Two years ago, we were living a life full of freedom, affection, and mutual love—the kind of love families share among themselves.

There were only two of us in our parents’ home: me and my younger sister.

Our mother was our father’s only wife.

Our father was neither poor nor could he be called rich, because even the house we lived in was not our own—it was a rented house.

Our father, Abbie Hamraz Awais, owned a small shop attached to our house; the shop was built right at the entrance of our home.

The shop was well stocked with everyday food items that were never lacking, such as seasoning cubes, cooking oil, dried locust beans, and others.

Rice, spaghetti, indomie noodles, soap, detergent, slippers, and many other household items were also sold there.

Alhamdulillah, our father had good patronage because his goods were cheaper than those of others in the neighborhood.

Our mother, Ammie Faheema, was not left behind either—she did small home-based businesses quietly and respectfully.

My younger sister Aleena was about ten years old, as she was completing her primary school that year.

I was twelve years old and in JSS One at the time.

We were all living together under Allah’s protection.

Our parents showed us a lot of love. They never wanted anything to disturb us, and whatever we asked for, they gave us—as long as it was within their ability.

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★★★

Two children entered the house, greeting loudly with salaam. They were dressed in Islamic school uniforms.

The younger one ran quickly toward a woman who was sitting and cleaning rice, clearly preparing to cook.

“Ammie, welcome home!” the girl said, hugging the woman and leaning on her shoulder.

“Are you trying to break me, young lady?” the woman replied cheerfully.

“Ahhh Ammie, what if I break you and climb on you?” the girl teased.

As the woman was about to reply, the second girl arrived where they were sitting.

“Ammi, how are you? How was work?”

“I’m fine, Leeyana. Welcome back from school. I hope you studied well,” the woman said, looking at the girl called Leeyana.

“Yes Ammie, I studied very well. I even memorized my work and was rewarded with a book,” she said as she headed toward their only room at the side of the house.

After entering, she removed her hijab, dropped her bag, and came back outside to where the woman was sitting.

She picked up the tray of rice and said,

“Ammie, let me do it. Honestly, I’m very tired today—I even thought the food would finish.”

“Good thing the ‘king of eating’ hasn’t finished it yet,” the girl sitting on Ammie’s lap said, sticking out her tongue at Leeya.

Leeya raised her hand to pinch her, but the woman held her hand.

“Hey! Don’t you dare pinch my little lady!”

Leeya pouted beneath her veil. Even though her face was covered, her mother could tell what she was doing.

“Ammie, let me just pinch her once, please, so I can reduce my anger,” Leeya said angrily.

“Subhanallah! Leeya, why are you angry? What did she do to you? She only called you the king of eating—and she was right,” Ammie said, preparing to stand up.

“Ammie, do you know that today we walked all the way home from IFE Area?” Leeya said.

Ammie sat back down and asked, “Walked? Why didn’t you take a taxi today?”

“Wallahi Ammie, Aleena spent the taxi money—even the one Abbie gave her. You know we’re not in the same class; after we were dismissed, she told me not to save taxi fare because she had already spent it. So we walked home.”

Aleena, who had been holding her stomach since the conversation began, said,

“Wallahi Ammie, I was just joking. I didn’t spend the money. I did it so we’d learn to walk, learn to manage ourselves. Look at me—I’m a young lady now. If I don’t walk outside, how will a husband see me so I can get married? Or do you want me to pass marriage age like Leeya already did?”

She spoke childishly, spreading her hands in question.

In Aleena’s childish thinking, any girl who finished primary school was already a young lady. If she didn’t marry immediately, and another set of students graduated, then she had “passed marriage age.”

That was why everyone in the house called her Budurwa (young lady).

If you didn’t call her that, it meant you weren’t on good terms with her.

They all burst into laughter.

It was only then that I noticed an elderly man entering the house through the gate.

He was not a stranger, yet you wouldn’t casually call him old.

