Assalamu alaikum, so here is the third and last update for the week. Until we meet next week in sha Allah.

Remember, more comments, likes and shares calls for more frequent updates. 😜

Here comes Mairo and her murderer.🙊

***

The events of the day prompted Maryam to write, she hadn't written since she arrived in London, and with the events that unfolded, she had so many things to put down. There was something about the night that called out to her. After they'd finished watching a movie with Wafiyya, she had turned in but she was too restless to sleep. The sights she saw and the feelings they evoked within her, added with her phone call with Nafeesah they all stirred that part of her that had been numb for days, and she was grateful for that. 

When on her borrowed balcony earlier that morning before they left for their tour she had spotted the perfect place to keep her imaginative juices flowing. She would give anything to write from beneath the brown roof. Even now when she looked down at the backyard, the place was well lit.  The gazebo was half covered with glass, almost like a patio. But she knew she would love the breeze and the scent of the outdoor would keep the light in her burning. 

Grabbing her notebook, a pen and her laptop, Maryam covered herself in her scarf and headed out not minding that it was almost 11 pm. She found the kitchen screen door closed, but with a little click to the handle it turned and she sighed. She would have been massively disappointed if she had found it locked. She took a station at one of the wicker chairs. And placed her laptop on the low brick wall that made up the other part of the gazebo.  

Maryam relished her aunt's sense of style, everything in the space had character. From the fur pillows, thrown at the back of each chair. To the sling back chairs, the clay pots hanging from the ceiling. The neatly trimmed flowers surrounding it. Put together this place was a little heaven. The perfect eclectic blend. She hated that she was just discovering it after staying in the mansion for almost two weeks. With the cool breeze taking up the unmistakable scent of grass, chives and cherry blossoms with the zingy clouds of Lady's Mantle, her set was ready. 

She fired up her laptop and sprinted. Her hands flying over the keyboard. She would always bless her father for getting her this computer as her graduation gift. Since then, she had been using it to write her drafts. The drafts she had no idea how to ever publish considering she didn't have any means to sponsor the work, and she hadn't exactly divulged her secret passion for writing to her parents.  It was something she was sure they would not be okay with. 

She had once tested the waters by asking her mother what she thought of writing as a profession.

"Are you mad? What kind of question is this? Is writing even a thing? People are becoming doctors and lawyers but you are here dreaming rubbish."

"Mama, I was just asking for a friend, you've already chosen Accounting for me, so relax." 

That night she overheard her mother telling her father about "the irrational direction" his daughter was pursuing. Her father had snorted and that was all. That was how the conversation had ended. With it, her potential of living out her dream of becoming a writer flushed down the drain.

But the passion was ingrained in her. So, Maryam only wrote when they turned in at night or when her parents were not at home. On some nights, she would read the stories out to Zubaida for corrections.  Surayya liked to listen in too so she could get more ideas for when the right time came according to her. Nafeesah was her biggest critic.

Maryam was so engrossed in words and letters, feelings so raw and deep, she had lost the sense of time and sense of bearings. She missed seeing someone come over to her when she heard a gasp, her head tilted to work a knot in her stiff neck, dismissing the sound. 

The second time she heard the movement, she jolted out of her chair, hugging her laptop with her, her notebook fell to the floor. Now it lay at the feet of 'the King' himself. 

"Ya Allah! What are you doing out at this hour?!"

Maryam looked around as if in search of whom Mubarak was speaking to. Then her eyes returned to him.   

"I was writing."

"Can't you write in your room, or in the balcony? There are eight living rooms and lounge areas, six corridors and more rooms inside the house, yet  you couldn't find a spot to write something on a laptop until you step out at 12 a.m?"

Maryam rolled her eyes upwards, shaking her head. She got it, he lived in a house five times the size of a  football field, he needed not to remind her of that. 

"Ever needed air so baaad?"

Mubarak stood stoic, he had his eyes fixed on her. He knew that feeling but he wasn't going to talk weather or feelings with her for that matter. 

"You know that hair-lifting-cool-on-the-skin breeze? That was what I needed. And words were itching to come out of my head, so I got a chance to join the two and I did."

