Muhammad's POV
The morning sun cast a harsh light into my room, mirroring the harsh reality of the events that unfolded the previous day. Frustration lingered in the air, and I couldn't escape the weight of it. The intrusion into my private life, the public scrutiny – it all felt like an unwelcome invasion. I set out early eager to leave the house before anyone woke up and tried to speak with me.
Umar and I sat at a table at café flour, attempting to find solace in the familiar routine. Umar's arrival offered a semblance of relief. He had taken charge of damage control, successfully persuading major blogs to take down the posts. The photographer responsible for the leak faced the wrath of our anger.
"Wai wani Faruk Jpegs," Umar hissed.
"Wawa kawai Dan iska." I remarked under my breath.
"It's handled bro" he reassured me.
"He will regret the day he decided to start photography."
As Umar updated me on the progress, his words carried a comforting reassurance. Yet, beneath the surface, a storm of emotions raged. The sense of violation lingered, and I couldn't shake off the frustration that clung to me like a second skin. I felt terrible for the way I spoke to A'isha and how I handled matters but I couldn't find it in me to drop my pride and call her. And starting the marriage procedures? It felt too real and too soon.
Umar, perceptive as always, nudged me towards a necessary conversation with A'isha. "Baba She's not to blame for this mess," he urged. "You can't let anger destroy what you're trying to build with her." I nodded my head making a mental note to call later.
We sat in a comfortable silence when a familiar voice echoed from behind us. "If it isn't my favorite pair of best friends."
Umar, seemingly unfazed, clenched his jaw and put on a fake smile. "Nadia, kwana goma."
A sinking feeling settled in my stomach as I heard her approaching. Nadia, my ex-girlfriend, had been a recurring figure in my life, the tumultuous nature of our relationship extending over five years. Our history ranged from dating to flirting and even dabbling in a friends-with-benefits arrangement. The messy and toxic dynamic had finally led me to cut ties with her earlier in the year, urging her to move on. However, she continued to find ways to insert herself into my life.
Exchanging pleasantries, Nadia made herself comfortable in the open seat next to me. "I thought we were friends, Adam. You couldn't even tell me you were seeing someone new."
"Recent development," I replied tersely.
Her response was loaded with skepticism. "I see. I wonder how long this one will last."
Rolling my eyes, I retorted, "Forever, in shaa Allah."
Nadia burst into laughter, treating the situation like an amusing spectacle. Amid Nadia's laughter, I felt an increasing discomfort. She continued, "Forever? Baby, daman you always did have a way with words. I hope you're not setting yourself up for disappointment."
Umar interjected, "Nadia, we were trying to have a private conversation here."
She waved off Umar dismissively. "Relax, Umar. I'm just catching up with an old friend. So, who's the lucky lady, Adam?"
I shot a silent glance at Umar, signaling my desire to end this conversation.
"Are you going to pretend like you didn't see the posts, and that's why you're asking, ko zaki rena mana hankali ne?" Umar snapped. The duo had never really gotten along; they almost had a sibling-like relationship.
"Oh, na gani, of course. I'm not denying that. But she's not anybody that anyone knows. Who's her father?"
Umar scoffed, picking up his phone, trying to ignore the conversation. "I'm glad you don't know her; she's private, and that's what I like."
Nadia leaned in with a sly grin. "Well, I'll be around if this forever doesn't work out. You know where to find me."
Desperate.
I fought the urge to scoff, maintaining respect for her. Her shallow mindset and pursuit of a flashy Abuja lifestyle was sickening. We sat in silence as Nadia attempted to shift the conversation to different gossip, but we left her to it.
One of the security personnel who had escorted me in the morning called to inform me that my father was looking for me. The frustration that had settled in my chest intensified.
"Nadia, kiyi hakuri, we have to go now. Baba is looking for me."
"Aw, no. Say hello to him and Aunty Jamila for me. I'll come to visit soon."
Of course, Aunty Jamila's bestie.
I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. "Toh."
