Thirty months later...

Breathe.

Give yourself a break.

To create the life we want, it is required to slow down and rest.

My three months of summer holiday is what I need. Moreso, a change of environment. Thankfully, My plane leaves in a few more hours and I make sure I pack right. I board the flight, my eyes glued to the window.

This journey is one that I have not taken in years. I am visiting my home country. I need not visit in the years that passed as my family visited often and if I was being honest, I wanted to stay as far away as I could. Too many memories, I don't know what to do if I get triggered, I can not lose my hard worked years of therapy.

Over the course of the last two and a half years, I spent the first six months in extensive rehab. And not just to stop smoking but to go through therapy. I find it helps to talk about things you have no control over to non-judgmental people. Open-minded people.

The next two years were spent between therapy, school, and a job I secured at a studio where I set free and do what I love: photography.

It's been a long ride, I know Mommy must be proud of me. To cope and console myself, I somehow give myself the life I always wanted. One which is not controlled by the series of damage I have gone through.

I am sad, but it's a different kind of sad. It's the kind that comes from the frustration and exhaustion of constantly trying to be better. I sometimes feel like giving up. So I do. For a day, for a week, I do.

I can not pretend I am stronger than I am. My family awaits me and I am afraid to walk into their arms. What if I am triggered?

Sure enough, my heart leaps to my throat once I stand at the apex of the plane and look at the humongous runway of Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport. The brewing emotions I've harbored throughout this journey forces me to release a shaky breath. I am here and I want to run away.

The air feels new, surreal. Unusual, I've been here but this is a whole new feeling. I am here not as that girl that hates herself, I am here as someone who is learning how to love herself, how to forgive herself, and how to give herself a break.

This is the good kind of surreal. The good unusual.

A smile creeps on my face once I spot my family after the long process of reviving my bags. I released the handle I am pushing and scream along with Nadeen, colliding with her in a bone-crushing hug.

"Are you taller than me?" It is something I can not believe, pulling back and engulfing her in a hug again.

"Yeah, all she does is eat pasta." An almost manly voice says and I hardly recognize it.

"Innalillahi wainna-You must be kidding me!" I release Nadeen to walk into Walid's arms.

Nadeen has not had enough me of, she joins me and Walid's hug and it dawns on me that I am the only one short now.

I try not to, but I tear up. I am at a loss for words and can only give thanks.

We pull away and Walid wraps his arm around my shoulder, leading me when Nadeen speaks.

"Bros, na you suppose carry her luggage."

Walid turns with glaring eyes, "Am I your mate? Nadeen's eyes widen and so do mine. I look up to find Walid barely keeping a straight face. "No, let's talk man to girl, I resemble your mate?"

Nadeen was at a loss for words and could only tut and reach to punch Walid. "You get mind!"

This is what I miss.

We sort the bags and make it home. Laura was on one of her numerous trips, her kids at school so we were left by ourselves.

We talk about little things and I learned about things I missed. We talk on FaceTime a lot but nothing beats being together like this.

Positivity envelopes us.

It is clear I am not the only one who is a better version of myself, the people around me went out of their way to be better and I could not be more proud. The positivity we learned in therapy enabled us through grief as well as enhanced our growth and satisfaction with life.

Mommy gave me my siblings as an Amanah but before I can handle them, I had to handle myself.

When I walk around this house, I believe by some miracle that I'll catch her sitting on the couch, or just somewhere. I don't and it is a belief I can never seem to get over.

In extensive therapy, I came to learn of my responsibility towards every event in my life and the victim mentality I harbored-blaming everyone else for the horrible things.
It was a struggle and only recently have I forgiven myself for putting the death of daddy on Mommy. I have forgiven Daddy, forgiven everyone to set myself free. Through it, it demolished my self-hatred, making it clear that dwelling wouldn't change my past or help me grow, but self-forgiveness can open new doors.

I am worthy of healthy relationships, emotional safety, and all the lots of it, A daily affirmation.

Although I can't testify to everything being smooth, I am still in pain and I have not been in an absolute state of glee since I lost my mother. But I can't complain either. Things are okay, a lot better than yesterday.

Life gets busy after the first few days of my return. I still have a passion for perfumery. A formula I and my team have been working on virtually has proved to be a good combination and we are putting it to work.

It was weird at first, being amongst people in my country. I still feel people's eyes but it does not cripple me like it used to. People are going to judge no matter what, I don't have to please anyone, I don't owe anyone.

Excitement and fear cripple me as I dress up to go out with people other than my work colleagues. Today, I visit Sabrin who I've made plans with.

Sabrin began Law school a few more months back and I can't help but think I could've been there too. A better part of me reprimands me for comparing myself to her. Everyone's pace in life is unique; I am not behind or less.

Reminders; a routine. It is not enough knowing and motioning to heal, reminders to not fall back into that dark cave are about right for me.

My fear dissolves after minutes of being with Sabrin. I must admit, she is glowing. Ordinarily, not her appearance, but her as a person. It warms my heart.

