"Welcome to our house," Mom declared, opening her arms wide with a smile on her face.
"It's very beautiful, just like you, Miss Janet," Rahim replied, scanning the house from the front door like some sort of robot capturing information. I rolled my eyes, walking past him to the kitchen, where I grabbed a bottle of water.
"Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes." Mom left Rahim by the doorway, entering the kitchen. "Rahim!"
"Yes, Miss Janet?"
"Make yourself comfortable. Do you want a drink, some water, anything?"
"Just some soda will do."
"Alright, I'll let Salma get it for you."
"I don't want to. First of all, he's an uninvited guest who just hopped into our car, and now, you want me to get him a drink? No." And with that, I folded my arms, looking away from Mom. I could view her from the corner of my eye, she was knitting her eyebrows.
"Salma," she craned her neck to see if Rahim was anywhere near our conversation.
The kitchen and the living room were separated by a wall and the windows were always open. So, it was possible Rahim has heard snippets of our conversation. Not that I cared anyway.
"First of all, Rahim got into the car with my permission, and didn't your father teach you to treat your visitors with hospitality?" the mention of my father sent shivers down my spine. It had been a long time since Mom broached that topic, but I guessed you couldn't stop talking about something for a long time. I lowered my head, trying to brush away the threatening tears.
I looked up this time with a neutral face, even though the emotions were blowing full speed ahead. Becky's eyes went as wide as saucers, after processing her words. Her hands flew to her mouth as she gasped in horror.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," Mom apologized, getting closer to me, probably trying to get a hug. I stepped away from her and grabbed a bottle of Sprite and placed it on a tray, leaving the kitchen with a bang.
Rahim was on the couch, his legs on the coffee table, head bent, hands scrolling through his phone. I smacked his legs from the coffee table and placed the soda on the table, glaring at him.
"It's bad manners to stretch your legs on your host's table," I stated, folding my arms across my chest. Rahim scratched the back of his head, smiling sheepishly.
"Sorry, I just can't help myself."
"Yeah, right," I replied, leaving to my bedroom. It was upstairs on the door to the right. I entered, quickly changing into a pair of sweatpants and a T shirt. On any normal day, I would take my time to look for my favourite turquoise sundress, but I didn't know why. Maybe I wanted a change in clothes or something.
I came back downstairs to see Rahim watching a rerun of Best Friends in The World on the TV. He had probably connected his YouTube to the TV. I stood behind him, clearing my throat. He snapped his head back, looking into my eyes with a smile.
Gosh that boy just loved to show his pearly whites.
"Since you're in my house, let's accomplish the reason why you were here, not watch meaningless sitcoms," I took the remote, turning the TV off. "Let's go."
"Okay," he drawled, springing up on his feet and dusting his trousers.
"Wait for me here, I need to get something to drink." Without another glance, I disappeared into the kitchen. From the smell of everything, today's supper was either spaghetti or curry rice. I inhaled the scent once more, and heard my stomach grumble in protest.
"Oh, Salma," Mom looked away from her saucepan, and gave me a smile. I smiled back at her, opening the fridge. I removed a bottle of water and walk over to Mom. She was enveloped in one of my rare bear hugs, and she responded with a rub on my back.
"I'm sorry for getting angry at you," I apologized, stepping away from her. I lowered my head, scratching my forearm. Mom nodded, and we hugged again.
"I'm also sorry for scolding you. I never meant to talk about your father. I know you haven't completely healed," Mom replied, her eyes full of understanding. I nodded, telling her I had to attend to Rahim. "Just be nice to him, okay?"
The first thing I noticed about the hall was that nobody was sitting there. Rahim's backpack was still at the front door, and the remote was where I left it. But there was no Rahim. Where did he leave to? I hurried upstairs, wondering where he could be.
The house had so many rooms that it was impossible to not get lost on your first visit. There's my bedroom, on the right, the master bedroom directly on my left, and if one walked further, they would be plunged into a whole world of rooms. I wondered what the architect was thinking when he was designing the house.
"Rahim?" I called out, hearing faint voices a few rooms away. I called out his name again, moving forward. Who even asked him to leave the hall?
"I'm in here!" I heard his voice, distinct and clear. Was he in the study? Gosh, this boy had some nerves. I twisted the doorknob, swinging the door open. And there was Rahim, gawking at the bookshelves there. A cold breeze swept past me, I hugged myself.
"What are you doing in here? Can't you see you're not welcome in here?" I questioned, hands on my waist, eyebrows knitted together. Rahim looked at me with the most confused face.
