Mubarak's gaze was still fixated on Maryam when he spoke. "You have taken notes on me?" There was no disbelief in his voice just pure curiosity and a ton-load of amusement. Now he would laugh to his fill.
"No, don't flatter yourself. It's nothing, give it to me, you don't open a lady's notebook." Maryam stepped forward, but he took it back, holding it behind him.
His brows furrowed. "Since when?"
"Since etiquettes exist."
Maryam could see the glint in his eyes and she was sure he just assumed himself a challenge. And as far as she knew Mubarak Umar Bugaje he had every intention of winning. His gaze left hers and he opened the notebook scanning the first page. "Mubarak loves white?" His scowl deepened, then he looked up at her. "Who says I love white?"
"Okay, that... you shouldn't read that, give me my book. Mama wrote it for me," She said with a brief roll of her eyes. "She thought giving me a heads-up about you might help. But apparently, she has no idea... I've never even read it!" She said, in her defence.
The edge of his mouth lifted into a smile, "She has no idea that I'm unique?"
"Why do you like to flatter yourself? That is self-aggrandizing. It is unflattering."
He chuckled and his voice, oh his voice was so thick, and deep, he sounded like home. So comforting just like someone who had a cold or someone who just woke up from sleep and had a hot cup of ginger-cloves tea. Okay ears, that was one creepy way to listen to him, there was nothing comforting about this man.
A shady man who always got home at midnight sometimes well into the morning. Maryam felt the need to ask him where he stayed late every night. Since he always seemed to be in his outdoor wear when he met her at mid-night at their unspoken rendezvous point.
Granted, this night and a few others were exceptions. But somehow she felt she didn't have that right yet. Oh, she was dying to know. She just wished that thing about him being 'the King' was actually a ruse and he wasn't like a double-agent, an attorney in the day and a mafia at night... Wait. Was he coming home late just to avoid meeting her? Today was an exception because he wanted to meet her and give her her notebook. But before she could ask him, he spoke.
"Okay, white is not my colour, you may want to amend that." He said, surprising her, she had never expected him to open up to her, much less offer anything that had to do with him.
Maryam squinted at him, he was staunchly going over that list and number nine made her cringe, oh let him be blinded and not read number nine. She had lied to him, she had actually taken a peep. After that first time in the flight- if she could call one hour staring a peep- trying to figure him out when he wouldn't open up to her himself.
So she decided a little distraction might help, he should not read number nine.
"Why are you always in white, cream or grey then? If you don't love white?"
He looked up thoughtfully, and he was so quiet she thought he wasn't going to answer her. Then his voice came, gruff at first, he cleared it, and it went straight to her, she had no idea how, but it did.
"I used to love bling and colours that pop, but they are somebody's favourite, and I'm not allowed to think of somebody now. So..."
Maryam felt a twinge of sadness from his statement. "That is bad." His eyes looked distant, she recovered quickly from her lull. "Tell you what? Why do you have to stop loving your favourite things just because they remind you of somebody? You don't have to hide from it, knowing that it is still there hidden, your hidden favourite will only keep reminding you of why you stopped loving it openly. But if you let it out, eventually you will create new memories that aren't related to that somebody. It can be your new normal;"
Mubarak let out a sigh. "Good point. Black is majestic but a little colour won't hurt, you know. Cream is nice, heard it looks great on the skin too." He said, his eyes briefly sweeping over her. Then he took a bottle of water from the patio table. "May I go with this?" he tapped her notebook.
"No way!" Maryam extended her hand to snatch it, but he uneventfully gave it back to her, letting out a defeated sigh.
"I was so looking forward to reading my favourite pass time and my favourite thing about a woman. How in the world did your mother get all that information 'she assumed' are my favourite things?"
"I don't know, ask your mother."
He gave her a short nod and began to walk away. "Wait, my mother does not know number nine. Please tell me she doesn't."
Oh, he read that one, too bad. She tried to warn him.
"Well, you may want to check again with her and see."
Mubarak grunted and turned, making her laugh.
***
It was 2 a.m. when Maryam woke up with a start, that was when Mubarak's words registered to her, he had told her cream suited her too. She wore a cream dress when she went to see him that first night at Hajiya's living room. Why would he even notice that? He hadn't even spared her a look on that day. Just that blazing murderous glare.