He scrutinized her from head to heel, with the black jilbab and the grey scarf she was wearing he didn't see anywhere some breeze would breeze through her. "You are covered in hijaab, I see no hair lifting going on here."

She turned her eyes up, and they caught the light of the gazebo, making them sparkle brightly. They almost looked grey. A jolt of shock hit him, it felt like this was the first time he was seeing her eyes. 

Mubarak was used to the hazel of his brother's eyes, but Maryam's eyes weren't hazel, they weren't brown or even black. They were... different, unique. A touch of calmness that belied her feisty personality. 

He would have to see them in the morning to find out what colour they were. 

"You are such a buzz kill. What are you doing out at 12 a.m. outside the comfort of your mansion?" Her question took Mubarak out of his scrutiny. 

Good question. Yeah, what was he doing out at 12 am and not in his bed, like every normal human? 

He had no idea. He just knew he couldn't sleep and he had to get some air. He needed some air. His eyes went back to her Laptop, she was hugging it to herself as if holding on to dear life, whatever was in there was really important to her. 

And he would like to see what was so important to a crazy girl like her. Now that his curiosity was piqued, he had to find out. It may even be therapeutic to his mind, while listening to her rambling her crazy story, he may even get exhausted and would fall asleep right when his head hit his pillow. That was not a bad idea. 

"So, what's your story?" He asked. 

"Huh?" Maryam was blown with his question.

He returned his gaze to her laptop briefly before taking it back to her eyes. They were whitish. No, light grey. "You write, it has to be about something, right?"

"Nope, just my crazy thoughts." She shrugged.

He scoffed. "It must be for the crazy audience then."

She squinted her eyes. "Yes, just for people like you."  The girl would make the rest of his years sleepless, there was no way he was having a good night sleep if he ever had to experience her. The thought of spending forever experiencing her on a daily basis already gave him the creeps. 

"You know, I once heard that there are two types of writers, the incredibly insane ones and the incredibly good ones who are excellent at hiding it. Which one are you?"

She pursed her lips and he could almost see the snarky reply coming out of her lips. "I thought you've already figured that one out."

Mubarak narrowed his eyes at her as if that was an easy thing to do, no thank you, he preferred to remain sane. He let out some air. 

Maryam went back to sit on the chair, still not opening her work. Maybe she was done for the day. Mubarak thought. 

 "Unlike you, I'm not out to figure you out. You're just... I don't know."

Maryam sighed. "I get that a lot. So don't worry, you aren't the only one."

She was crazy and witty too. Crazy-witty-black-grey-eyed cousin after his life.

"I met them today." He said. A silence fell between them except for the sound of the crickets and a distant hoot of an owl, neither of them made a sound. He just felt the need to share it with her, after all, if she hadn't given him the shove he needed, he wouldn't have mustered the courage to go down to his brother's today. It was one of the most difficult things he had to do in his life. 

Maryam noticed how closed off he seemed after making that statement. Pinching the bridge of his nose, a vein ticked on his temple. And she swallowed. 

"Them, who?"

"Sa'ima and Bilaal, I went to them and I apologized as you suggested, just thought I should let you know."

Uh-uh! He may be out because he really needed some air. Maybe more than how I needed it. Maryam thought.

"Uhm... Maa sha Allah, that is... That is a great move. I am so proud of you." She said matter of fact. 

Mubarak levelled her with a gaze, she said it as if it was a reward to a well-behaved five-year-old kid. "How old are you again?" 

Maryam shook her head. "Huh! You don't ask a lady that."

His lips gave way to a ghost of a smile. "I have to know that, since we are getting to know each other, aren't we?"

"Oh!" He was getting to know her, she had no idea they were back in that game. She felt the chill from the film of sweat that coated her forehead. Straightening her back, she shrugged. "Old enough. So, tell me how did it go? How do you feel now?"

The smile was gone and the heat was back in his eyes, so brown, smouldering brown framed by some long thick lashes. He blinked, and she looked away. "Can we leave that part, please? Let it be a story for another day."