I have not tried driving in Nigeria, so I wait outside the gate as Sabrin pulls the car out of the lot while I finish talking to Nadeen on the phone.

I hardly notice an SUV pull up and attempt to bypass the gate before it screeches to a stop, gaining my attention.

Sabrin's car and the black SUV face head-on, none aware of the next until a few seconds before they could crash. Thankfully, they didn't. I drop my fingers from my chest as the SUV reverses to allow Sabrin out.

I jump forward to get into the car in time for the front passenger of the SUV to step out.

"Katagum!" I instantly recognize the voice.

"Hafiz!" I call out, excited to see him.

"Kintafi London, Kinyi kudi kawai kin buya." I laugh at his words, waving my hand across my face.

We start a conversation but my eyes travel to the SUV that rolls its window down, calling out to Hafiz in a silvery voice that I know well.

Sadiq.

This feels like the first time I met him, across in a car through his window.

Hafiz excuses himself to grab his phone and I give Sadiq a once over. From the distance, I could only make out his matured beard and the shades covering his eyes. Hafiz turns and points at me and that is when he removes his shades to lean forward and look at me.

I don't blame him, I have transitioned. Not only am I shaped in the best way I see beauty, I appreciate how good this button-up mauve Abaya looks on me when I looked in the mirror.

I expect a reaction, anything but he only puts his shades back and rolls his window up.

It is absolute disappointment that envelops me.

Hafiz returns to me and Sadiq's car furiously disappears from this district. "He has a flight to catch."

He does not need to explain and I tell him that. We talk until Sabrin honked for me to get in and I did.

I hoped to avoid talking about what happened but she had to bring it up. She believes he is not over me.

"Oh, please." He hardly looked at me. "It does not matter anymore and please, let's never talk about it."

I am reminded of our last encounter and it threatens to dampen my mood. Leaving Sadiq like that is one of the things I still find hard to forgive myself. I chose myself, but I sometimes feel I chose too selfishly.

I have no right to want a soft reaction from him after these years. I have learned to let go so what is meant for me will find me. Things happen and sometimes not the way we planned. If it's meant to be, it'll be.

Although I came home exhausted, I spent the rest of the day feeling reunited with my soulmate. It is so liberating being out and free, eating and not being overly mindful of how many calories I took. Even if I get fat, I will box it out.

Soon, hanging out with Sabrin became a routine considering she was on a short break and I could take time off my project.

Bad idea-letting my old coursemates bring over their chairs to sit with me and Sabrin at a new cafe we visited. They ventured into the topic that aches me the most.

I am forced to snap a reply as these barbarians aren't about to shut up soon.

A guy who goes by the name Ibrahim replies to me callously and I feel the need to throw fists. He does not stop there, adding bullshit that boils my blood.

I snatch my hand from Sabrin's calming ones and cut him off. His rage matches mine and his eyes narrow towards me.

Sabrin backs me up and I add the last piece of my mind.
"Who are you to even talk?"

I don't have time to answer because I had no intention to talk again. I go to pick up my bag, but what he says next triggers me. "Who will even marry you that you're putting your mouth in this conversation?"

I can't control my anger, picking up my cup of milkshake and throwing it at the dimwit. "Uban waye yace maka I am waiting for someone to come and marry me?" The shock is etched on everyone's face as they rise while I prepare for the worst. I am no more that girl that let's essentially addressable topics slide. "It's because of people like you God keeps punishing us with-"

"Amani-"

"No, Sabrin." I whip to her, "It is time we address men like this." I point my fingers at him in disgust and his shock transitions to rage, eyes dissolving into thick slits and darkness. "You must likely can not even-"

"Do you know who I am?"

I believe the cafeteria scoffs along with me, "Ask someone who cares."

Ibrahim waves a threatening finger at me, "You will pay for this."

"I won't pay anything." My body shakes and Sabrin holds me in fear of me lashing.

Sabrin joins the fight once Ibrahim says, "You know what? I don't even need to make you pay. You are already miserable without the parents you killed, you will forever be-"

I flip the table. The contents of our table go stumbling on him and the rest of his crew, the cafeteria gasping in sync.

No words leave me but my actions speak as i go to round the table to fist the man only for arms to grab me and I howl, "Wohoho! Sabrin leave me alone!" Protests, noise goes up and I realize it is not Sabrin holding me, in fact, she was in an argument.

"What are you doing, Amani?" My heart ceases for a second at the voice, silvery like the last time I heard it. My neck whips so fast to the intruder and although I want to stay in his warmth, I catch an insult being thrown at Sabrin and that takes my attention. I lunge at the dimwit across me. My hand a few inches from fisting him, I am caught and lifted off the ground with a firm, "Okay, that's enough."

"You don't get to say what is enough and what is not enough, Sadiq. You don't know what he said to me."

Sadiq ignores my words and stalks towards Ibrahim, promising to call security if he and his crew don't dispatch immediately.

Sabrin walks to me, our chest heaving and our eyes glued to Sadiq's back and Ibrahim's insulted face.