It must have been one of his spiralled thoughts. But what if this was him making an effort towards the alliance? Oh, it would be fun working with his mother. She rubbed her hands excitedly and smiled.
She prayed a few units of nawaafil prayers, seeking Allah's guidance over her affairs before she got back to sleep.
***
On Saturday, Hajiya took them out. Maryam was impressed with what she saw. When Hajiya Kulthum spoke in plural about her initiative, she had no idea she was talking about a team of many people volunteering from all walks of life trying to better the lives of the future generation. There were doctors, educationists, lawyers, accountants, founders, homemakers and many more. Maryam watched as this amazing woman who she had no idea what she was before now, deliver a wonderful speech about pushing it forward.
That was when she knew what she wanted to do with her life. At twenty-two, the revelation finally dawned upon her. "Sorry, Mama but I am going to be a full-time writer. These people need content and I am going to give the best to them." She smiled. And just when she was plucked out of her thoughts.
Her eyes travelled across the green park, seeing how many people were participating until her eyes landed on his. He stood several feet across the field. He was there, leaning on a tree, his arms were crossed over his torso. Dressed in a plain white T-shirt with a light army-military khaki jacket, a pair of blue denim jeans and some clean white sneakers, he stood waiting for his mother to finish her program.
Maryam had no idea Mubarak would be coming to the event. She couldn't help the grin that had spread across her face when she had her vision of becoming a writer. Now that he had seen her silly grin, he would think she was smiling at him. She frowned her face to pass across the right message. But he smiled shaking his own head. She even saw a glimpse of his teeth.
So white.
Later when the other participants were sharing their ideas. Hajiya Kulthum summoned her, "Mubarak is going home, he will get your yogurt. And Wafiyya isn't feeling good, so he is dropping her home. Do you want to leave with them?"
Somehow Maryam felt the question should have been 'do you want to wait?' But she nodded nonetheless. He wouldn't even know which type of yogurt she wanted.
"Hajiya knows the yogurt place, you don't," she said later when they reached his car. A black BMW with a sophistication that matched his robustness.
"You can talk about your yogurt after we are done with our little detour." And as it turned out, their little detour was a clinic. Now he just made her feel awful. She thought they were going home, she hadn't even thought of taking Wafiyya to see a doctor, she was so inconsiderate. She couldn't shake the sensation that covered her just then. He cared about his sister.
"Ahn... Yaa Mubarak, what are we doing here?" Wafiyya asked from the passenger's seat.
"You said you are sick. So here we are, a doctor will soon have a look at you."
"I just wanted to leave, I was tired."
Mubarak turned to face Wafiyya, his scowl neatly in place, his eyes narrowed to slits. "So, you lied about your health?" Maryam looked back and forth between the siblings and she thought she may just retract her statement about him caring about his sister, he looked like he was going to play squash with her.
"She wanted a polite exit, don't be mad at her," Maryam said. Only after she spoke, did she realize she was talking.
"I'm sorry Ya Mubarak, can you please take me home?" Wafiyya pleaded, Maryam couldn't help but notice the unease that passed between them, it felt as if this didn't happen quite often, hence Wafiyya was a bit shaken by her brother's outburst.
"I think we can go have that Yogurt now." Maryam interrupted, Wafiyya had no idea she was getting into trouble, she had to save her.
"What's with you and yogurt?" Mubarak spat.
"I die if I don't eat it. So it is a basic necessity."
"You should just draw an IV line and be fed with it for life then," Mubarak said, and the set eyes were trained at her now, via the rear view mirror.
He placed the car into motion and he didn't stop anywhere but at the mansion. Maryam was disappointed, she wanted to cry like a petulant child, but it was his time, his car and his energy. She would just call Hajiya Kulthum and ask her to get some for her.
Maryam was sliding out of the back seat after they stopped when he said, "Not you. Come around."
"What?"
"She lied, I'm not taking her out, so if you really are going to die if you don't take this thing I suggest you get into the car and come with me."
"No way, I'm not going anywhere with you."