"Isn't this the only logical place we can talk about our essay?" I knew that place was a study and all that, but come on! Anyone with two eyes and a lick of sense had to know this place wasn't any open spot. The floor felt cold and dusty beneath my feet. The furniture was covered with thick white sheets. The bookshelves were so dusty I was sure you needed to wear a nose mask.
"And shouldn't any logical human being see that this place is so dusty?" I replied, hands on my hips, trying to stop coughing. Rahim only shrugged, going through the books in the bookshelf.
"We can clean up," he said, fishing out a handkerchief from the back pocket of his grey trouser. He started wiping the table, leaving a clean and polished wood surface which was lying underneath the dust.
Tears pricked my eyes as Rahim worked deftly on the table. This was Dad's favourite place.
He would always lock himself here for work and his campaign brainstorming. Nobody dared cross him when Dad was in his study. The only thing that would bring him out was food.
Images of Dad hosting his party members flooded my mind, and before I knew it, tears streamed down my face. I turned my back to Rahim, quickly wiping the tears with the back of my palm.
"Are you okay?" he asked. I quickly dabbed at my eyes and twirled around, trying to keep my composure without faltering. Those big brown eyes of his pierced through mine. He scratched the back of his head, squinting at me.
"Of course," I scoffed, rolling my eyes at him.
"Okay," he drawled, focusing his attention on the table. Seeing him clean the table without a single care just... ugh. My fingers curled by my sides and I walked up to him, a pout on my lip. And not the cute kind people ogled over. No. I'm talking about the one which draws your lip forward and crinkles your nose.
"Rahim, stop it." I snatched the handkerchief from his grasp. He looked up, meeting my eyes. Pure confusion was written on his face and I was sure he was thinking if my head was screwed right.
"Why? Where do you expect us to work? I have to be home by 6 o'clock and I have less than..." he stopped to check his wristwatch. "an hour."
Even though I hated to admit it, he had a valid point. Where would we work? The hall did not have a writing table or anything for writing. I didn't want us to work in the study, so where do we work now? I stopped for a moment, raising a finger.
"Follow me," I told him, leading the way. We skipped two rooms from the study and found ourselves at the right side from the staircase. I twisted the doorknob, stepping into my bedroom.
Rahim also stepped in and I turned on the AC.
"Take a seat," I pointed at my writing desk. It was a round table surrounded by six chairs. There was a locker by the wall filled with writing materials. I just sat there to read a book, do my homework or just brainstorm ideas for my next YouTube video.
I walked over to the locker taking a spiral notebook with blank pages and two pens. I handed him one and he mumbled a 'thank you'. I nodded in response, taking a seat by him. I was hit by his cologne. He smelt of strawberry and peaches. Not typical for boys our age. They usually took strong, cheap colognes which could leave you with catarrh for a month. No cap.
"Your room's lovely. I like the decoration." I turned to Rahim and I found him scanning the room. I guessed he was not lying. It was decorated by Mom after all. The walls were painted white and gray, a perfect depiction of my life. "Can I take off my shoes here?"
"No." I replied sternly. He jumped a little in his seat at my harshness. "You can take it off at the doorway and come back, with your socks on."
"Alright, Matron Salma," he teased, leaving the room. I rolled my eyes, taking my phone to look for the perfect playlist to describe my mood at that moment. But then it happened.
You know when you start to feel the urge to pee really bad, but there were no signals at all? And any movement you made could make you pee in your pants?
That was my situation. I stood up cautiously, sticking my thighs to each other and taking short, quick steps to the bathroom which was the last door to my left in the bedroom.
Could this day get any worse?
I sat on the toilet seat, sighing with relief as I heard the trickles of urine splashing in the toilet bowl -- the best feeling ever. I flushed the toilet, walking towards the sink which was just beside the toilet.
I heard the door to my bedroom creak open. Rahim, I figured. I washed my hands quickly but it was as if the universe had conspired against me. From the time I saw Rahim looking through Dad's books in his study, and wiping the dust form the table, I found m eyes welling up.
"Fuck," I muttered to myself, sliding down the wall and slumping onto the cold floor. I let my back press against the wall as I lifted my head to stare at the light bulb. Why did I always have to get emotional with Rahim around?
The tears trickled down my eyes, passing through my ears and dropped on my shirt. Was this really me right now? I picked up my phone, zooming my wallpaper in. It was yet another photo of Dad and people would think I was blowing this grieving thing out of proportion, but it wasn't them. They weren't the ones to be constantly reminded of the hero of their lives. They weren't the ones who always had people talk about death with such triviality. And they certainly weren't the ones who had to go to bed each and every night without saying goodbye to the man in their life.
"No," I shook my head, sniffing. I couldn't let Rahim see me in this state. I bet he had even heard my loud sniffing and was standing behind the door. I stood up, brushing the tears with my shirt. I took one long sniff and looked at myself in the mirror again.
