Tale In The Red Sand

Chapter Thirteen

"Hibaaq"? Warsame softly knocked on his daughter's bedroom door. He slowing opened it after getting a hum as a reply. She was sat on her fluffy green prayer mat, faced towards the qibla, finishing off a  dua before turning her head to view her beaming father. Hibaaq relaxed at his loving gaze, returning the smile he showcased.

"Yes, Aabe?" She answered properly, getting up from her place on the floor while folding the prayer mat in her hands. Hibaaq sat next to her father on her bed, laying her covered head on his broad shoulder as it was always such a comforting position to be in while they conversed.

Warsame's heart swelled at the action as always. He loathed that he couldn't find enough time to spend with his daughter since returning, but work never ceased in his world even when he was home. He knew he had done a good job in raising her, though, as she never cared to voice her disdain for the distances he travelled and instead found excuses and pardoned him for it. Even if her dismayed expressions said otherwise.

Warsame couldn't have asked for a better daughter. He placed a wistful kiss on her forehead as he tucked her head under his stubbled chin.

"I called Xalimo to take the night off. We're going to have dinner out with the Muse family tonight." He quietly announced, softly rocking his Hibaaq the way he habitually did when she was a child.

"Hm." Hibaaq hummed, she grew even more relaxed by the calming motions of his hand gently patting her back as he moved them, and his signature scent, a blend of freshly cut grass and expensive atar. "All of a sudden"? She enquired with a raised brow as she rose her head to look upon her father's aging face. She then realised just how aged and fatigued he appeared as the days practically flew by. While Hibaaq was growing older, so was her father, it was easy to forget. The realisation caused a slight tremor in her heart, seeing her father so tired all the time yet still managed to keep his firm mentality, never losing touch of that strong persona his late wife adored so much.

"Ercole and I ran into Mustafa at the masajid just now after Asr, he insisted we dine with his family tonight." Warsame replied, smoothing out the small wrinkles in his white dress shirt. "It's been awhile since we went out for dinner anyway, it's going to be fun. You're best friend will be there too." He raised his eyebrows proposedly. Hibaaq was aware her father thought of Layla as somewhat strange. She was bold as brass with a fiery tongue for a woman of her stature and age, but that's what Hibaaq loved about her the most, she was unapologetically, Layla.

"Yay." Hibaaq cheered with little to no enthusiasm, causing her father to chuckle, amused.

At least she would get the guilty pleasure of watching the two siblings bicker all rowdy and auntie Idil harshly scold them as uncle Mustafa tries to frantically bestow peace over the three; but would it be like how it was before? Hibaaq obviously knew the answer to that, of course it wouldn't, not after how she had been acting towards him the last couple of weeks, as if she were constantly walking on eggshells around him. Hibaaq then had a momentary change of heart, not wanting to humiliate herself in front of Abdihakeem, not more than she had already done, and not after what happened earlier in the day when he'd rescued the falling damsel in distress.

"Aabo, what if I'm too tired and have a headache?" Hibaaq suggested for consideration, a sliver of hope entering her heart at the concern on his face.

"No." Her father deadpanned.

"Oh." She voiced, her hopes dissipating.

"I'm only saying no because you barely leave the house and I want you to go out and enjoy yourself like people your age. I'm worried." Warsame got up to lean on the bed post, his arms folded across his chest.

"Isn't that a good thing though, wouldn't you rather have me home than out there all the time." Hibaaq gestured to her window where the outside world slowly spun, slightly shuddering at the idea.