"I know, just admit that you feel lighter now. I'm now going upstairs and  I'll try to do some writing. Just don't sweat it, you are going to be okay."

This girl was twisted, one minute she was crazy the next, she was borderline annoying. 

 "Maryam..." Mubarak gave her a warning look. 

"Okay, I get it, good night. I won't tell you to have a nice sleep. Because I know you won't, it is the final day after all..."

His eyes turned into slits and she almost forgot her name, Ya Rabbi, that man could scowl. 

Mubarak huffed out some air into his palm, then kneaded his temples. She was so exhausting. But he had to admit she was right, he really did feel lighter. Who would have known a little confession and a determination to let go could do that to a man in a day? He felt changed already by the mere determination to change. The zeal to move on had never been stronger in him. 

Even though moving on to him was now the retreating walkie-talkie with a penchant to write in the backyards at odd hours of the night.

Creepy.  

***

The next day, at exactly the same time he found her at the gazebo last night, Mubarak came out, he found her sitting in one of the sling back chairs typing away her brains. He would have ignored her presence there had she not been so immersed in her work. He had never seen her so quiet before, she was always talking. Or eating. Or making food.

Looking at her now he knew he found an answer to his earlier thoughts, he couldn't just remain stuck in one place. He either open up to her and put her out of her misery, or do nothing and remain on Hajiya's Blacklist.  So he forced himself to move towards her.  

"May I have a look?" He said, jarring her out of her trance.

"Ya Rabbi! Ever heard of the word 'Salaam'? Please use it sometimes."

 Maryam's eyes slowly scanned him, he was in a camel brown t-shirt and a light jacket- Black. This was the first time she was seeing him in anything other than white, cream or grey. He should stick to black. He looked different. 

Oh, she didn't just scan him up. What was wrong with her? He was still looking at her, waiting. Oh! He was waiting for her response. She would have to tell him that she didn't share her unfinished work. But he had never been this polite to her. He had never even been remotely interested in something she did.  "You got a flash drive?" She asked.

"Send it to my mail, take the ID."

Maryam looked up, he was about to ramble off his email ID when she said. "Uhm. I don't have one."

His forehead creased, "You said you are a writer?"

Her eyes darkened with confusion, was he checking to see if she was amnesiac? "Yes. I believe that is what I said."

"Then why don't you have an email address? How do you correspond with... Oh."

"Yeah, oh." She had no idea what he meant, but she would die before she looked dumb in his presence.

Mubarak grimaced, feeling bad for making her feel bad about a resource she may not have had access to at home. "No problem we can open one for you now."

Her eyes went wide. "Are you crazy? Hajiya won't let us go out now, it is like 1 am!"

"Ever heard of the Wi-fi?"

When her fixed gaze didn't move from him and she was obviously lost on his word, he shook his head. "Wireless? internet? Anything tech?"

Maryam lifted her laptop and he levelled a gaze at her that said "Really?"  

"Of course I know the internet, what do you take me for? I just didn't know you could have it wirelessly at home."

"Outdated." He muttered glaring at her.

No, she had changed her mind she was not sharing her work with this arrogant-wireless-man. 

"Keep your internet, I'm keeping my story."

"Impulsive," Mubarak said and it looked like he hadn't spoken at all. But his voice was everywhere. Thick, deep, resounding and everything in between, so she heard him okay.

"Good night Ya Mubarak, you are giving me a block, I can't think when I am talking."

Mubarak smiled and pointed his forefinger at her, "That... explains a lot." He said and lifted from his position on the low gazebo wall. He walked towards the house.  

Suddenly, the breeze became chilly, and Maryam felt as if she was being watched. She should go up to her room now, he had ruined her perfect writing weather. A total buzz kill. 

***

"Are we setting up a meeting?"

Gordon slid a folder onto Mubarak's desk. The movement startling Mubarak out of his thoughts. 

"Gordon?"

When his assistant saw that there was every chance his boss hadn't heard what he just said, he laughed. "I've stood here for almost five minutes, explaining the draft and I believe that is the point where you give your approval, should we set up a meet? Schedule an inspection? Anything?" Brown brows rose on thin Gordon's face. He always looked like he would need an IV line hooked to him before he functioned but the amount of work Gordon did, always put Mubarak's sense of productivity to shame, it didn't help that he was the boss. 

