The past few days have been a whirlwind of activities. From teaching at the Islamiyya on Sunday to meeting with my client on Monday and Wednesday for the ongoing project. Work had kept me busy, especially as I was preparing to coordinate a training session for the staff in customer relations later in the week.
Monday also marked the day Am'ma Meena came over and brought all the stuff she bought for the lefe. We spent time filling the boxes for Ya Fahd's fiancée. The rest of the week involved buying and packing, getting ready for the upcoming event. Conversations with Muhammad were sporadic, while my chats with Usman became more regular. I even invited Usman to Hannan's store opening, and he agreed to attend.
Today is Thursday, and we're at Hannan's shop, checking on the setup for her opening tomorrow. After, the girls and I head to Rabia's house for dinner.
As we settled around Rabia's cozy living room, the soft glow of string lights creating a warm ambiance, the conversation shifted to a more exciting topic – Rabia's upcoming wedding plans.
"How's the wedding planning going?" I ask Rabia, eager to hear the details.
Rabia's eyes lit up with excitement, "Oh, it's been fine alhamdulillah, The venue is set, we're using ICC and I'm going to Hudayya for my first consultation for my dinner dress. Then avenga for the other outfits within 2 weeks"
Hannan chimed in, "Tell us about the dress! Is it a princess gown or something sleek and modern?"
Rabia grinned, "I wanted something elegant but not too traditional. It's sha a fitted dress with a tail that's what I'm thinking. we might have to sketch I'm not sure. You guys have to come for the consultation with me as my sisters"
Rabia is an only child but she has always loved company and has always wanted a sibling. We've done almost everything with her since we became best friends, she always includes us in her life. I knew more of Rabia's extended family members than mine even.
"Of course babe" I replied smiling.
As the night unfolded with wedding talks, laughter, and shared memories, I couldn't help but feel grateful for the bond we shared. Rabia's joy was infectious, and being a part of her wedding planning journey added a new layer to our friendship.
The clock ticked away, and as the evening wrapped up, we left her house with a promise to accompany her to the bridal boutique for the dress consultation.
___________
Friday arrived with an air of anticipation as Hannan's store opening day finally dawned. I woke up early, eager for the day's events to unfold. The morning sun cast a warm glow, promising a day filled with excitement and celebration.
After my morning routine, I dressed up in brown full length Bodycon and paired it with the 'Aisha abaya,' which was one of Hannans pieces named after me. It was a brown open abaya with gold and blue designs on the sleeves and the hem. I decided to do a full makeup look and slipped into blue heels to further elevate my outfit. I bade farewell to Mamma who promised to join us in about an hour when she picked Faiza up from school.
I headed to Hannan's store, where the atmosphere buzzed with the final preparations. The display looked exquisite—Abayas lined up, hijabs neatly arranged, and accessories adding a touch of elegance. Hannan beamed with pride, her dream turning into reality.As the opening ceremony commenced, friends, family, and curious shoppers filled the space.
"Searching for something specific?" I inquired, noticing a woman entering with a hint of curiosity. She appeared a bit unsure in this new environment.
"Not really. I'm not Muslim, but I love these types of dresses," she replied, her smile wide and genuine.
"Oh, modest wear is for everyone. Take, for instance, the one I'm wearing right now. It's only twenty-five thousand, and you can pair it with whatever you like underneath—trousers, a skirt, a dress, however long or short. It's essentially a kimono with a matching scarf. Come with me; I'll show you other colors," I gestured towards the next row, encouraging her to explore more.
Hannan passed by, winking at me—a silent thank you. The lady chuckled, "You're a great marketer, did anyone tell you that?"
"It was one of my majors in university."
"Ah, that makes sense. So, what do you suggest?"
"I think this navy blue one complements your skin tone perfectly," I took the abaya off the rack and handed it to her. "Feel free to try it on."
After she tried it on, she returned to the shop and ended up buying two pieces. Hannan and I expressed our gratitude for her visit as she left. I immersed myself in the task of persuading more people to explore the collections, the energy of the store opening day pulsating around us.
Usman entered, dressed impeccably in a kaftan, exuding charm as he added a pleasant presence to the event. Rabia and I approached him, extending a warm welcome and offering snacks.
"So, who are you shopping for today, Danbatti? Your mom? Your sister? Your babe?" Rabia quizzed Usman, casting a sly smile my way. Ugh, I felt the urge to smack her head right then.
"I'm sure we can find something for all of them," he replied with a snug smile, and I mentally rolled my eyes.
"Yauwa, that's the type of energy I like," Rabia exclaimed, ushering him toward a stand to showcase some pieces.
In just 20 minutes, we had selected a black abaya resembling a boubou for his mother and three black ones with dramatic sleeves for his sisters. After a quick call to confirm their sizes, we assisted him in picking the items. Usman also opted for the hijab box for his sisters, a special package with a veil, three different hijab pins, fashion tape, and an under cap. While Rabia managed the packaging at the cashier's, Usman turned to me.
"And what would my babe like?" he inquired.
"Who is your babe?" I asked, playing dumb—or was I genuinely playing? I'm not his babe so who's she?
"Her name is A'isha; she's a really pretty girl, brown skin. What color would suit her best?"
"Hmm, I don't know. Maybe just go for something black to be safe."
"Okay, choose something," he insisted.
I laughed and shook my head. "Don't worry, Usman. Thank you."
"Come on. I know you'd want to support your friend today by buying from her business. Just show me the ones you wanted to pick; I'll pay for it."
