Chapter Fourteen.

              RASHIDA ABDULLAH EYED ENVIOUSLY THE green coloured chewing gum in her hand. There were four pieces of them, wrapped together in a cut-out piece of transparent nylon. She looked up at the crowd of mothers flagging her, her lips pursed with jealousy, her eyes narrowed in stealth annoyance.

She was dight in a red and yellow wrapper with birds leaving their cages patterned onto the material. Her fair skin shone under the warm sunlight and her made-up face, contorted and highlighted in all the right angles by her second daughter, Madinah, sparkled brighter than her compadres.

In terms of appearance, Rashida granted the seemingly thrilled women cursory glances with scoffs of superiority, she surpassed them all. She was don up in the most expensive veil, a bag from some popular brand Madinah had ordered for her online sat on the plastic white table in black glory for all to see, and her jeweleries were more expensive than her entire outfit put together.

She had everything she had hoped to get; a rich husband, a big house, children, and money to buy whatever she wanted. It should make her happy, but instead she was not.

Rashida looked at the sick looking Mama Asiya, clothed in nothing but a simple plain veil and faded accessories. The woman couldn't compare to her in status. She was just a widow with little money, but the thing that annoyed Rashida was that the sick woman who had so little wealth was getting her first daughter married by the end of the month. The girl was just twenty-three!

Biting down on her red lined lip, Rashida shoved the bubble gum used to locally invite people for weddings in her small town into her bag. She scanned the crowd for a particular face, giving the mother of her first daughter's best friend a once over.

If any mother in her meeting group seemed close to coming up to her level, Rashida had to give it to Hussaina Ibrahim. The woman was comfortably rich and could pair together good accessories, but she was too calm for Rashida's liking. Hussaina's laid-back attitude towards the marital trails of life was something Rashida couldn't comprehend. She saw no reason why her friend would remain calm when talks of her husband taking a second wife—a younger second wife for that matter—was beginning to spread round their meetings.

"It's his right," Hussaina would always defend. "And besides, I'm not being laid-back, I just don't want to fight with my husband or his people, so I'm fighting with sabr instead. I believe whatever happens is qadr, so it is better to just let things happen as they should."

Rashida always hissed vehemently at that. Let me see my husband with any young lady who isn't his daughter first! She would always think but she had never spoken it out loud before, because she felt that if she spoke her thoughts out loud shaytaan would whisper it into being. She couldn't share her husband with any other woman. She frowned, realizing that she was already doing so with four other ladies.

Hussaina looked up, laughing and caught the woman staring at her. She smiled and Rashida playfully rolled her eyes before tearing her gaze away to search for Hussaini's mother. It was time she found our how the meeting between their children went.

She caught sight of the dark and slender older woman seated down a few chairs to her right. Hurrying to her feet, she scurried over to the black enwrapped woman, hoping desperately that her daughter had done as hadith taught and respected her mother this time around.

——————

          MUNIR WAS PAYING FOR the drug he had just bought when he caught a whiff of incense teasing the air around him. It was sandalwood, he figured instantly as he involuntarily sniffed in the air. The fragrance was so much like the one he had bought for his mother and sister from Istanbul months ago.

Sandalwood was a very popular incense scent so he could easily pick it out, but the fragrance he was currently smelling was a lot stronger. "Unlike the one KudiScents sells." His mother and sister who were incense addicts had agreed, using their turanren plug as reference.

Munir knew the fragrance like he knew the taste of over ripe mango, thanks to his sister who used it occasionally whenever she was filming.

Sniffing the air again, this time voluntarily, he wanted to catch a glimpse of whoever it was that smelled just like the two women in his life. Before he could turn around, he heard her voice.  Low but urgent, and then her laugh, vibrant like the scent enveloping him but still distant.

"DanAllah, Mommy Freedom, give me one sachet of diclofenac." She said in Hausa, her pitch gale.

She sounded much clearer and closer now. The scent accompanying her was beginning to suffocate Munir. Fatiha moved to the front of the shop where Munir stood, unknowingly granting him a better view of her.

From the corner of his eye, he could see her leaning forward over the recently repainted blue counter that kept customers away from more private corners of the pharmacy. She was clad in orange and white, and was cooing consolingly at a weeping baby who was being administered a drip.

A jab of jealousy towards the three year old coursed through Munir. How lucky. He'd give anything to have her look and smile at him that way, he thought and suddenly shook his head. Haram, Munir. It's haram. Besides, he mused flabbergasted, why would I want that?

