It was a spacious, luxurious bedroom adorned with exquisite furniture that served as the core decoration and beauty of the room. Everything inside was styled in a matching creamy white color accented with eye-catching gold. It was well-equipped with the cooling of an AC and filled with bright, clear light.
However, what would shock you was that, despite all the luxury and ornaments the bedroom possessed, almost everything inside was in total disarray. Even the soft white bedsheet and the comforter at the foot of the bed were crumpled together. To top it all off, they were stained with substances you couldn't quite identify, though you might save yourself the trouble by simply calling them filthy.
Right in the middle of the bed sat a young woman, curled up into a tight ball as if trying to fold herself into her own body and become one with it. She had her knees clutched tightly to her chest. You couldn't see her face, but you could make out her long, silky, tangled hair, matted together like clumped-up threads. Its length caused it to cascade all the way down to her feet, covering the long white straps of her sleeveless top. Her dress was a long gown made of a milk-colored material; a single glance would tell you it was expensive, yet it was severely twisted and crumpled.
If you leaned in closely, you could hear the sound of her crying—a sound entirely devoid of strength or vigor, even to the slightest degree, due to the lack of sufficient physical resilience to afford her that luxury. Above all else... she had cried and cried to the point where she no longer kept count, shedding tears until she lost track of when they even started, until her vision blurred and she grew hazy, abandoning all hope of rescue and completely surrendering her life to fate.
Even though the door opened slowly, it didn't stop her from sensing its opening. Slowly, she lifted her head and dropped her gaze toward the doorway. Despite the horrific suffering and earth-shattering ordeal—one capable of stripping away the faith of even the weak-minded—her remarkably beautiful face remained untouched in its shape. A distinct, highly captivating and mesmerizing beauty that refused to fade still graced her features, though one looking at her would know she wasn't herself; many things had altered that face.
The two of them locked eyes as if it were the very first day they had ever set eyes on each other, each giving the other a different kind of look. He let out a laugh, removed his hands from his trouser pockets, and began walking toward the inside of the bed after reaching out to push the door shut. As he walked, he clapped his hands, his eyes fixed on her as his laughter continued unabated. She, on the other hand, kept her gaze locked on him, her heart cursing him and repeatedly raising her complaint up to the heavens, to the Lord of the Throne.
Thus he approached, pulled a stool in front of the bed, and sat down facing her while resting one foot on the edge of the bed.
"Do you really think there is anything you can do that will unravel all my plans? Or do you imagine you'll escape so easily?"
She closed her gorgeous, enlarged eyes, letting the remaining tears that had failed to fall roll down, then opened them wide at him.
"I have no power and no resource; I am incapable of saving myself. But I take your case to the One who owns everyone and everything, the One who has power over all. Even if you cause my death... even after I am gone, I pray that peace and tranquility migrate from your life, and that you reap far more than you have sown."
He blinked his eyes open and closed simultaneously, letting out a small smile, then stood up.
"What I love about you is your resignation..." he uttered, taking two more steps toward the front of the bed. He climbed onto the edge of the bed and sat down, causing her to quickly pull her legs back together and hug them tightly, like someone about to have a snake thrown onto their body.
He traced her legs with his gaze all the way to her face, then burst out laughing again.
"I love you... and I don't think I'll ever stop loving you. But you stepped into territory that isn't yours, you trespassed onto land that doesn't belong to you, you crossed your boundaries, and right now I need those things more than I need you. Go get them and hand them over to me, and as for you, I will leave you to live your life in peace."
She shook her head while crying, feeling a strange sense of shock that made her feel as though he might kill her. Every single day that dawned came with doubt and uncertainty. Is this really ADAM? Is this truly her Adam? Could he have been swapped? Or has a legion of evil jinn spirits entered his body and taken refuge there? Because what he was doing now, in this very physical form of his... she had never seen it in her Adam, not even in dreams, let alone in waking life—the Adam who couldn't even bear for a fly to land on her, the Adam who cried with his own eyes when she fell ill, the Adam who couldn't sleep because she was distressed, the Adam who found no rest if she had a need until he fulfilled it for her? She was bound to doubt... yet every single day he kept proving to her that it really was him, that it wasn't a disguise or a replacement. So what on earth was happening?
"I will never give them to you... your desire will never be fulfilled. I would rather lose my life. Do whatever you please," she said, feeling anger rising within her alongside a strange, fierce courage to confront every form of torment, plotting, and deceit he had orchestrated against her.
He let out another smile, looking at her with a low, intensely wicked gaze.
"You are bringing whatever happens upon yourself. Since you are stubborn and cannot willingly surrender what is beyond your capacity, I will not show you any mercy either until you are charred and feel that you can surrender."
With that, he stood up and began stripping off his clothes, tossing them onto the floor.
Wide-eyed with extreme terror, she stared at him. Could it be that he was about to claim his marital rights as he usually did? The absolute lack of mercy he displayed didn't make him cut her any slack, as he remarked:
"You are still legally my wife; I haven't divorced you. What is happening right now is a completely separate issue concerning my interests and yours."
At times like this, whenever he touched her, she would wish she could open her eyes and find herself lying inside the grave. If not for the fact that suicide—whether one's own or another's—is forbidden by our religion, she certainly would have grown old bringing about her own demise long ago.
Did he truly want to approach her while knowing full well she was on her menstrual period? His ruthlessness was escalating; she had to conclude that a legion of evil jinn spirits had entered him, for his behavior exceeded that of a single ordinary demon.
Straight away, he lunged directly toward her, unlike that Adam of the past who, during such moments, made her feel that among all women she was the luckiest to have such a life partner. Now, he had transformed into an ancient, wretched, human-blood-drinking ifrit whose very movement she hated to hear, let alone have him touch her; in her eyes, he was no different from a giant demon.
The ringing of his phone stopped him from advancing toward her again. He reached into the pocket of his discarded trousers to search for the phone. Quickly, he pressed it to his ear, and said:
"Okay, right now? Alright."
He disconnected the call hurriedly, put the phone away, and began putting his clothes back on while she sat watching him.
To her astonishment, she saw him unbuttoning his shirt and throwing the buttons aside. He grabbed the front of his shirt and tore it aggressively, then squatted and pulled over a ceramic plate placed nearby—the one containing the food he had brought her, which she hadn't opened or touched. He lifted it, smashed the food onto the floor so that it scattered, and picked up a piece of it, smearing the grease across his own body.
He stood up again and began wrecking the items on top of the dressing table and every glass object in the room, shouting at the top of his voice:
"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un! Stop... please stop, ya salam! Don't harm yourself! Hasbunallahu wa ni'imal wakeel! Ya Hayyu ya Qayyum, may He grant you health!"
As he spoke, tears fell from his eyes, and he continued scattering the room and turning it upside down—after she had neatly tidied it earlier—just to make someone among her family members realize that she was in her right mind.
She froze in place, her mind tightly locked on one question: What was Adam's motive for doing this? Whatever it was, she knew his nature; a vulture never flies for nothing. Without a doubt, he was plotting something else. Before she could figure out what was about to happen, she caught the voices of the very people she prayed every day would arrive. Perhaps a ray of light would reach her and become the catalyst for her escape from darkness into light.
With fierce strength, she jolted forward to leap off the bed, but he sprang across, grabbed her, and wrestled her tightly, messing up her dress and tangled hair once more.
He gave her a vicious grip she couldn't break free from, due to the difference in strength and her own lack of physical resilience. Therefore, she opened her mouth with the intention of calling out to one of them:
"Even if you call them and they enter, your name won't change in their eyes. Your name is 'mad woman' today and tomorrow, until the day you redeem yourself, and I will clear your name in the eyes of the world!"
With that, he resumed shouting and invoking the name of God while holding her in a tight grip. She continued struggling to break free as tears streamed down her face. A physical struggle broke out between them, yielding no success other than the agonizing grip she endured, right at the moment when the door was pushed open and someone rushed inside. He let out a profound smile from the bottom of his heart; his goal had been achieved, his plan had gone exactly as intended, for this was what he had wanted all along.