"Take this for your bill." I brought out a bundle of cash from my pocket and placed it on the table in front of her. Umar and I bid her goodbye, heading out.
With a heavy heart, I made my way to my car, bracing myself for the repercussions of yesterday's chaos.
I arrived home with a sense of foreboding. As I entered, the atmosphere was tense, and my father's stern expression mirrored the impending confrontation.
"Muhammad, Zauna. We need to talk," Baba demanded, pointing to the chair opposite him.
"What the hell is going on, Muhammad? Pictures of you and some girl are all over social media. People at the office are talking about it some even have the guts to tell me congratulations that my son is getting married. You're getting married and I don't know or what? Did you want me to look like a fool? Is this some joke?" Baba questioned, the frustration evident in his voice though he tried to keep his voice leveled as possible.
"Kayi Hakuri Baba. We are not getting married." I tried to explain to him.
"So what is going on? What is your relationship with this girl?" my father inquired, making it an uncomfortable conversation, as we do not discuss my relationships ever.
"Toh ita kawarka ce ko budurwarka?" He continued, questioning whether she was just a friend or something more.
"Ita ce budurwata, Baba," I admitted.
"What's her name?"
Before I could respond, Aunty Jamila barged in, adding her unwarranted opinions to the mix. "Ai, this is what happens when you keep your life so secretive. People will speculate, and now you're in the spotlight for the wrong reasons."
I ignored her comment and answered my father's question, "Her name is A'isha Yahaya, Baba."
"Yahaya? What is her father's name, and what does he do?"
"Abdulsamad Yahaya. He is a doctor and also owns a small recycling company. From my investigations, he's a very respected man in the Islamic community here in Abuja. Maybe you've heard of him or not because he's more private than me."
"Abdulsamad?" Baba said, trying to recall if he knew the name.
"Her father has asked that we come see him and begin to speak about marriage as he feels it's a shame she's seen with a man so publicly online."
"Menene matsalar ka wai? Ba kwa son ci gaba da gadon ubanku ne? You're a successful businessman; consider marrying someone from an influential family, dangi mai tasiri. It's good for business and fame in the family and will make sure you know that she's not a gold digger," Aunty Jamila suggested, conveniently ignoring the real issue at hand.
My father remained silent, neither fully agreeing nor challenging her perspective. The tension hung heavy in the air when Aunty Jamila proposed an unexpected solution, "Why not consider Nadia? You two have history, and she's from a good family." She turned to my father, "Alhaji ka tuna da Nadia? Yarinyar cousin dita hajiya Halima?" (Do you remember Nadia? My cousin, Hajiya Halima's daughter?)
"Okay na tuna," he replied, turning to me, "so what's wrong with Nadia?"
My frustration reached a boiling point. "We do not agree on a lot of things, Baba. She is very outgoing, and if we are together, you will see it not just on blogs but in newspapers and on television," I explained, starting to ramble in my frustration.
"Opposites attract," Aunty Jamila added. I rubbed my hands on my face in frustration and sent Baba a pleading look, implying that I didn't want Aunty Jamila here.
"Jamila Dan Allah ki bamu wuri minti biyar," (For the sake of God please excuse us for five minutes,) he said to her. She shot him a shocked look and hissed before walking out. Dramatic ass bitch.
"Nagode, Baba. Aisha is a remarkable person – well-educated in both Western and Islamic knowledge. She works as a business consultant for Boston Consulting, and she dedicates her time to teaching young girls at the masjid on weekends. We met in London. Baba, with all due respect, I don't care about who her father is or what he does. I care that he is a good man who has raised a pious daughter." I took a pause.
"You know my stance, Baba. I don't subscribe to the flashy lifestyle here. I try to keep a low profile, and I don't seek attention. Despite the blessings Allah has given me, putting my achievements on social media, I don't like unnecessary attention. Out of all the women I've spoken to, she's the only one with the patience to put up with my attitude. I'm certain she's not with me for my money, as she has never asked me for anything. Instead, she prefers to give to me."