Mubarak leveled her with his gaze and she felt like she had no option. She glanced at Wafiyya apologetically only to see her giving her a thumbs-up from her side. This girl was vile. Just like her brother.
"Okay, I'm coming. Just... don't take advantage of me." He glared at her without saying a word, they were out again.
She looked out the window the whole time they were driving. They were at Old Brompton road, not far away from the house. The place named scoop according to him should have what she wanted. Not that he said that out loud, but because he checked the TomTom map for the fastest route to take them there.
They did have the best, not that she had compared a lot to know that, but she certainly knew they were great. She went in to get just some plain Greek yogurt but came out packing a kaleidoscope of flavours. Not without trying the Hazelnut and pistachio flavour first, right inside the shop.
When his car was brought out of parking she noticed he had to rent a space.
"We should have taken the tube." She said. Keeping her precious package on the floorboard of his car.
Mubarak didn't speak, when she looked up his eyes were on her. Practically glued to the front of her abaya. Ya Rabbi! Her eyes widened and he continued to stare without having the shame to look away even after she had caught him staring. She sat in the car seat and turned to look at him.
"Hello! My face is up here."
Mubarak narrowed his eyes at her. He shook his head in confusion. "And in case you are wondering 'how?', it is padded." She rose both brows at him, daring him.
Mubarak's jaws dropped. He closed his mouth then opened it to speak, "Are you always this brash?" He started the car and eased into the traffic.
"No, just to oglers."
Mubarak gritted his teeth, he shook his head. "I wasn't ogling."
"Yes, you were. And I will have to resort to poking some eyes out if that is not remedied. There is a thing called lowering the gaze, it doesn't say keep it at certain levels."
He blew out some air. "I think we should get home now."
"Yes, I think so too. And please never take me out again." She closed her eyes briefly.
Maryam couldn't believe she got her mouth diarrhoea now. What a stupid shade of humiliation is that, mouthy? I just spoke to him about my sets! Oh, ground open up and swallow me now.
"Can you not tell anyone that I..."
"That you wear padded bras? Nope, your secret is safe with me." Maryam could hear the amusement cinched all over his words.
"What! No! Ya Rabbi, you don't have any shame."
"Says the girl who speaks about her bra types to a total stranger."
"Just kill me already!" She spat. And his smile stuck to his face all the way home.
***
When Maryam got down, she made a beeline to Wafiyya's room, doing her best to escape Mubarak's smiling eyes, he wouldn't stop doing that since he learned of one of her deepest secrets.
But Wafiyya wasn't in her room, she went downstairs to keep her frozen yogurt in the fridge. She decided to finish off hers while there at least nobody would find her there now. And her treat could numb the crazy side of her brain. But Maryam knew that wasn't her day, when she walked into the kitchen and found him sitting at the island, with a glass of water in his hand. His face was lit by the screen of his computer.
The man that was avoiding her for the past two weeks was completely stalking her now. He had a catch in this. What was it?
"This is not going to happen."
"What?"
Maryam knew he was not going to let her be until she explained the story behind the notebook and her other story. Letting out a sigh she chose the least incriminating one. "Okay, here goes the story."
"What story?"
"You asked about my story if you are just going to shut up, turn around and don't ogle, I may tell it to you."
Mubarak closed his laptop and turned his stool to face her.
Maryam narrowed her eyes at him, why was he so full of himself? "I said turn around."
"I like this view better."
Her breath hitched in her throat. But she was good at covering stuff, so she did just that. She rolled her eyes, knowing that he wasn't relenting.
"Okay, I talk about my bra types with strangers because that is all strangers have taught me to think of myself. So, there. I am no shameless girl, I just happen to have too many strange oglers. Please, don't ogle again. I'll really appreciate that."
Mubarak's pulse slowed for a beat. Woah! That was how he made her feel? He had no idea his silent rebuke was doing this to her, even though he really wasn't ogling he felt worse than he did when his brother had bashed him up.
Mubarak had never expected her story to start out this way. When he saw her walk into the kitchen, he just felt the need to stay with her, get on with the process, so that she would just tell his parents that he was good with her and she was okay with them getting married. And by doing that he would be back into their good books. He least expected to get blown away by a single sentence uttered by her.
Who was this girl?
