‘Is this it? Is it over?’ I sob. ‘Please, Hamza, please, I didn’t mean it. I couldn’t help how I felt. Does it matter that it was difficult? I still chose you in the end!’
‘It matters to me, Zara,’ he whispers, so quietly that I can barely hear him. ‘I want to marry someone who loves me as much as I love them. I wanted to be your everything, like you were mine. But I’m not. I never was. You settled for me, and I can’t accept that.’
Were mine.
Were.
The past tense drives home exactly what this means. I open my mouth to beg, every shred of pride and dignity disappearing as the prospect of losing Hamza right here, right now, weighs down on me. But before I can speak, he hangs up. I stare at my phone in horror and call him back immediately, but the call goes straight to voicemail.
This can’t be it. It can’t.
I call back, again and again, and each time, it goes to voicemail. I try sending a text, but it doesn’t deliver. With a wail that crushes my core, I throw my phone across the room and it smashes into my mirror. The glass cracks, and so do I.
Footsteps come running up the stairs and Yasmin bursts in, followed by Amina. They take in my wild expression, the black streaks and stains on my face and clothes.
‘What’s happened?’ Yasmin demands, the blood drained from her face. ‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s over,’ I weep, clutching on to her so I don’t fall. ‘It’s over. The wedding’s off.’