As I spoke these words, I felt a mix of vulnerability and determination. Opening up to my father in this way was rare for me, but it was essential to convey the depth of my feelings for Aisha. After sharing this, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief, mixed with the anticipation of how my father would respond to my revelation.
In the weighty silence of the room, I noticed a subtle smile forming on Baba's lips. Uncertain of its meaning – whether it was approval or amusement – I pressed on.
"And most importantly, I know she's a woman that Mama would have been proud of. Mama always used to say she can't wait to see the woman who will be with me, soften my heart, and raise my children in the way of Islam. Someone that would remind me of her, In shaa Allah, Baba, Aisha is that person." I hadn't deeped this revelation until now when I said it. Aisha was like my mother in many ways from her sense of humor, to her big smile to her ambitious spirit, and so much more.
Though I haven't actively pursued marriage and have been reserved about the idea, if I were to make a choice now, I'd prefer it to be with Aisha, even if it means accelerating the timeline I initially envisioned. While I may not be fully prepared for marriage at the moment, I would still choose her over Nadia.
Baba's expression softened, and he leaned back, contemplating my words. After a thoughtful pause, he spoke, "Adam, I understand that times have changed, and your generation approaches things differently. If you truly like this girl and her values align with ours, then that matters more than anything else. If you see your mother in her then you have found a treasure indeed. Speak with her, invite her over so that we can meet her and then we can proceed on traditions."
Relieved by Baba's understanding, I nodded in agreement. The tension that had gripped the room began to ease, and I sensed a glimmer of hope that things might move in a positive direction.
"Nagode Baba."
"But know that I will still conduct my investigations and I will talk to my brothers and Umma. Or you've spoken to her already?"
Umma was Baba's only sister, the one who raised us after our Mother passed. I instantly felt a pang of guilt that I hadn't told her about Aisha yet and I hadn't gone to see her in a while. I need to go tonight in shaa Allah. If there was anyone I could seek advice from, or be a little vulnerable with it was Umma and Umar.
"No Baba In shaa Allah I plan to see her tomorrow."
"Toh."
Exiting the room, Aunty Jamila shot me a disapproving look, her lips curled into a sneer. "So I can't give my advice in this house right? You must get your way Ko? Toh wallahi Nadia zaka aura just wait and see" she hissed and sauntered off.
Ignoring her comment, I walked away, making my way to my room. The weight of the situation lingered, but a spark of optimism ignited within me. With a deep breath, I reached for my phone and sent a quick text to Umar, updating him on the outcome of the discussion with my father.
I began to dial Aisha's number but I think it will be better to go her house. Deciding to take a more personal approach, I grabbed a bouquet of flowers and an "I'm sorry" card. With these in hand, I headed to Aisha's house.
Upon arrival, I called her, my heart pounding in my chest. She answered, "Salam love."
"Salam Muhammad," she responded dryly not asking how I was doing immediately as she usually does. The usual warmth in her greetings was replaced by a noticeable coolness.
"Can we talk? I'm outside your house."
She scoffed, "outside my house? You can't be here right now Muhammad. If my parents see us together they will not be pleased."
"They won't see; my car is heavily tinted, and I can park further away,"
"Look it's just not convenient both my parents are home and honestly I am not ready speak with you. Please just go."
"Haba, Aisha," I began, and she abruptly ended the call, leaving me sitting outside with a mix of frustration and concern.
Feeling a mix of frustration and concern, I took a deep breath, attempting to control my simmering anger. I called Aisha again, hoping for a chance to explain and make amends. However, the call went unanswered, leaving me with the weight of the unresolved situation pressing down on me.
"A babe is really doing me like this?" I said to myself and chuckled dryly. Things really change.
I went about my day completing work that I had to do and eventually went back home. I had kept trying to reach A'isha. Disheartened by the continued silence, I reluctantly gave up my attempts to reach her.
Suit yourself A'isha, when you're done with this you'll look for me.
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Hello dear readers!
Muhammad is giving narcissistic vibes oo. 😠
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Love you all❤️
~Aïcha