Beyond

HEARTS AND MENDS

Abuja, Nigeria.

17th August, 2017

Kamal skillfully cleared all the pins, relishing the satisfaction that accompanied a well-executed bowl. Contemplating another round, he opted against it, choosing instead to head to the restaurant adjacent to the bowling area. Settling into a seat, he signaled a waiter, requesting a refreshing glass of orange juice. Having enjoyed a hearty meal at his mother's earlier, hunger wasn't a pressing concern.

Savoring the juice delivered promptly, Kamal shifted his focus to the daunting task of addressing the numerous emails that awaited him. Sa'ad had overseen matters in Lagos during Kamal's absence due to his upcoming wedding, but a few loose ends demanded his attention. Despite vowing to disconnect completely from work during his honeymoon, the demands of entrepreneurship offered little respite.

As Kamal immersed himself in his phone, he sensed someone pulling out the seat across from him. Glancing up, his expression immediately transformed into a frown. "Stalking doesn't suit you," he remarked sarcastically. "You should stick to being a doctor."

Nabila, sincerity evident in her eyes, responded, "I'm sorry." Observing her genuine remorse, Kamal nodded and replied, "Apology accepted."

A brief pause ensued before Nabila ventured to ask, "Are you still going ahead with it?" Kamal, known for his stubbornness and lack of receptiveness, failed to recognize the underlying message. Oblivious to the fact that Fatimè might not be the right person for him, he remained impervious to Nabila's unspoken concerns. She felt compelled to find a way to make him see the truth—how deeply she truly cared for him.

Suppressing her feelings, Nabila forced a smile and inquired, "So, when is the wedding?"

---

19th August, 2017.

Fatimè hesitated for a moment at the top of the stairs, her heart sinking at the sight of the sitting room below. If she had known she would be descending only to encounter one of her haughty aunts, she would have preferred to stay in the comfort of her room. The atmosphere in the sitting room was quiet, with a tray of cold zobo and a plate of samosas and spring rolls set before her father's cousin, Anty Beeba. A movie on 'Africa Magic Epic' played softly in the background.

Anty Beeba, with her dusky skin bearing a few faint age spots and deep-set brown eyes, looked up as Fatimè descended the stairs. Her aunt took great pleasure in meddling in Fatimè's affairs and embodied the quintessential "Nigerian aunty."

Matters had worsened when Fatimè declined her son's marriage proposal, prompting her to avoid Anty Beeba at all costs. Steeling herself, Fatimè mustered a smile and greeted her aunt, "Anty Beeba, yan nyalli jam."

Anty Beeba responded with a standoffish tone, "Jam."

Expecting such a response, Fatimè merely nodded, ready to retreat, but her aunt called her back, halting her departure. "Your mother says you are getting married," Anty Beeba remarked.

Fatimè affirmed, "Yes."

Anty Beeba probed further, "O pullo na?"

"No," Fatimè replied.

"Hm. Shame," Anty Beeba commented.

Fatimè opted to remain silent. When dealing with Anty Beeba, it was often wisest to keep one's thoughts unspoken.

"When is he bringing the lefe?" she asked.

"After the wedding in sha Allah."

Anty Beeba wore an incredulous expression, causing Fatimè to wonder if her aunt's eyes might pop out of their sockets. "And when have you ever witnessed a wedding taking place without lefe? Inalillahi wa inna ilaihi rajiun."