I don't wait, picking my bag and rushing out of the cafeteria, Sabrin hot on my tail.

My legs do not head to the car, which startled Sabrin. People reduced and reduced and reduced until I find a spot and finally answer Sabrin's questions with a question. "What is Sadiq doing here?"

Sabrin halts.

"It's his mother's cafe."

I hardly show my surprise, masking it with disappointment. The signs are clear, I know these tactics and they make me scoff.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"You said you were craving spicy wings."

"This is the only place in town that offers it?"

"They offer the best."

I hum before nodding, "Go home, Sabrin. I'll find my ride." I turn away when she drops her head. It took me time but I have stopped pretending to not be upset. People need to know their fuck ups.

"I meant no harm Wallahi, he barely is in Abuja these days. He lives in Kano." I listen to her and turn for a second and immediately turn back to grip the metal of the bridge I found myself in. I see him coming and feel my body weaken.

"Tell him not to come closer," I say but receive silence and further footsteps. I am ready for a lot of things in life but I am not ready to face him again.

Too bad Sadiq decides otherwise once I have revived a pack and lighter from my bag, the emotions too rattling that I need an outlet.

Grapes and wood weave into my nostrils as he stands beside me. The silence creeps into my bone down to the last fragment of my system and pushes my newfound anxiety to struggle with the lighter to light my cigarette; it's the only thing I can do since I can not run.

"You still smoke." It sounds hard for him to believe. To be honest, it is for me too.

I haven't smoked in nine months until I came back to Nigeria and bypassed my father's house. I stopped the driver as I was car sick, emotions I could not name swarming through me. They did not stop until I smoked half a stick. I spent the rest of my day scolding myself for it. My nine months were ruined. That was two weeks ago and I had not gotten rid of the pack and the lighter.

I have not felt the need to explain myself to anyone in a long while except him, "I relapse once in a long while."

"Why did you stop smoking?" Memories of what kicked started my journey swarm before my eyes and I raise my head to look at his sideburns. It is almost as if a trumpet is blown across my face, I was not ready for his sight this up close. Sadiq has always been pulchritudinous but this version is even more mature. "I'm sorry if that is invasive. I mean who am I to hold your past against you?"

He is scared so he looks down at me and our eyes lock in an infinite trance. My close-set eyes meet his hooded ones, our brows closing in tight and I tighten my hands into fists once it dawns on me that we are unable to look away.

Our reunion of pain and memories lasts through it and I search for vile in his eyes. It is relieving to find none but I doubt it is authentic. I did leave him when he begged me not to.

Time works in our favor, slowing down as we take in each other's features again, remembering who we once were.

I have pushed the thought, the possibility of meeting or being this close to him throughout my time away in the disarray of hurting myself but here I am, not hurt at all.

My chest tightens as I find my voice and whisper, "Caught Nadeen smoking. Mommy wouldn't have been proud."

It is baffling how at the mention of my loved ones, his expression softens and he drops his head. I do the same. "I am sorry I did not ask sooner, How are you coping?"

Sooner? Please, we just met.

Sadiq was one of the people my mother loved and being here with him, without her, it kills me and I want to scream. "I have not fully processed losing her almost five years later. I doubt I ever will." My tone is soft and suggests my pain. I do not want to break down, so I turn from him and grip the bridge with one hand to look at the setting sun. "It is getting easier." With therapy, I began talking about my mother four months back, exactly fifty three months after I lost her and twenty-six months after I started therapy. She is my most sore topic.

Sadiq gives me a light tap on the shoulder and a nod. I am glad he did not say something along the line of, 'She is in a better place,' or 'At least she is not suffering anymore.' These comforting words do the opposite effect, reminding me what a cruel life she lived and how alone I am in this world.

It is surprising how comfortable it got with each passing second of us standing here.

I flinch once I feel fingers sweep across mine, the lighter and stick in my hold goes limp and a second later, they are being thrown over the bridge. My eyes follow their fall until they immerse in water.

"That's the first step." I know, it enrages me why I have not done that since the day I bought it. "Talking about it like this," I see him point between us from my peripheral view, "Works better in meetings. There's an AA meeting in two days, I'll register and save you a chair."

I fully turn to him, checking him in his Kaftan and Zanna bukar like always, trying to figure out why the hell will he go to an AA meeting.

The question is apparently written on my face because he answers my question.

"You're human, Amani. It's okay if you lose it when you think you have it all, it happens to us all. Addictions, especially drugs and smoking take a long time to go away."

It makes sense now, his was drugs, mine is cigarettes and although we are trying, we are also human. It is mitigating to hear this, I am not alone in this and should not be ashamed. But I say the opposite. "No, thank you. It is not a good idea."

As if an alarm blared in his head, he brought a firm arm up to read the time off his watch before he cleared his throat. "In case you change your mind, I'll text you the details."

He starts to walk away without a goodbye and I fail in holding another question back, "Are you not going to ask for my number?"

Sadiq flashes his lifted cheek to me, shrugging.

Miss me? 🌚

Admit it, i know you did😗