"Oh, sorry." Mubarak, let out a sigh, he was losing it again, this was not the time to lose it, especially after his father's remark on how unfocused he seemed lately. He needed to turn in something productive this week. Anything. 

But the problem was, his brain wasn't working, it wasn't doing the needful, it was exhausted thinking of all the possible ways he could shimmy his way out of this situation with the Crazy-creepy-cousin. 

Although after their last night run-in, his mind was only filled up with the curiosity to know what lay within her hard drive. He must admit, after reading her notebook, he was a little bit more intrigued by Maryam Muhammad Maigoro. 

"Mr Bugaje?"

"Sorry, Gordon. Let's see if we can get an inspection on Wednesday."

"You have Lunch with Mr Wyatt."

"Can you do me a favour and slide it on any available date, please?"

"Sure, sir. Your father wants confirmation on all projects by Friday, and my job is to make your job glide as smooth as possible, so if you need any help until then..."

"Thank you, Gordon. I appreciate that a lot. That will be all."

When the office door closed with a soft click behind his assistant, Mubarak opened his desk drawer and brought out the notebook, his fingers glided over the surface of the little glittery hardcover.

"Leave a little Sparkle wherever you go." The embossed words on the notebook sounded a little off. It should have been "Create a tornado wherever you storm." That explained her better.

Closing his eyes, he brought his hand to his face and brushed it downwards. He needed to deal with this once and for all. 

Losing his focus over this was the last thing he needed to happen. Hence he did something that was totally out of character for him, he created an email account for her and texted Wafiyya with the instructions to give her the login details and hook her up on the network. Only then, did he pull the folder Gordon had kept, he tried to concentrate on work, knowing soon he would know all there was he wanted to know about her and her stories.  

***

"Feenaaah, I wrote!" Maryam squealed into her phone.

"Come again?"

"I don't have time but I just wanted to tell you that I wrote for two consecutive days and it is beautiful."

"Now girl, hurry up and come home so that I can see it all."

"I can send it to you by email. I've got a new address."

"No! You didn't. I've always bugged you to have one but you kept refusing."

"Let's just say it kind of happened, anyways bye, text me your ID and I will send it to you. Make your observations as the critic, as usual."

"You bet. I think London kind of suits you."

"More like the views."

"Any in particular?" Maryam could hear the jest in her friend's voice, and she knew if Nafeesah started with her jests then she wouldn't hear the end of them.

"None in particular. Don't even go there. We are still cracking and in the hate zone, though now we talk. A bit."

"Talking a bit is good, keep talking. Alright bye. Umma says hi."

"Oh! Hi, Ummah." Nafeesah's mother was the best, and sometimes Maryam envied Nafeesah, in a good way. Now she had to cut the call short because she couldn't afford another second, so she pressed the end button. 

After her phone call with Nafeesah, Maryam found Hajiya Kulthum working in the study. In the course of her stay at the mansion, Maryam had understood her aunt volunteered in some community service, reaching out to the less privileged children, and sometimes organizing Islamic retreats for kids and young adults. 

So when she was working from home, Maryam liked to help her with the documentation, in the process, learning a lot. She'd once found out that the program catered for the disabled and there were special teachers for that. She had always thought her aunt was a stay at home wife, a homemaker. But what she saw of her aunt's work inspired her to gear up more on fulfilling her dreams. The dream of touching the lives of people in a positive way. Finding a way of instilling positivity in young people. One thing she lacked while growing up. 

"Maryam, can you help with the idea cards please?"

"Sure, what do I have to do?" Maryam went forth to the wide mahogany table, taking in the materials spread out there.  

She loved activities that had to do with kids, she wanted to ask if she could join Hajiya when next she was going to meet her group.

But something caught Maryam's eyes on the table. She took the small card that was browned with age at the edges, it was a family portrait of when the sons were all young and the daughters were all little girls.  

