Suhana |Ongoing

Chapter Six

~May Allah be with those muslim brothers & sisters of ours that are in pain, may He be with us all. Also, your prayers matter in so many ways too.

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Enjoy!

ABUJA, NIGERIA.

It was a disaster she so badly avoided. How did it happen? She had no idea.

Well, she did, but at the same time didn’t.

Alas, there was no need for her to ponder over what had already happened. All she knew was that there’s little time for her to prepare an apology speech—whatever that meant. And it was a great deal of time to do that.

Most -if not all- Nigerian parents aren’t easy to convince with just a few words. Hers weren’t an exception.

Nonetheless, it was a disaster. A huge one at that. And what was she doing? Nada, Ayma wasn’t running, just standing. Confused, right? One ought to be, considering the fact that a ‘huge’ mishap had only occurred by her ‘passion’ for cooking and even baking.

Tiny splashes of chocolate cake batter decorated the kitchen walls. Flour particles scattered on the work surface, floors, and even her hair despite the cap that managed to slide off. Maybe wanting to do something good for the family proved to not be a good idea.

If any of her family members were to enter the kitchen at the moment, she’d never hear the end of it, for sure. Standing in the midst of it all, Ayma simply continued to stare blankly at the now empty bowl beside her foot.

Why? Why was all this happening to her? It was true that she couldn’t cook to save her life. Still, she asked herself, why did she have to love it?

Just why?!

Hearing the light footsteps approaching the kitchen, her head snapped to the door. It couldn’t be their parents because both were still at their workplaces. So it most probably was her siblings.

‘Ya Allah, please let it not be Aleena. Let it not be Aleena. Let it not be A--’

“Sala--”

The person’s words were cut short upon the sight that graced them. Aleena’s eyes swept over the room, jaw hung low in puzzlement. What happened? Who did this? The huge glass container for the flour was left open, the lid by the cooker.

Egg shells were scattered on the counter and even the floors—the cocoa powder that -one way or the other- was on the little visible puddle of egg whites looked gross to the eyes. The once white tiled counter was turned into an unrecognizable disgusting sight.

Again, who did this? What if her parents were to see this? Because they sure would be disappointed in her.

The pregnant silence that followed right after what her eyes had witnessed was killed.

Then her eyes landed on the twelve year-old that had her eyes casted on the floured tiles below them. “Ayma Omais Yusuf!” She called out to her youngest sibling. “Me kika yi [What did you do]?” Aleena’s words came in whispers.

“Ya Leena,” she didn’t even know where to start from—or how to. “Don’t tell me you were trying to cook again? No, let me rephrase that, don’t tell me you were trying to burn down the kitchen again?” The younger girl felt as though she was between the rock and a hard place. Was it rhetorical or...?