Sadiq circled, hands Akimbo. Talk about whatever later, how did she get anything done in that room? How could a beautiful lady like that be so unorganized? "How do you live in here?"

"By breathing oxygen."

"Very funny. What is this Ananu?"

"It's mani, Amani." She corrected, perfecting the sound.

"This is a depressed person's room. So clustered, don't you feel suffocated?" He went on, a rant he normally was not known to give surging through him. Yet again, acting out.

His question went without an answer. The only act of life Amani gave was a shaky sigh as she drew the covers around her cold body.

"You need to change, you're going to catch a cold." He tenderly said, ignoring his body's violent protest against the moisture it had received from stepping into the rain without an umbrella.

"That drawer," she hoisted a weak arm at a wall built-in drawer, "There has to be a hoodie and sweat pants in it."

Sadiq codedly rummaged through the drawer to find it bereft of the item, forcing Amani to sigh, accepting the fact that she had left most warmers at home and the ones here were stolen by Nadeen. "Give me the first pajama there." She said to Sadiq who was raking his eyes through her mostly black set of clothes before handing her a pajama.

"Get up." He urged, his hooded eyes narrowing, charcoal iris drilling into portions of her face that immediately heated up, furthering her toes to curl.

Orders in a tender voice left Sadiq's lips until Amani obliged, eager to get her tingly body away from the inciter until she was sure she was not going to do more things against the 'all men are scum,' ethos of hers.

A shower would be nice but a hypocritical portion of her wanted to see off Sadiq and order something-since if her eyes had fed on him, her mouth needed to be fed too.

Daze had Amani placing a hand over her heart; in a conversation with herself. Her room was a depressed person's room minutes ago and now looked like the first day she had managed to sort her stuff after almost a month of moving in. Coded, arranged; her room stroke as. The opposite of how her lazy ass kept it.

Amani knew who had done it, but why had he done it? It was uncalled for. He should've left it how he found it; she would've been bereft of indebtedness. It was a part of her to feel the need to do something equally nice when someone gestured the same to her. He was pilling them and she was getting scared. The scales had tipped and it wasn't in her favor. All he had done since they met was be kind to her; not that she was complaining.

"The burden of Memory..." his pleasant voice said and Amani couldn't help the pull at the side of her lips as she completed.

"The muse of forgiveness. Wale Soyinka, our very own Nelson Mandela." She was a few feet from him and her now half-arranged study table.

Sadiq chuckled, reaching for another book before turning to her and waving it. "That is debatable. This..." he tightened his hold, "No one can make you fail by our Nigerian Nelson Mandela, is the almighty Job Dangana."

Amani hummed, weighed his argument but quickly pushed the thought of entertaining it. "How many Wale Soyinka books have you read?"

"Enough to side with Dangana. How many of his books have you read?"

"This," she pointed, closing in on him and his thrilling scent before fishing out two books; Success never comes by accident and Does impossibility exist?

"Sorry to burst your bubble," he said, "but these are the tip of the iceberg."

Amani might've never mentioned it, but bonding with a guy over books? Her definition of heaven. She sat on the bed, offering him a spot before her. She was prepared for this debate.

"Poverty is the greatest threat to a decent society." She quoted.

It went on. Authors like Robert Greene, Achike Udenwa, Ayuba T Abubakar and a lot more were the subject of debate for the next hours that felt like forever.

Amani felt at peace. Like she was complete and he complimented her while Sadiq finalized the word soulmate, labeling her as his and nailing down the feeling of euphoria at the paradisiacal creature in front of him.

Time moved a lot faster when all you want to do is spend eternity. At the call of Adhaan for Magreb prayer, Sadiq said his goodbye to Amani who was enveloped in a flush duvet, claiming that she was still cold, and waved him off with a grin. She was high and her mother had warned her several times about drugs, but she never warned her of this emotion she was now slipping into.

In light of exuberance, Amani ordered pizza and dipped into her Khijab, prostrating before her lord. Her incessant hunger for junk was one of her regretful habits. She hoped to stop. And until that day came, she was going to spend all her money on outfits, travel, and food.

Halfway into the first box of the finger-licking pepperoni Pizza, eyes glued to the Tv flew to the lounge door following an unceremonious knock. In jitters, Amani switched off the tv, the lounge going eerie dark since she preferred a dark room while watching. She tiptoed across the room, clutching her phone with one hand and a stupid remote with the other. How she planned to stab whoever it was with a remote was still unknown to her. But, she had watched enough murder shows and documentaries to know a knock meant harm; a knock meant trouble; a knock meant kill, or be killed.

Recalling, Sabrin might've been right. Amani had bad intuitions about everything and everyone, but she was only being careful and it was good to be.

She managed to peek through the hole to someone worth staggering back. Only a ghost aware of her movement could wave and smile at her when she peeped out. She clicked on the door chain before pulling the door quarter way to be on the safe side.

Now dipped in a grey hoodie and matching sweatpants, Sadiq held two bags at her. What he hadn't alternated from his looks was the twinkle in his eyes.

Amani wasn't rude but her words were enveloped in it, "What are you doing here?"

"Warmers because you are cold and pancakes that my sister made."

"What are you doing, Sadiq?" Her question had a deeper meaning. They knew.

"Minimum," He said. It was rightfully the bare minimum to do things for people you care about. Amani was hesitant, but he was ready to take it at her pace.

