their photos on Facebook sometimes; photos of them heading for classes, eating together and just generally basking in the feeling of being young and carefree.

She’d blocked them all when she got married, unable to believe her luck. She, a lowly orphan with no family but her scary old aunt Idiyah — had been chosen by a reasonable, good-looking trader with his own shop, as a wife. It was sheer luck! He’d told her that school was out of the question, and she’d been happy to comply then.

But on some days, she would sit and think till a sullen cloud of regret and emptiness would envelop her, and she’d sink into it comfortably; slowly learning to find solace and sympathy in her own despair. The pregnancy only seemed to make things worse for her, but she’d managed to keep Auwal from noticing anything. Because she was a smiling, loyal wife.

“Balquis!” she called out to the maid who helped around the house twice a week. Perhaps her presence would be good for company today, and not just housework.

There was no answer, and she sighed. Balquis had probably gone off to the market.

Very well, then, she thought, it’s going to be another long evening.