Chin up, shoulders back. Dad's words replayed in my mind like a broken record as I did just that. And even though I fumbled a few times, I eventually got out of the washroom and pressed my forehead against the door, by back to the main room.
"Salma?" I twirled, coming face to face with Rahim. His eyes narrowed as he walked towards my direction, the camera I used for my videos slung around his neck.
"What are you doing with my camera?" I snapped, trying to snatch it from him. Alas, he was taller than I was and pressed his fingers against the straps. I sighed.
"Hold your horses," he said, finishing with a soft laughter. His voice reminded me of Mom's voice -- soft and warm with a Northern lilt. I was guessing he was either a Fulani or maybe a Dagomba. "I'd like to film a video with you."
I inched towards him, his hot breath hovering over my face. "Like you would know anything about filming on politics," I scoffed, folding my arms across my chest.
"Don't be so proud, Salma," he said, wagging his finger, that stupid smile etched on his face like he had been born with it. "I do know a lot about politics and governance. I could even be a guest on your channel."
"Firstly, even if you had a degree in Political Science, I wouldn't given a tuppence, and secondly, I run a one woman show. I don't need any intruders as guests," I replied, putting air quotes around 'intruders'.
"Okay, okay," Rahim said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But you haven't posted a video for some time now. Why?" I choked on my breath, taking a bottle of water from my writing table.
"Do you even watch my channel?" I asked, befuddled at how he was up to date with my posting schedule.
"Yes, ever since you got featured on Citi FM for talking about the ex president." It was true. Apparently, the only way to make it on YouTube in Ghana was to get interviewed on national TV or radio. Citi FM sent my subscriptions from a measly two thousand subscribers to fifteen thousand in a matter of three days. The numbers kept culminating until every body wanted to see my face.
"Whatever, just give me my camera," I said, stretching my hands to take the camera. He looked at me for a moment, whether to analyze me or what. But he eventually gave me the camera with a defeated look on his face. He pursed his lips and we sat down to continue with our writing.
Less than five minutes into us just sitting in silence, and me scribbling random thoughts into my spiral notebook, Rahim spoke up.
"You know, it's so sad that you're like this."
My head shot up, eyes shooting daggers into his brown orbs which didn't seem as warm as before. This time, he just seemed blunt.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you're just so bitter with your outlook on life. You're... sad."
"Listen, mister," I stood, shutting the notebook and inching the pen towards his left eye. He didn't budge, but he tried to move his eyeball away from the pen. "I won't have you coming to my house, telling me how my perspective on life is. How I feel or how I am towards life is frankly none of your business."
"Well, it is my business. I'm your writing buddy, and if this is how you're going to be while we write an entire essay for the next months, I don't want to be part anymore!" It was the first time his voice boomed, but I was more fascinated than scared of the menacing glare he shot me.
"Then leave, I didn't ask for this anyway,"
"Fine!" he replied, walking out of the room with the swung door still open.
"Fine!" I shot back at him, running towards him so I could lock the gate.
_____
Five minutes.
Five minutes had passed yet I hadn't eaten a single mouthful of the spaghetti in front of me. Mom's cooking was the best, and surpassed mine by two hundred percent, but thinking of the words and gestures of Rahim, and how he left, all I could do was twirl the spaghetti like a ballerina.
"Won't you eat?" Mom asked, typing away on her phone.
"Do you think I'm a sad soul?" I asked. She looked up from her phone and squinted at me.
"What are you talking about Salma?"
"I just want to know." I shrugged, trying to not mention his name. Mom just tilted her head and sighed, gulping juice from her glass.
"Salma, I'd hate to break it to you, but you are becoming a sad soul. You used to be full of life and energy, but now, you're pale in comparison to that old Salma.You're even turning older by the day."
I wouldn't lie, the words stung me like a salted wound, but I guessed she was making a point. I nodded slowly and sighed. Standing, I took three gulps of my glass of water and sent the plate to the kitchen, leaving it in the sink. I looked out of the window and sighed heavily.
Sad Soul Salma.
It definitely didn't have a ring to it. And the fact that Mom seconded Rahim's thoughts meant there was something wrong.
_____
Hi guys!!! I'm so sorry for not updating for some weeks now, but school has been crazy, and I've been stuck on this chapter. I'm sorry again. But anyway, how was today's chapter?
Do you think Rahim was right for calling Salma out on her attitude?
And was Janet right for seconding Rahim without knowing the reason?
Is Salma really a sad soul?
Have you ever had a big break?
What's your favourite perfume scent? Mine is You're The One by Bath&Body Works.