Hearts On Fire

Eleven: First Meeting

Nafisa Ballah, this extra chapter is for you. Love you a bunch❤️

The chatter of his cousins, whom he could hardly point five together with their names nearly silenced the rummaging thoughts rumbling in his brain, but nothing worked. On their way to Mabera, to his wife as Ummah said, he had nothing going on in his head but how to perfectly put on the fire he promised for Fatima Zarah, even though Ummah asked him to be a good husband. He couldn't, because he had never did what Ummah asked of him. If only she acted as Mama Fulani.

They arrived in front of the huge ironed gate and came out of the car, waiting for their arrival to be announced to the women before they could enter. He didn't know who paid this Photographer that ahd been following him everywhere he walked his feet on, it might be Ummah, or even Zubair or the royal family. Any one in the palace can torture his life this way, and he prayed they won't ask him to snap a pivture together with Fatima Zarah.

His prayer wasn't answered because the moment they were ushered in by some women and they were taken to a living room he was sure was less boistreperous among others, his cousins began straightening their babban riga and telling the photographer to get ready because the bride would soon come in and he had to snap them some pictures, together with the groom as well. He couldn't argue, because he was sure that was the norm and he atleast had to keep a perfect picture. Not for him, but for Ummah.

Some minutes later, the refreshments were brought and a few minutes later her mother together with her friends and relatives began walking into the living room and Al-mustapha, just like his other cousins did, squatted down and greeted the woman that gave birth to the dragon he got married to, today. He couldn't thank her enough, if only any of them could sense the sarcasm dripping from his lips.

"The bride will come in," an elder woman announced and Al-mustapha found himself fixing his eyes on the only entrance that could give her access to the living room. And there she came, draped in a red veil with beauty walking together with her steps. She truly looked...beautiful. He could admit that to himself, but never to someone like Fatima Zarah.

She greeted his cousins, because he had no friends to start with. And even when Small offered to be his guard today, he declined because he was sure Fatima Zarah would see him and she couldn't keep shut. her words would have proven themselves right. She looked at him with fire burning from her eyes and he could clearly see when one of her aunties nudged her shoulder before she spoke.

"Good afternoon," she said, with a voice that was nearly inaudible but he heard her nonetheless.

"Good Afternoon to you too. And congratulations..." he needn't to say 'for coming to hell' because he was sure he knew what exactly he congratulated her for. Fatima Zarah glared at him under the thickness of her eye lashes and took her eyes off him, he smiled, because starting from now, he could see her vulnerability simmering together with the fire she claimed she had.

"Time for pictures, to keep some memories." An annoying cousin of his, whom he didn't even know his name uttered and he found himself wanting to vanish when the older women walked back into the house and she was left with only her friends and family that were her agemate.

They both stood up and the photographer required of them to move closer to each other to give the impression they really were the couple for the day. Al-mustapha had no choice but to walk to where Fatima Zarah stayed rooted to her spot and he stood beside her. The kind of angry face she made nearly cracked him up and he leaned towards her ears.

"If only you see how angry you looked right now, don't worry, I won't start unleashing my fire on you until a week after. You can even smile now." He taunted and watched as her expression changed. What he didn't know was, when he leaned down to speak to her, all of them thought it was really romantic and they gushed together with the shutter of the photographer.