Sadiq's POV

Accepting that people will never change does not make their actions or words hurt any less.

I meet my father's glare and quickly pull my head down, "What are you still doing here? Get on that plane and fix this deal. Bazanyi asara akanka ba." I know what is best for me, so I disappear from the man's house.

I begrudgingly pick a few necessities considering Abuja is my second home and I need not pack, especially for a day trip. I am supposed to get on a plane in two days for Sabrin's wedding but a deal my father believes crashed because of me is making me leave earlier.

If things go well, I can come back tomorrow, finalize my deal, and leave the following day.

My father's cruel decision turned out to be a blessing.

It was a few hours after I have settled in and things only seem to be getting worse. It was raining. The man I am supposed to meet canceled and rescheduled to tomorrow so I am here, laying and letting the tiredness engulf me.

I have spent enough time alone and in a dim room, so I contemplate between visiting Hafiz or taking a drive. My phone rings from the side and I rise, reaching for it to read the caller ID.

Nanu

Phone and even video calls have been our routine for the past six months but I am startled at this call. It is...peculiar.

I pick up the call to silence before I realize it is not, it is disturbing sobs. "Sadiq..." she calls my name in a choked, pained tone, and without seeing her, I know something is wrong.

I grab the arm of the couch I lay on, "Na'am Amani..." Her sobs heighten and I tense more, almost freezing. "Wha-what is-"

"I have not prayed salat in six years..."

I was not armored for her response and it crashes me like waves against rocks. I digest it, her cries surging. It takes me over a minute to come up with a question that only sounded dumb when I said it.

"Why?"

I don't think she finds it dumb because she gives me immediate answers. "Because God does not answer my prayers!" My brows draw in and my eyes narrow at nothing. My judgment dies down as she continues to cry and vent. "My mum suf-suffered...all she did was suffer! I prayed for her...for us! The-then...he took her Sadiq! She is dead and is never coming back! I ha-had...Innalillahi...I was confined for...I am still hunted by it...he never answers my prayers...never gives me-"

"Did you ask him for your health?" I intercept and she goes silent, her sobs slowing. I don't wait for her reply as I continue, "Did you ask him for your wealth? Did you ask him for Laura? Did you ask him to keep Nadeen healthy? Did you ask him for your life? The chance he gives you every day to do better?"

"I...I only asked him for my mum...my mum..." I know pain, but this is the bastard level of it. Her words fist me, breaks me and all I do is sigh. It is hard to look at our blessings instead of our losses, it is hard...and for Amani, it is ten times fold.

"Look, Nanu...it is-" I go quiet once the phone beeps and ends.

Shit.

I don't want her falling back into that shell.

My hands tremble as I throw on a sweater after my sweatpants, picking up my phone and key before jumping into the car. The drive between my mother's house and that of Laura's is long and it eats my toes. I want to fly to her, for her.

Once I go through the excruciating process of getting into a politician's house under the thick rain, I park close to the front door, ignoring my manners to knock and I stumble into the front room to find Nadeen laying on the floor.

I hardly take in her poignant position and ask, "Where is Amani?"

Her limp hand points at a door, "Playground."

I know the place and if I am right, I don't need directions if I try the route from outside.

Outside, the rain violates me, hitting me everywhere and all I do is run and run until I am at the playground. My mind stops complaining about the rain once I find Amani. My feet do not slow down, the trespass to my poor body suddenly not offensive.

Once I cross over, I look down.

Amani laid on her back, her knees brought up and her eyes closed. From the way her sweat sets are drenched, it gives no room for doubt that she has been here a while.

If I insist we go inside, which in all honesty is the best thing to do, I am no better than people who tell her, 'Get over it,' whenever she cries about her dead mother.

So, I lay beside her, curl and bend my legs in half in the same position as her and hold her hand. She flinches at first, realizing someone is holding her, and flinches harder at my sight. I know, I am supposed to be in Kano. Her surprise dies down and she goes back to her pre-shock position.

I fight to keep water out of my eyes and glance at her now and then to make sure she is okay. As okay as it gets sitting under beating rain.

It leaves no room for doubt within me that even in this position, Amani is still the most beautiful thing I've seen and felt till now and I am hooked that she will forever remain the most beautiful thing I've ever felt. She has no idea what a miracle she is.

I close my eyes to expel the water in it and the fear in me. I am scared to label what I feel, it will only hurt me.

But like Eve took that apple knowing it was a sin, I move closer to Amani knowing this might end in tragedy but it is too sweet. The calling too sweet to pull away. It needs to banish me, or else, I am here to stay.

Our moments last and I keep praying she rises, I am violated enough...and anemic. But for her sake, we stay here until I hear a voice shout.

"Okay, kids! Time to wrap it up, We do not have money for two hospital rooms!"

It is only I who crans his neck to look at the intruder as I chuckle at her last statement. Nadeen stands under an umbrella, wrapped up in her usual attire; sweats, socks, and gloves.

I am surprised Amani rises too, the rain has reduced to droplets but considering Nadeen is anemic, her dress code is approved. "We're coming." The rasp that leaves her lips compels me to whip to her.

Everything on her and me is drenched, we already have scratchy throats and a cold.

On my feet, my hands catch hers and I pull her up. It does not resonate with her that I am about to start shivering as she looks at me from head to toe. So like the man society compels me to be, I be. Standing rooted but also following her line of sight. From my watch to the dent in my pocket housing my phone and keys down to my shoes.

"Thank you." That is all I needed to hear to drag her with me.

Baby steps.

This chapter is closed in the meantime.

I waited it out until she was ready to talk and it was one fine, bizarre morning. A day before Sabrin's Nikkah.