He didn't speak for a while because he didn't know what to say to her. In part because what she said was true. He had spent half his life dating girls that were only the finest in beauty and bloom, girls with class, edge and elegance.
Not that Maryam wasn't beautiful but he had seen better. Much better. His first thought when he saw her after their alliance was proposed was how in the world was he to take this talkie-plain-jane as a wife, a girl who had been to nowhere certainly wouldn't have the sophistication he needed for a wife he was settling with. He just felt so awful it took him a little over a moment to recover.
"Yet."
"What?"
"I won't ogle at you, yet. You can't tell me not to ogle my wife though, right?" Great, he had no idea where that came from, did he just admit to the idea of them being together? Had he just accepted the proposal?
"That won't happen just yet, Ya Mubarak. Aunty Kulthum said I have to say yes first."
He let out a laugh, what was this girl made of? "You have already said yes, and that is why you are here."
"No, I came here to study and the next time you will see me here is when I go study and become the world's best writer. You are just a by the way, I have to give my consent before anything is finalized. So, you get some work to do here Paapi, lucky for you, my heart is not that hard to win."
Mubarak's eyes widened as she spoke every word. "Ya Rabbi, why me?" He muttered.
"We can say you just got lucky." She gave him a sweet smile and rose from the island stool.
Mubarak felt like he had just been winded. He needed to talk to Hajiya. But not before he got his breath back in his lungs.
"Wait."
Maryam stopped, not having an inkling on what he wanted to say to her, she was celebrating having the last word and he just had to burst her bubbles by having more to say.
"Yes?"
"I was not ogling, you got some yogurt on your scarf- green yogurt- and it was distracting, I wanted to politely tell you to wipe it off, without coming off as an ogler, but then your head was already in the gutter."
"Oh!" her lips rounded.
"Yeah, oh." He said with a grimace, taking his laptop with him, he left the kitchen.
There went her last word. And now he knew she wore padded bras.
Now she really wanted to melt away.
***
"Hajiya, that girl is..."
"Not what you expected?"
Hajiya Kulthum was staring at her son, waiting for it to come. Now when she proposed the alliance between Mubarak and Maryam, she knew it wasn't going to be an easy task.
While Bilaal was stubborn he was easy to deal with when it came to suggestions, Mubarak had her husband's stubbornness in every bone of his and sometimes he thought his way was the only way out. That plus he was used to getting away with things he did. Unfortunately, not this time, he had to pay for what he did, even if it meant setting his head right by proposing a spouse for him.
"Hajiya, she calls me Paapi. Who in the world does that? Do I look like Uncle Muhammad?"
Hajiya Kulthum gave him a stern look, she could see how miserable her son was, but that was just a part of it. He needed to be tamed and there was just one girl in the whole wide world who would do that to him.
Maryam.
She was just so glad the girl was onboard with it, even though she had clearly stated it to her, whenever she felt she was not up to it, she just had to say it, and the alliance would not be formed. Because she had never believed or supported the notion of a lady changing a straying man. No, he had to know what he would miss if he didn't get his bearings right.
"You need to be grateful then, this means only one thing Mubarak, she knows nothing about such things. She is innocent, she has you to teach her, and with that, I say you may have an upper hand, that is if you use it wisely. Good luck with that. Just know that there are lines. And just because she lives under this roof, that doesn't lift those lines. Any attempt to cross it, you will have me to face. Maryam is a good girl who deserves to be valued, if you cannot do that, then I suggest you be honest with her and cut to the chase."
Mubarak wouldn't look up at her and Hajiya Kulthum knew how difficult it was for him to come to terms with this. "And you do look like your Uncle Muhammad."
Mubarak grunted as if he would even begin to go there. Ya Rabb, why was everyone after him?
Now he was stuck with a village girl that tied her black headtie over her ears, who roamed the backyards at odd hours of the night, a crazy walkie-talkie that happened to call him Paapi.
That's some moving on!
***
We having some mixed feelings there Mubarak?🙊
Mairo that's some mouthiness!😱😂
Now you're busted, well at least he has his share of troubles to deal with he won't be worrying about your not so guarded secret. We hope he doesn't anyway.
Now what is on number nine? Any guesses?😜
Umm Yasmeen💞