"It's fine, really. Thank you."
"A'isha, please."
"Oh, I know what she wanted. Don't worry; I'll show you," Rabia chimed in unexpectedly.
"Rabs, don't," I said, giving her a stern look.
"It's just a nice gesture, A'isha. Accept it," she insisted.
"Haba, Aisha, please. Just let me do this for you, this once." Usman pleaded.
"I'll get them," Rabia said, sauntering off to the pile of items we had set aside for ourselves earlier.
"I'll pay you back," I said to Usman.
"Don't be silly," he responded, disbelief in his eyes. He stepped closer to me, lowering his voice. "Look, A'isha, I'm not paying to impress you or anything. I just want to do something nice for you. I like to give gifts. In shaa Allah, I'll never hold it against you or say you owe me, God forbid. Kawai relax. Let me take care of you, love."
I took a deep breath and nodded quietly. He held my hand, leading me to the cashier point where he was going to pay. "That'll be two-hundred and five thousand naira only," the cashier stated. That was a lot.
"Okay," Usman said, passing his card as if it were normal to randomly spend 205,000 naira on abayas. I couldn't shake off the discomfort I felt. There was always a certain uneasiness when someone paid for anything for me—it felt like I needed to reciprocate, as if I owed them something.
After he finished the payment, Usman and Rabia exchanged goodbyes, and then I walked him to his car. "Thank you so much, wallahi. I really appreciate it, you have no idea," I expressed my gratitude.
"Anything for you, love," he replied, smiling widely. I chuckled, feeling a bit shy.
"When will I see you again?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"Okay, we'll talk. Text me when you're done here."
"In shaa Allah I will" I said to him and he hugged me. Just as Usman was about to step into his car, a familiar black BMW, glided to a halt in front of Usman's vehicle.
Muhammad.
It felt as if time had slowed down, amplifying the awkwardness that now enveloped the scene. Usman, waved cheerfully at Muhammad, his voice carrying a casual tone, "Ah, baba yane?"
Muhammad reciprocated the gesture, throwing a smile my way as he responded, "Wallahi, Lafiya, bro. How're you doing?" His eyes subtly flickered in my direction, catching my gaze. I awkwardly waved back, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension.
As Muhammad drove off, leaving Usman with that triumphant grin, the atmosphere lingered with an undeniable sense of competition. Usman's smile widened, seemingly aware of the subtle dynamics at play.
Returning to the store, I reached for my phone, realizing I had missed a message from Muhammad, an hour ago. His words conveyed apologies for missing the store opening, citing work commitments. A scoff involuntarily escaped my lips. The excuse felt thin, especially considering I had just seen him drive by. Brushing off the twinge of annoyance, I redirected my focus to networking and promoting the merchandise within the store, determined not to let the situation dampen the success of the day.
As the day at Hannan's store came to an end, the atmosphere was filled with joy and success. The celebration was marked by numerous sales and the presence of wonderful people. Among them was Hannan's husband.
"I'm so proud of you baby, look at you! The shop is amazing," he exclaimed, pulling her into a warm embrace. "How did you manage to make it even more beautiful?"
Hannan beamed, "Well, I had some help from the dream team," gesturing to me and Rabia with a grin.
Amid the celebration, I couldn't shake off the underlying stress. The lie in Muhammad's message about being too busy lingered in my thoughts, and not to mention him probably seeing Usman and I embrace each other. Why do I care? So many things added to my internal conflict.
As the night settled in, I found myself wrestling with the tangled emotions surrounding Muhammad and Usman. Why, at 23, was I entangled in this romantic drama? Fatigue set in, leaving me questioning the complexities of my own heart and the relationships around me.
Once I got home I met my parents and Mamma's sisters still organizing tomorrow's gifts. I sat and spoke with them for about an hour before heading up to my room, I was extremely tired. I asked the maid to please bring my food to my room so I could eat and sleep off right after. While resting I decided to reply to Muhammad's earlier message.
Me: Work keeping you busy, or is it something else?
Muhammad Salman: Just work, A'isha. Trust me.
Me: Trust you? Your version of "busy" doesn't quite match what I saw today.
Muhammad Salman: Look, it's complicated. I'll explain when I can.
Me: Complicated? Spare me the vague excuses. If you can't be honest, don't bother explaining.
Muhammad Salman: you didn't seem to notice I wasn't there even. You had good company
Me: meaning?
Muhammad Salman: I saw you guys A'isha
Me: Usman. Okay, and so?
Muhammad Salman: lol okay
Me: Look this is getting childish. However you think you saw me and my good company is none of your business. What is relevant to you is that you didn't honor my invitation and I feel like you lied to me and you haven't even apologized or explained for any of it.
Muhammad Salman: I told you. I'll explain when I can.
As the conversation unfolded, tension simmered beneath the surface, leaving me with a mix of frustration and unanswered questions. Knowing him I knew he wouldn't further expand so I just left it. As I read his messages, a mixture of disappointment and frustration crept in. Despite my attempt to brush it off, the unease lingered.
When Usman called later that night, I chose not to answer. Instead, I silenced my phone and drifted into a restless sleep, a swirl of conflicting emotions clouding my mind. Tomorrow was a new day, I had to teach the girls at the islamiyya and also escort my brother to give his lefe.
_______________________________
Hello dear Readers,
🔥🔥 Things are getting a little more heated! Muhammad is falling our hand sadly.
Sigh, who'll do abaya shopping for me?
:((
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Love you all❤️
~Aïcha