What should I do with my broken heart?

I had a crush on you before I met you last year. You were one of my favorite Islamic content creators on Instagram.

So, when I stepped into the restaurant and saw you at the seat close to the door, I couldn’t help but smile and wave at you. You smiled back politely and nodded your head.

Gosh, I couldn’t believe you were in Nigeria. I wanted to engage you, but I had a rule: public figures love to be left alone, so I would let you be.

You approached my table, said a proper salam and you wanted to confirm where I knew you from, I told you. You asked few questions, I answered. The conversation started. I chipped in the things I knew about you hoping to impress you, and you were. I spoke about your love for cars, the toy collection you have, your work in the automobile industry, and your sense of humor. You sure were impressed.

A few minutes into our conversation, you asked for my IG handle. I let you know it was private, but said you can send a request and I would accept. You sent me a text right after you stepped out.

It read “Asalam alaykum sister A’ishah, it was nice meeting you. JazakumuLlohu Khayran for your warmth.” I replied.

The next time we spoke was two weeks later because you had an “Ask Me Anything” box on your story.

Things grew from there, B.

We now thought of each other as potential marriage prospects. You live in Canada, I was going to move. The plan was that I wrap up my university education, find a job at an advertising agency near what will be our home in Ontario, Canada. We were both excited, or so I thought.

It has been a year since I met you at the restaurant, a year since I saw you physically. Six or seven months since I thought you wanted to make me your wife.

So, imagine my shock when I logged into instagram. You shared a post on your story-a picture of masculine and feminine hands with rings on. The accompanying texts read, “And they lived happily ever after.” I would message you after then, and will get no reply.

I could hear her pretty voice in the background the next day. She was leaning into your humor. Was it my humor? Was it because I always sounded too serious? I messaged you again, but got no reply.

The following day, you were explaining an Islamic concept on your IG story about animals and why we should love them. In the video, she was applying skincare on your face. At the end of the video, you said, “Shout out to my lovely wife for making me feel pretty.” Was it because I once told you I am not into skincare, B? I messaged you again.

Was it because her skin tone is closer to yours? Was it because she is almost as flawless as you? What was it, B?

You could have told me, or at least warned me. Instagram was my go-to, and a warning would have sufficed.

What should I do with my broken heart?

But I wish you the best in your marriage, I should never have thought so highly of myself. BarokaLlah lakuma wa barokah alaykuma wa jama’a baynakuma fee Khayr.

PS: This is a true story , except that I only met B in my imagination, and we never actually chatted. But how dare he get married when my imagination hasn’t played out in real life?

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