Aliya.
The following day was a Friday.
As usual, the sky was a vivid blue, the air rippling with promised sunshine and heat unique to Fridays. Knowing there were men in the house, I dressed modestly in a loose long-sleeved dress and wrapped a veil around my head, before making my way downstairs.
When I opened my door, the door opposite mine also opened. My gaze clashed with orange orbs, his eyes weren't actually orange, they just appeared that way when light fell on them.
I noticed yesterday.
Speaking of yesterday, I could vaguely sense something was wrong with him. There was this air around him and a look in his eyes that seemed to scream 'drained.' That was the only reason I ignored him and let him be.
He looked somewhat pitiful.
But like they say, a pitiful person must have a hateful side. And this man in front of me had many hateful points, a literal walking red flag.
"Morning," he yawned. His hair was all over the place, his pyjamas creased and messy.
He still looked nice though, tsk.
"Sabahul khair," I said in spite, just to stump him.
"Sabahul noor," he mumbled, walking past me.
"You speak Arabic!?" I trailed after him, shocked.
"I have family in Saudi," was his reply.
"Wait, you entered Mecca!?"
"Even went to see the prophet's grave too," he muttered a reply, stopping on the first step to look back at me.
"You...I think your father has to fast for forgiveness."
"Hm?"
I walked past him and continued down the stairs. "Taking a khafir to Mecca, that's not done. It isn't allowed."
"Don't you all ever get fucking tired?" He sneered, sounding annoyed.
"Tired of what?"
"Forget it, I don't want to push you down this damn stairs."
I froze mid-step, creakily turning to stare at him. "I don't think it's nice for me to take the lead, a woman should never walk in front of a man. It's not ethical," I asserted.
His brows furrowed, looking bewildered.
"Really, I'm an advocate of 'men are leaders and women are followers.' So please, after you," I stepped aside, a hairsbreadth away from bowing in the waist.
His confusion cleared and his eyes shined in mirth. He stepped down to the stairs I stood and gazed down at me before smirking. "No, you first. Promise I won't push."
I took a step back, shivering in alarm. "Y-you go first. I insist!"
He laughed out loud, raising his hand, to which I flinched, and settling it on my scarf-covered head. The weight of his hand was light yet firm, feeling more pronounced when he rubbed my head a bit heavily.
"Why are you so cute, Aliya," he smiled a bright genuine smile. He had this small dip by the side of his lower lip that looked like a tiny dimple.
I was mesmerized.
Wide-eyed, I pushed him away and ran down the stairs, willing my conical hollow muscular blood blood-bumping organ to not pick up speed. Increased blood flow was equal to increased flusteredness (if that was even a word.)
The butterflies in the makings though disintegrated without a trace when I reached the bottom of the stairs. Multiple pairs of eyes landed on me, and subsequently, Hafiz, who stood behind me.
There were my grandparents; my father's parents, Auntie's parents, sister, nieces and nephew. Bappa Hassan and Bappa Hussain, and their wives Goggo Bilkisu and Goggo Furdausi.
And them Hamma Anwar and their wives though I don't see the kids anywhere. They were probably out in the garden.
"What the fuck? Who let the circus in?" Hafiz mumbled behind. I was coming to the conclusion that his speaking lowly when he woke up, translated simply to him not being a morning person.
Scared his words might embarrass Auntie, I put on my family-friendly smile and greeted them. "Salamalaikum, to what do we owe this pleasant surprise so early in the morning? Didi, Baba, it's been a while," I walked over to Auntie's parents with a beam.
My grandmother was sitting by Didi, Auntie's mom's side. I sat beside her and hugged her, breathing in her homey scent. "I missed you," I whispered.
"Ohh, this obvious bias. Aliya, did you only see your Nana?" Hamma Yusuf called. "What about us?"
With a helpless laugh, I went around the room and greeted everyone, asking about their health and work.
"Yaya!"
The flurries of cries were followed by tiny hands encircling my legs. I squatted to their heights and took turns hugging the four of them.
"Have you grown taller, Musty?"
"Yes! Asiya is getting more annoying because she's taller than me! I couldn't stand it so I grew taller!" He smiled broadly, a proud glint in his eyes.
A step behind him, Abdallah snorted. "You can't grow just because you want to stop your sister from being annoying."
Mustapha turned and glared at him. With the two of them standing side by side, they looked more like twins than cousins. Probably the twin-gene passed from their grandparents.
"Don't you guys get tired? Seriously," Usman, Abdallah's younger brother said. Asiya stood by my side, dressed in a cute princess dress with a turban covering her head. Being the only girl in her generation, she couldn't be bothered to squabble with the senseless boys
Her words, not mine.
However, she did say she was looking forward to her mom, Adda Dija, giving her a sister. Or Adda Aisha, Auntie's niece-in-law, who was pregnant.
"The two of you should not even start," Hamma Anwar walked over and dragged away his son.
Mustapha scowled. "But Abdallah started it!"
