Journey to 'I do'

Chapter 7

Sunday evenings brought a unique blend of calm and self-reflection. The week had unfolded with unexpected turns in my connections with Usman and Muhammad. There was a subtle tension lingering after Usman's heartfelt confession, and Muhammad's unexplained silence added another layer of mystery.

In an attempt to clear my mind, I decided to embrace the day's rhythm. Dropping Faiza off at Islamiyya felt like the right starting point. As I navigated familiar streets, the setting sun painted the sky in vibrant hues, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of the workweek.

Upon reaching the Islamic school, my former teacher greeted me with the same kindness I remembered. "A'isha, my dear, how have you been?" she greeted with genuine enthusiasm.

"Alhamdulillah, I'm doing well," I replied, reciprocating her warmth.

"I'm organizing a mentoring program for our teenage girls here at Islamiyya, and I can't think of a better role model than you. Would you consider volunteering your time to guide and inspire these young minds?" Mrs. Abdul-Rahman asked, her eyes reflecting hope.

The request caught me by surprise, but a sense of responsibility and gratitude toward the community I grew up in nudged me to consider it.

"I'd love to help, Ma. Let me check my schedule to see how I can best contribute," I responded, genuinely intrigued by the prospect of mentoring young Muslim girls.

The proposition lingered as I promised to check my schedule. A sense of irony washed over me. Here I was, dealing with my own complexities, yet presented with a chance to guide others. Perhaps this was the universe nudging me towards clarity. I'll ask Mamma for her advice on it.

While Faiza immersed herself in the teachings, I decided to catch up on some work, tapping away on my laptop in the serene surroundings of the mosque's courtyard. The gentle hum of conversation and the tranquil atmosphere enveloped me, making it an unexpectedly conducive work environment. 20 minutes into working Mrs. Abdul-Rahman returned with the time slot availabilities for me, and I decided to also go through my schedule to see what worked for me.

After an hour of working I decided to leave the mosque and go do a quick supermarket run as I needed some essentials. I ended up with some unnecessary snacks in my cart at the end of it, as always. I ran a couple errands for Mamma as well and decided to head back as it was time to pick Faiza up.

When she finally emerged from her class, the setting sun painted the sky in hues of warmth, and I decided to treat us to a relaxed dinner.

Charme, the Chinese restaurant tucked in a cozy corner, beckoned with its aromatic promises. Seated at a corner table adorned with delicate red lanterns, we savored each bite of our chosen delights. Between bites of sweet and sour chicken and the occasional exchange of laughter, Faiza and I had a nice chat.

Caught in the moment, Faiza's eyes widened with realization. "Oh, right! You won't believe what happened at school last week! Remember Papa's crush, Zainab? He finally gathered the courage to tell her how he feels."

I nearly choked on my sweet and sour chicken, my eyebrows arching in surprise. "Papa? Aunty Rashida's son?? Are we talking about the same cousin who can't even decide on his favorite color?"

Faiza giggled, confirming my suspicions. "Exactly! Well, apparently, he bought her roses and everything. Can you imagine?"

I burst into laughter, the image of my chubby cousin as a budding romantic too amusing to resist. "That's unexpected. So, what did the Zainab say?"

"Wa ya sani? He is keeping it a secret for now, but he's walking around school with that stupid smile of his. Something definitely went down." (Who knows?)

Faiza's lively updates provided a delightful escape from the more complicated matters looming in my own world.
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The week unfolded with a mixture of routine and introspection. I had some more work calls and meetings to attend, and I had finally planned my trip to Lagos. I would be leaving in four days.

On the other hand, Muhammad's silence puzzled me. Over a week had passed since his last message, and the void in our communication felt like an uncharted territory. I couldn't decipher the reasons behind his reticence, and uncertainty lingered like a quiet storm. Why was I stressing about this? I have known this man for barely 2 months!

Sunday arrived again, ushering in the commitment to drop Faiza off at the Islamiyya. Mrs. Abdul-Rahman's proposal lingered in my mind, and as I strolled through the mosque's courtyard, I contemplated the potential impact of mentoring the young Muslim girls.

Mrs. Abdul-Rahman, her face radiant with anticipation, greeted me. "A'isha, I hope you've had a good week. Have you had a chance to consider our mentoring program?"

"Yes, Ma, I've thought about it, and I'm genuinely excited to contribute," I replied, determined to embrace this unexpected opportunity for service.

We decided to have an impromptu meeting since I had nothing important to do while I was waiting for Faiza to be done. we outlined a plan that aligned with my availability.

After my return from Lagos, I would dedicate my services on Saturday evenings for two hours and Sunday afternoons for an additional hour—perfectly synchronized with Faiza's class schedule. An extra hour on both ends allowed room for girls to approach me after sessions with questions or concerns, creating a supportive space for guidance.

Despite my initial refusal to accept payment, my old teacher insisted on compensating me for my time and efforts. A weekly stipend of 20,000 Naira was proposed—a generous offer. Grateful for the opportunity, I decided to donate half of the amount, 10,000 Naira, to a charitable cause, further extending the positive impact of this newfound commitment.

As Faiza's session concluded, my brother Fahd called, urging us to meet him at a nearby restaurant where he was with two of his friends. His intention was for us to go home together since his car was under repair. I suggested that Ya Fahd should order takeout for us, but he insisted that I come down and place the order myself.

Exiting the car, Faiza and I joined Ya Fahd and his friends outside the restaurant. To my surprise, two unfamiliar faces were present, making me slightly uneasy. One of them, named Umar, unabashedly introduced himself, his gaze lingering for an uncomfortable amount of time. The other friend remained more reserved.

Engaging in small talk, Fahd's friends inquired about life in the UK, our well-being, and various business-related topics. The conversation flowed, with a mix of comfort and curiosity.

"Do you guys want water? A drink?" One of Ya Fahd's friends asked to which we politely declined.

As we waited for our food, Faiza and I chatted about random topics. Unexpectedly, Muhammad strolled toward our table. I was taken aback, wondering who he knew at this table and secretly praying he didn't know Ya Fahd. The Umar guy continued to be an over-sabi, and decided to introduce Muhammad to Faiza and I. Muhammad, ever the gentleman, greeted us with a subtle smile.

Ya Fahd, noticing the connection, raised a brow. "You seem to know each other?"

Muhammad calmly responded, "Yes, we met at a mutual friend's function in the UK."

With a collective "Oh," the conversation resumed among Fahd's friends. Uncomfortable with the situation, I decided to excuse myself after a brief interaction. Informing Fahd that we would check on the food and text him if it was ready, Faiza and I bid them goodbye and left the restaurant, heading towards the car.

As we left the restaurant, my mind was tangled in confusion. Muhammad's unexpected presence had caught me off guard, and the fact that Fahd and he knew each other only deepened the intrigue. Unintentionally, I had ignored Muhammad, driven by a mix of discomfort and unanswered messages from him. The subtle nod and greetings were merely a formality, concealing the unspoken impression and tension between us. Thankfully throughout the drive home, Ya Fahd didn't ask about him.

As I had expected, later that night I received a text from Muhammad. "Salam Beautiful," it read making me scoff. I decided not to respond, just to be petty so I put my phone on dnd and went to bed. Oh Mr. Muhammad Salman, Nima na iya hauka, you'll see.
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-Aïcha