Amani heaved a sigh, unhooking the chain lock, and whispered, "Come in before people start saying I've started to bring a man home."

"Why do you care what they say?"

Amani did, pathetically- but let his question linger in the air as he stepped out of his shoes. Again, bashing her nostrils with a deep sense of grape and wood. She ran her sweaty palms on her pajamas, thankful for a bra over her erect nipples; courtesy of the goosebumps and the tingly warmth of butterflies in her stomach.

Instead of being a creep, she clicked on the tv; she wasn't going to switch on the lights for him to see her in that state. Smudged pastry and pepperoni resided on the sides of her lips. Not to mention her roughly packed hair.

"Sit." She led, formulating a space on the sofa sleeper.

Amani acted otherwise but she was in awe of the pancakes he brought. So, they exchanged goods; she had insisted on him eating even a slice of her pizza. Sadiq obliged, the show going on but her attention was somewhere else; stealing glances at Sadiq to find his bold gape already on her.

"I've tasted a very similar pancake like this." She waved the fork, "At school."

"You might've, my sister sells them. She is on IG, Fallabites."

Amani's eyes widened, "Fallabites is your sister?"

"Our last born."

"She makes earth-shaking crepes too!" It was here; Amani's best topic; food.

"She makes good food." Sadiq nodded, gently chewing and trailing his eyes from her low wavy brown hair that appeared red under the minimal light, down to the reflection of his ecstatic self in her eyes, her moving lips.

"How many sisters do you have?" The question naturally came to her, her mouth welcoming the sweet and bitter taste of vanilla and dark chocolate.

"Three," his shoulders dropped, a leg from under the other straightening to Amani's side-making sure it didn't touch her; afraid of how she perceived his leg grazing her. "Technically, I have seven. The three come from my mom and the other four we hardly talk. There's my elder sister, Jamila-Jays, then Basma and Fadila."

"Wait," Amani was startled and seized her fork mid-air. "Jays Ali? Like attorney and author Jays Ali?"

"Yes," he proudly nodded, keeping the bright memory to tell Jays. 

"Oh, my God! Your family is a dream come true." Coming straight from her heart.

"You could come join." He hinted, at the bridge between hope and defeat.

Amani either didn't hear him, or paid analytical attention to his words, because, he was sure she wouldn't have nodded that fast. "I'd be ecstatic to."

It slipped off-her response, nonetheless, he internally jubilated, keeping a neutral face.

"You should meet them, they will love you." He insisted, putting a hand to her face which she instinctively pulled back from.

"What?" Her voice was muffled by pancake grinding in her mouth.

"You..." he gestured at his lips, "There's syrup by your mouth." Amani leaned in and he did the same. Feeling a lot like soapy, dreamy Bollywood shows that Sadiq would normally hiss at, he felt the need to apologize-realizing time slows down when you are that close to the flame that ignites a tumbling volcano from the depths of your heart.

Amani held her breath as Sadiq's thumb brushed the supposed chocolate off her cheek straight to his mouth, licking it, eyes painfully glued to hers. Pimples-goosebumps rose on her hot skin and she cast her head down, dropping the fork and abruptly getting up. "I am cold," she lied. So easily, so convincing. "The um..." she gestured at the floor.

"Oh," his eyes followed her fingers, "Your hoodie."

"You mean yours?" She rose a brow, grabbing the bag and begging her legs to wait until she was in the room before they give up.

Rather than collapsing from the sentiment of things Amani did not want to entertain, she threw herself on the bed, bringing a pillow over her head. She needed to overpower the strong arguments in her head; those that approved of healthy love and being loved and those that took a firm stand against love from a man. She screamed into the sheets. All to feel the lifelong abhorrence she held against men. And...nothing. No venom, no horror towards Sadiq.

If Sadiq had given her the coffee sweatsuits soaked in his scent with the idea that she'd return it, she had declared him tapped in the head. Standing in front of the mirror, admiring her skin that carried a few impending period pimples down to her barely visible curves hidden behind the hefty clothing.

She made sure to tell him, "I'm not giving it back."

"It became yours the second you curled under the covers."

As if he was waiting on her, he got off the couch to stand a few feet away from her. "I...have to go."

"Oh..." she hoped her disappointment didn't coat her monotone voice, her lips coiling down, "Goodbye then."

Sadiq hesitantly spread an arm, squinting his eyes and drawing his head forward, "A hug?"

Amani sniffled, shaking her head, "Let's not get all... american-ish."

"Oh. Ok...Your phone number then?" He stumbled in search of appealing words but ended with. "Please."

"Go home, Bubba." Amani commanded, rounding to stand behind him only to gently push him through the door. He needed to go; she needed to breathe and destroy anything she was stupidly starting to harbor for him.

At the door, she tilted her head to the side, a full, smile pulling the sides of her lips. Over the sound of the roach's cries, she cut another attempt at talking from him by waving her hand, "Have a great night."

Sadiq got the memo and nodded, "You look cute in my clothes Amanu."

"Amani. That's the name."

"Sadiq. That is the name." He shot back.

Amani pursed her lips. "I am deaf. Bye."

"Bye Nanu." He waved, giving her his back and heavily walking down the steps of the porch filled with light, roach cries, and his most intimate memory of them.