Amani called to see me and requested I stay in the car, leaving Sabrin who I am sure will curse me out for taking her best girl away. She settles into the front seat and I press my back against the window, crossing my arm.

It is unsettling not knowing what we feel, yet we feel it closing in on us. The silence is deafening and filled with toe-curling thoughts.

"I think I have struggled so long with my iman because I hardly know what it is."

This baffles me, she doesn't know what iman is?

Her still sore voice continues as she lifts her head with determination, "I need to find my iman." My eyes suggest she elaborate further, so she blows out a breath, "I think the reason my mum was such a good Muslim and believer despite everything is that she found this religion. She had a passion for it." Her finger dips into her chest, "I don't. I was born into it, I need to reassemble what I grew up to know. It's like...I don't know-like...the thing is, I was-we were not taught much of its beauty. Only that we'll go to hell if we do this or that, no mercy."

I zone out for almost the rest of her words as I digest the first ones. It makes me re-evaluate myself and how true her words are.

I pray, I read the Quran, and I know a lot of right and wrong, but am I in love with Islam? Do I have passion for it? It is a big food for thought that I will ponder over, for now, I listen to the rest of her words.

"I am sorry for just scaring you out of the-"

"I am honored you called me," is all I am thinking. She could've called anyone but she did not, I got the honor. "And please, never hesitate to ring me."

"I won't."

It is absolute bliss learning more from her with each passing day and my gleeful eyes turned into a squint once she revives a medium box from her bag. I was too engrossed to notice.

"I got this for you." My hesitant hand reaches for the box and she nods.

"Thank you..." the box settles on my lap and I dive into it. The first eyes catching thing I find is a marvelous Quran with my name in cursive and bold behind it. I hold it to my chest, where it tugs me the most, and reach for the next thing. It's a book, The Supremacy Of ISLAM by Lawal Mohammed Munir, another named Spritual Medicine, a smaller book named Why Do I Love Islam? A water flask and a box of a watch, both with my cursive name on it. This must've cost and taken a long thought to plan.

"I know you have a better iman, but I need you on this journey," Amani says in a soft tone and I carefully put the contents back and grab her palms.

Gone are the days I don't take risks.

"Nanu, How do you feel about fulfilling that promise that we made before our lives went haywire?" I clear the question even more, "Amani, will you marry me?" I trip over her simple act of kindness, mistaking it for something deeper and I realize it a little late at her expression. Her features push towards her nose. She seems to be contemplating.

"No, don't say anything. Think it over. Take your time, I'll wait." The innocence on her face is undefeated.
I have never been this sure in life, I want her more than I want myself.

On the days I admit and those I don't, I remember the first and last thought of my day is her.

"I want to know your views on something."

It is impossible how much my heart ceased and surged at the same time, it is crazy, I can not explain it.

"Some things, actually. They're alot."

"Like?"

Amani's hands moved along with her words, "Skills, parenting style, polygyny, beliefs, childhood trauma, financial expectations, sexual expectations, partner expectations, bucket list, career, basically everything."

I believe there is time for that.

So, until Sabrin calls to curse us out, we forget that we've known each other for over six years and re-hear each other's views on random issues.

***

Amani's POV

There comes a point in life when our beliefs are altered. We evolve. It does not make us wrong or sell-outs. It is spelled, Growth.

I am choosing to do things differently and it is taking much bravery and vulnerability. Gone are the days I let my fear lead me away from things that could be great. Gone are the days I am cynical about everything and everyone, ruling out an open mind to let bad things turn into good. I am no longer afraid to let things happen, things that might not harm me.

If you want to fly, you have to lose everything that weighs you down, my mum once told me. It is difficult, but I am taking her advice.

The fact that I am sure about this scares me but I push it away. I am only human. Although I try, fear is one of our traits.

"So, you believe you want to get married!?" Laura asks me some months and weeks after I have been talking to Sadiq. It is hard to believe. I shift and clasp my fingers tighter, it is uncomfortable admitting to it. I have spent all my life hating the idea and I feel like a bigot now. I nod, dropping my head.

"You are ready to get married?" The question is far more complicated than it appears. It is not a yes, nor a no to me. I am somewhere in between. I don't think I will ever be ready, but I am ready to fight to make sure it works. So that leaves me believing I can nod as an answer.

Laura tuts, shaking her head. "No, I will tell you whether you are ready to get married or not."

She goes to speak but her attention is called. Bad of me to stop her with this issue when she is about to go for her day-in-day-out business.

"We're going to talk," she stands, "Like really really talk Aman. Let me get back from work."

I could hardly eat throughout the day. It is toe-curling picturing what we are to talk about. I want to talk about it but I am not sure how, I am not sure what to expect Laura's words to be too.

It is my mum I am supposed to be doing this with and the thought makes me tear up every other minute of the painfully long day.

I and Laura only get to sit one on one an hour past midnight. The woman is mad busy, all day, every day.

I am belittled under her gaze as she studies me like a scientist does an experiment. She is seated Indian style in her cotton pajamas at the center of her bed while I sit half on my butt and half on my feet at the edge of the bed.

I am startled at her first and only question after an hour of excruciating silence, "What do you think people see when they look at you?" The question makes me look at her with widened eyes, recalling she asked me the same question when I was twelve and was crying about being body shamed.

I thought it was random and of course, I made sure to give an answer to myself once I was in the shower. Today, we re-routed through that question, and for some weird reason, I admire her even more.

It takes me a while but this time, I come up with an answer. "They can see all they want, I do not care what they see or think anymore."

There came a crippling silence, and a slow-forming smile before a happy nod comes my way. She looks...proud. And I am a bit confused.

"People's opinion does not matter, it was all I've ever wanted you to understand. And more especially...in your marriage." A congratulation seems in order because her next statement is triumph to me, "You are ready to get married, Amani."