Chapter 4:The Bargain
"The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel it's warmth"
African proverbs
The next morning, the house was too quiet.
But that was expected considering the fact that I was awake by 4 because I needed to cook and clean before going to school.
But the silence was different this time around.
It wasn't the comforting quiet you might get after a long day, but the kind that suffocates you, the kind that makes you afraid of breaking the silence. The kind that makes you feel like something bad is about to happen.
I was still sore, every inch of my body protesting as I moved. My ribs ached with every breath, my wrists bore the bruises from where Abhu had grabbed me, and the weight of everything that had happened the night before sat heavy in my chest. But I had to get up. I had to keep moving, no matter how much I wanted to lie there and disappear.
I forced myself out of bed and into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. As I stood in front of the cracked mirror, I avoided my reflection at first. I didn't want to see the reminder of what I had become — a broken, hollow version of myself. But the reflection stared back at me anyway. My face was swollen, a bruise blossoming around my left eye. My lips were cracked, dried blood still clinging to them.
I tried to wash away the pain with cold water, but it clung to me, just like the memories of the night before. No matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn't escape.
As I walked down the stairs, each step sent a sharp pain through my side, and I winced. My ribs were definitely cracked, but I didn't have the luxury of time or money for a doctor. The kitchen was already in disarray; the remnants of last night's dinner had been left untouched on the table. The smell of burnt food hung in the air, a reminder of my failure.
And then I heard him.
Abbu's voice drifted from the living room, low and impatient. He wasn't alone. My stomach twisted, a mix of fear and anxiety bubbling up inside me. Who could possibly be here at this hour?
I peeked around the corner, careful not to make a sound. Abbu sat on the couch, his thick fingers drumming against the armrest. A man I didn't recognize sat across from him, dressed in an expensive suit. His slicked-back hair and polished shoes told me he was someone important, at least in Abbu's eyes.
They spoke in hushed tones, and I strained to hear.
"You'll have her ready by the end of the week?" the man asked, his voice smooth but with an edge to it. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on the cracked walls and peeling paint with disdain.
Abbu nodded, his expression flat. "She'll be ready."
I froze.
They weren't talking about me. They couldn't be. My mind raced, trying to piece together what they were discussing. But deep down, I knew.
"You've done well, Hassan," the man continued, pulling out a large envelope and handing it to Abhu. "This will cover the rest of the arrangements."
Hassan — I almost laughed. He only ever called himself Daniel around us because he wanted to sound like all this American men,and made us call him abbu a name that was supposed to make us believe he was some sort of father figure. But the truth was, Hassan or Daniel had never been a father to me.
I backed away from the doorway, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My hands trembled as I made my way back upstairs, my mind spinning. He was selling me?. I wasn't even worth a conversation. I was a transaction, an object to be bargained over.
By the end of the week.
I collapsed on my bed, my body numb. Was this it? Was this what my life had been leading to? I had always known that Abhu hated me, resented me for reasons I would never understand. But this was different. This wasn't about discipline or control anymore. This was about ownership, about selling me off to the highest bidder.
But shouldn't I be happy that I was finally escaping this hell I called home?
Time passed in a blur. I didn't remember how long I stayed in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, but the sound of footsteps on the stairs brought me back to reality. I sat up, my heart pounding. I knew those footsteps.
The door to my room swung open, and there he was.
Abbu stood in the doorway, his large frame blocking out the light from the hallway. He crossed his arms, his face set in a grim expression.
"Get dressed," he ordered, his voice cold and detached.
I stared at him, my heart racing
I was scared, but I had questions. "Why?"
He stepped into the room, his presence suffocating. "You're getting married at the end of the next. so I need to make you look better so not so disgrace me"
The word hit me like a punch to the gut. I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. I stared at him, my mouth dry, my mind spinning.
"Married?" I whispered, barely able to form the word.
He looked at me with disgust, as if I were nothing more than an inconvenience. "I've arranged it. He'll be here in a week to collect you."
I felt like the ground had been pulled out from under me. "You can't do this," I said, my voice trembling "that man looked old enough to be your father"
"I can, and I will," he snapped. "You're nothing but a burden to me. Do you think I'm going to let you rot here forever? This is your only chance at a future."
A future. The irony of it almost made me laugh. This wasn't a future — it was a prison. A life sentence in the hands of a man I didn't know, a man who had bought me like livestock.
May be he might treat me better
"You're marrying Mr kumar nasir" Abbu continued, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. " I don't don't know that he see in you but I don't care to know"
I shook my head, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "abhu please I don't want to"
Abbu's eyes narrowed, and before I could react, his hand shot out, grabbing my arm. He yanked me to my feet, his grip painfully tight. "You don't get to decide," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "You belong to me. And you'll do as you're told."
My body was shaking with fear and anger. My mind kept screaming to me to run and my mind pleaded in desperation.
He laughed, a cruel, hollow sound.
" And don't you think of running, in fact where do you want to run to? You think you have anywhere to go? No one wants you, Zeynep. You're worthless."
The words cut deep, but I wouldn't let him see how much they hurt. I stood there, defiant, even as my legs threatened to give out beneath me.
"You'll do as I say," he said again, his voice quieter now, more dangerous. "Or I'll make sure you regret it."
With that, he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
I sank to the floor, my whole body shaking. The future that awaited me felt like a death sentence, and I had no idea how to escape.
Maybe this marriage was Allah trying to help me.
Or maybe I was a fool to believe in a God I couldn't see