"Yes yes. Come to the garden with me to look around."
The other three kids chased after them, not wanting to lose out on a chance to play around.
"Is this Hafiz?" Didi asked and I froze.
Scared his bastard would show, I hurried to his side, ready to kick him back to his senses if he dared start being disrespectful.
"Hel—" he swallowed his words when I stomped his feet. Thank God we were standing behind the couch.
"Salamalaikum!" I whispered.
He threw me a dirty glare but thank the Lord for creating him grouchy in the morning, he complied and greeted with a salam. Like a decent human being.
I met Auntie's eyes, which were filled with a sheen of tears and relief. Disheartened that she probably got something wrong, I smiled weakly.
"I haven't seen you since you were a child. Come over, let me take a proper look," Didi beckoned.
"That's your grandmother and the one sitting beside her is my grandmother; father's side. Opposite them are our grandfathers; left yours, right mine." I whispered.
He side-eyed me and gave a subtle nod. "And the women?"
Surprised he was cooperating, I replied. "The one in Maroon is Yapendo Bilikisu, Bappa Hussain's wife. Beside her is Yapendo Firdausi, Bappa Hassan's wife. Beside each of them are their daughters-in-law, Adda Khadija and Adda Salma, Hamma Anwar and Hamma Ashraf's wives. The four kids are theirs; two each. Got all that?"
"Fuck this," he muttered before heading towards Didi.
"Wait! I'm not done!" I chased after him but stopped abruptly when I realized they had all been sitting there watching us whisper back and forth. Seeing the teasing and knowing smiles on their faces, I had only one thought.
Skin me alive and drench me in boiling oil.
Where was the 'one second is equal to two hundred minutes' that existed in films? Why was reality so different from cinematics?
Al-Hakam help me they probably thought we were—I feel like hurling—we were whispering—someone should just shoot me dead—whispering sweet nothings to each other.
Feeling faint, I floated to the dining table and sat down. I didn't care if Hafiz insulted them or disgraced Auntie, I didn't give an orangutan's butt!
I also cared about my self-respect and image as a creation of Allah.
"Who are you?"
Hafiz's voice sounded and I was halfway to the living room before I realized. Well, we now establish that I couldn't ignore him causing shame to his mother. And I had the bad habit of feeling embarrassed on behalf of others.
I didn't want to experience second-hand embarrassment on his behalf.
In the living room, Hafiz stood by the couch Didi and Nana sat, looking as stiff as a cardboard cutout figure. His gaze was on Fadila, Auntie's niece.
The room fell silent, and I felt Auntie's awkwardness and embarrassment. Wanting to slap myself for choosing image over family, I settled beside him and pinched his waist through his clothes.
Don't even ask me where that confidence came from.
He hissed in pain, turning to glare at me, a look I returned in kind.
"Well, it has been what? Ten years? Since he last visited it's understandable he can't make out who is whom," Baba, my grandfather, awkwardly smoothened.
"It's been more than that actually," Hamma Muazu said. "Salamaalaikum, you probably don't remember but I'm Muazu, your cousin; mother's side. This is my wife, Aisha."
I almost fell over in respect at the natural way he said it. As expected from a reporter, can never be caught unfresh. I gave him a thumbs up when he met my gaze to which he shook his head helplessly.
"Salam Alaikum," Adda Aisha smiled, she was a fair lady with big eyes. Although all the women in the family were beautiful mashaAllah, I believed she was the prettiest.
Though I would never say that out loud, I enjoyed my peace.
"These two are my sisters; Fadila and Karima, and that's my mom; Fatima. My dad couldn't make it as he's overseas so he sends his regard," Ya Muazu said. "That rounds up the introductions right?"
He had a way of alleviating awkward situations.
Barakallahu feehi.
"I'll take it from here," Auntie's husband cleared his throat, reaching out to pat her shoulder. "You should take Aliya to the garden."
"Why?"
"Why are you taking her?"
We met each other's gaze at the same, mine filled with questions and his with annoyance. "You're currently the only fucking person in this room I can stand, you can't just leave me with these circus freaks!" He hissed.
Well, at least he had the decency to lean and whisper into my ear.
Pasting on a wide fake smile, I replied. "Circus freaks or not, they are your family. I told you, didn't I? Being an atheist doesn't excuse lacking morals."
His nostrils flared in anger. "You!"
I ignored him. "Hamma Ashraf, I leave him with you," I smiled towards him.
He smiled back with a nod before beckoning Hafiz, who was still fuming, over with a smile.
Auntie and my Addas and the other women all stood up and ushered me to the garden, which to my surprise, was decorated Kumbo-style, with fur rugs and animal skin cushions and satin drapes and everything.
I looked back at Hafiz who was sitting beside Hamma Anwar with a scowl and suddenly felt like laughing.
Serves him right, he could have been back in the US having a blast, yet he refused to cooperate with me to get out of this sticky situation. Even gutsily jumping in head first.