Summary

The narrative opens in a luxurious, meticulously decorated bedroom where a young woman is trapped in a state of deep psychological trauma and physical distress, curled up on a bed amidst disarray. Her abusive husband, Adam, confronts her over a mysterious conflict involving something she refuses to hand over to him. Despite his cruel behavior and threats, she recognizes a terrifying shift in him, wondering if he has been possessed by malevolent forces.
Suddenly, hearing approaching visitors (her family), Adam cynically orchestrates a setup: he rips his own clothes, smashes food, shatters glass items in the room, and screams for help while crying crocodile tears, deliberately making it look as though she is the one who has gone mad and harmed herself. As the door bursts open, Adam's wicked trap succeeds, trapping her further under the guise of mental instability.
The chapter then shifts scenes to the past (1988), introducing a clean, humble home where a young mother named Fauziyya (or rather, the protagonist and her household dynamic) is rushing to get her children ready for school. Tensions flare with an antagonistic co-wife or relative named Fauziyya, who vindictively raids the kitchen and ruins the children's scarce food. Despite the toxic environment and emotional abuse she suffers—which has strained her marriage—she stays resilient until her husband unexpectedly turns cold, ignores her calls, and an ominous confrontation brews upon her return home.

Description

• Setting:
  • Primary Location: A heavily ornamented, gold-accented creamy white bedroom that turns into a scene of psychological warfare and staged chaos.
  • Secondary Setting: A modest, immaculately clean mid-century home in 1988 characterized by domestic tension and family friction.

• Atmosphere: Claustrophobic, high-tension, emotionally draining, manipulative, and suspenseful. The text relies heavily on sensory details—the visual contrast between luxury and filth, the auditory elements of crying and screaming, and the psychological weight of betrayal.

  Analytics

• Themes:
  • Domestic Abuse & Psychological Manipulation: Adam's gaslighting and staged hysteria highlight themes of emotional abuse, where the abuser portrays themselves as the victim to manipulate outside observers.
  • Powerlessness vs. Resilience: The female protagonist embodies trapped helplessness against systemic and physical oppression, yet retains a core spiritual defiance.
  • Familial Toxicity: The flashback segment explores friction within shared domestic spaces, illustrating how jealousy and malice dismantle marital peace.
• Literary Devices:
  • Dramatic Irony: The reader witnesses Adam’s deliberate malice and framing, knowing the truth while the incoming family members remain blind to it.
  • Metaphor and Imagery: Contrasting descriptions of pristine luxury turning into filth, and comparisons of the antagonist to demonic entities (ifrit), emphasize the psychological horror of the abuse.