He was of average height and build, around forty-five years old or more—Hamraz Awais, a dignified and respected man.

He had heard Aleena’s words from the start, and they made him laugh.

“Assalamu Alaikum,” Abbie greeted as he entered.

They all responded at once.

Leeya greeted him first, then Aleena.

“Ummu-Aleena, welcome home.”

“Welcome, Abu-Leeya. How was the shop?”

“The shop is fine, Alhamdulillah.”

Now look closely—the woman cleaning rice from the beginning was Ammi.

She was short and plump, though at first glance you wouldn’t call her short or tall. She was fair-skinned, of Fulani Maiduguri (Kanuri) features—Ammi Faheema, the mother of Leeya and Aleena, wife of Abbie Hamraz Awais.

“Hey! Are you a young lady or what? Get off my wife’s lap before you break her,” Abbie said, looking at Aleena.

Aleena shrugged stubbornly and changed the topic.

“Abbie, did you put money into my account today?”

“I’m talking about my wife, not your account.”

“Abbie, I won’t stand up until you answer my question.”

“I didn’t, but come with me now—I’ll give you money to put in yourself.”

She jumped up excitedly, ran to Abbie, and stretched out her hand.

He bent and whispered something in her ear. She nodded in agreement and said, “Okay, Abbie, I understand.”

Ammi and Leeya watched everything.

Leeya couldn’t hold it in and came forward, almost crying:

“Abbie, so an account is being opened for Aleena alone and not for me?”

Before Abbie could speak, Aleena cut in:

“Yes! An account is being opened for me—happy or sad, it’s for me. And wedding items will be bought for me too. Since you refused to marry, I won’t sit and fold arms with you. We’re competing in height in this house!”

Aleena said arrogantly, rolling her eyes as if she were the elder sister.

When Leeya heard the reason for the account, she quietly turned away without saying a word.

Leeyana was the elder sister of Aleena, children of Abbie Hamraz and Ammi Faheema.

They weren’t the only children born to them—only the only ones alive.

Leeyana was actually their fourth child. Their babies often died shortly after birth.

Their second child, a boy, died at five months.

The third, also a boy, grew to the stage of walking before he too died suddenly, without illness.

That was why when Leeyana was born, they didn’t attach much hope to her, thinking she would die like the others.

But days passed, weeks passed, months passed, years passed—and she survived.

Then Aleena was born, and the joy and gratitude to Allah were beyond words.

Hamraz loved his children dearly, and Ammi Faheema worked hard to raise them well.

Leeya and Aleena were completely different in character and temperament.

Aleena was stubborn and hot-tempered, while Leeya was calm, patient, and forgiving.

Leeya avoided trouble, even when people mocked or harassed her.

In the entire neighborhood of ECOCO, Lagos, Nigeria, no one had ever seen Leeya’s face—not even Leeya herself, not even in a dream.

From childhood, Ammi made her cover her face with a veil, so hiding her face became natural to her.

Whenever they went out—whether on errands or to school—Leeya often faced people who tried to pull off her veil.

This wasn’t the first time such things happened.

They sat in the middle of the compound until Ammi finished cooking.

After eating, Ammi asked Leeya,

“Leeya, have you seen Okene? I haven’t seen him for two days.”

Okene was their Igbo neighbor, a non-Muslim. His parents disliked his closeness to Leeya’s family, fearing he might change religion.

He used to accompany Leeya everywhere, even to Islamic school, and protect her—though even he had never seen her face.

“Ammi, I haven’t seen him either. Yesterday I even went near their house and hid to see if he’d come out, but I didn’t see him,” Leeya replied.

“After you finish, go and check on him,” Ammi said gently.

Leeya agreed and stood up.

Later, while walking toward Okene’s house, two boys attacked her and tried to pull off her veil.

She bit one of them and escaped, running home in tears.

That night, Ammi explained to her why she must always hide her face—and made her promise never to reveal it until marriage.

Leeya agreed, even though she didn’t fully understand the reason.