"Hajiya, are you making a photo album?"

Hajiya Kulthum looked up from her planner. She laughed, "Ah, no. I was going through an old box this morning when I found this. So I took it out from the stash. I am working on a campaign to start these programs from the Islamic perspective. Most of the young people outsource the Islamic aspect of life from crooked ways. So, we are coming up with something that will be fun, engaging and will make the kids learn about the deen without making it seem like a chore."

"Oh, that will be beautiful maa sha Allah. Should I sort through the categories?"

"Yes, these were some opinions suggested by the mothers at the community masjids, so we are going to work on what they think will help the kids more, coupled with the ideas of a few experts."

Maryam smiled, "Sounds interesting, in sha Allah it will be a success ." 

Maryam felt her heart swell with pride and love for her aunt. That was the moment  when Maryam knew with utmost conviction that even if Mubarak liked it or not he was stuck with her. She wasn't leaving this gem of a woman to go anywhere. Which meant she wasn't leaving him too. He'd better get around his broken heart and give her that proposal she wanted from him.

A shadow loomed in the door way, making Maryam's heart leap to her throat. 

She fell awestruck at the sight of him. Then she heard the familiar resonating voice pour into the room, and it was all chaos in her mind. Was he psychic? Were psychics real? Because this man just knew that she was thinking of him and decided to make an appearance in the room she happened to be.

"Wa alaikumussalam." Hajiya Kulthum answered, but Maryam refused to look up at him, she was still mad he had called her an outdated, impulsive, villager. Email account or not, no matter how she wanted to be his mother's daughter-in-law she wouldn't let him take advantage of her. Or call her names. 

Instead of acknowledging his presence in the room, Maryam concentrated in sorting the idea cards. That was when he rocked her world. "Maryam, may I have a word please when you are through?" He was benign, she could swear even his eyes had softened. The mean-arrogant-wireless-attorney of a man. 

What was with him and being polite with her? Why was he being soft with her? He was using the presence of his mother to his advantage throwing them both in the loop, "Hm as if I don't know better." She snorted.

This man was a criminal. A bigtime hypocrite. It was just the previous day when it had pained him to speak to her properly, now he had the nerves to give her the soft eyes and the polite voice. He had called her outdated, yet today he wanted to have a talk with her, and he asked as if she mattered.

Maryam managed to reduce the circumference of her eyes and gave him a tight smile. "Sure."

"Oh, I get this Maryam, go ahead. We can finish up later, in sha Allah."

Great, and now her aunt was pushing her to him. She glared at him discreetly and the rogue that he was, he had the audacity to wink at her ever so subtly. Was there a subtle wink? Mubarak just winked at her in his mother's presence! 

Maryam gasped. Not a subtle gasp a loud gasp, which made her drop the stack of cards she had painstakingly been sorting for the past thirty minutes. 

"Go on, I will take it from here."

She had no choice but to follow him wherever it was he was dragging her to have 'the word.'

She stopped short when they rounded the corner, they were in the small patio that linked the main living room to the backyard. It was almost dusky now, some rays of sunlight bathed the patio with its receding glow, an orange light glowed from the ceiling above them. 

"What?" She asked, incensed, her nose flared. That was when she noted, he was out of his suit. He was dressed in a white linen shirt and dark wash jeans. He towered over her. Now that she was standing close to him, Maryam felt intimidated by him.  

So she looked away. Waiting for him to say something. 

"You dropped this the other night."

Maryam looked up to see her blue notebook in his hand. Her eyes bulged out. That was the notebook that Mama had given her. The notebook that was laden with his biodata. 

"Please tell me you haven't opened it."

Mubarak's gaze languidly grazed over her, as if he was too tired to speak, then he leaned back on the door frame, blocking her exit, caging her in the patio.

What was he up to? She wished she could just pry into his brain and see what had placed that amusing look he was pulling off so perfectly.

Argh! The man was intolerable.

***

I am laughing in Hausa. Hihihihihi 😂

Mama's note book making headlines 🙊

What do you think of this so far?

Until we meet next week in sha Allah.

Umm Yasmeen 💞