Munir's sneezing tore him from his thoughts. He muttered an "Alhamdulillah" almost cussing himself for not being able to withstand the mixed smell of drugs and incense. He'd began to wish he could just vanish before she got a chance to see who the other customer standing by her side was; before she gave him that look he so disliked. Now, he'd give anything to be anywhere but here.

Fatiha jerked her head towards him and gave him a flinty glance before she shifted away with guilty eyes and muttered, "Yarhamuk Allah."

Unable to help himself, Munir smiled. "Yahdeekum Allah Wa yuslihu balaakum." He responded and just as he'd suspected, she hadn't realized he was the one standing there.

She turned back to him, her eyes almost wide as realization slowly dawned upon her. For a split second Munir saw a flash of that ready anger she saved for him rise to the surface before she gave him a full sweep with her eyes. He had changed from the knee length pants he had been putting on at home and into his trademark sweatpants. Simple rubber flip- flops covered his wide feet and his shirt had been replaced with a worn out Chelsea jersey. He unexpectedly found himself regretting his shirt choice now for some unknown reason.

Munir watched as her eyes landed on the sachet of paracetamol in his hands,  and then, slowly her temper dissipated. He thought he saw a bit of concern flash through her face before she looked away.

Munir wanted to stay, he surprisingly realized as he watched her turn away from him. Ya Rabbi! He nearly screamed. Some screw or sort must have gone loose in his head. Who was it who just wished not more than a minute ago to vanish? To be far away from her plightful gaze? Him! And now he was what? Wishing to stay? He must be loosing it, he thought pitifully, but still... He found himself wanting to ask her how she had been; how she had gotten the bruise on her wrist; and why she had met Hussaini yesterday even though he already knew the answer to that one. A screw was definitely loose up there, he concluded with a firm nod.

"Your change."

The words pulled Munir back with a jerk. He turned to find Mommy Freedom, the shop owner, and the mother whose child Fatiha had been soothing staring at him strangely. He dared a glance to his right just to see if the lady there was also watching him; she wasn't. She had given all her attention to the baby was now in her arms. Her eyes forcefully aimed at the now giggling glassy-eyed kid.

Munir turned back to the owner of the shop, collected his money and left. He could have been invisible for all she cared. He scoffed as he pushed his way out of the shop.

Why did he care about how she was anyway? About her bruise!? She didn't even care about him one bit to have small talk. He understood that they weren't on good terms, but how could she not even ask about his sister? Her best friend! Yet there she was, prancing about with a scent he'd bought for his sister! He wondered how she'd react if she found out about that.

As he lashed out in his mind, Munir told himself he wasn't going to waste his time thinking about her. She wasn't worth it, he fumed but instead of going back home, he spun on his heels and headed back for the pharmacy.

He was leaning outside on the side of the small building with his arms crossed when she came out grinning from ear to ear. "Asalamualaikum, Fatiha." He greeted and the smile on her face vanished the moment she met his eyes.

—————

         FATIHA HAD NEVER in her life held her breath for so long and breathed out such deep air and was grateful for it. Relief washed through her in waves as Munir Adam Madaki stormed out of the pharmacy.

She peeked over her shoulder and watched with furrowed brows as the man she had always considered her enemy walked out of view. Sighing, she turned back to the kid in her arms, her mind a mess. It was all Hussaini's fault! She thought, frustratedly. Why would he go and mess up her brain by spewing nonsense about how good of a person her supposed bully was?

That Eid at Alhaji Ali's place really took a toll on him. He's a good man, Fatiha, I promise. Hussaini had told her but what exactly had he meant by that? She knew Munir just as much as a friend could know her friend's brother. He had looked arrogantly pleased with himself twelve years ago. Ganging up with his dumb friends and laughing at her. She couldn't see the good in him.

Shaking her head and clearing with it thoughts of Munir and whatever khair Hussaini believed he possessed, Fatiha came to a conclusion. They were friends that was why. It was the only plausible reason for Hussaini to say what he had. He was bound by the loyalty of friendship to help and defend. If it was her in his place and Noor in her brother's place, Fatiha knew she'd do exactly the same thing.

Fatiha handed the baby back to his mother. There were more important things for her to think about, so Fatiha didn't have the time to think about Munir. She collected her medicine, paid her money and left with a grin after tickling the baby one last time.

She had just stepped outside, laughing at something the baby's mother said to her when she heard a voice sending salama her way. Fatiha pivoted, baffled to see Munir still standing there, his arms crossed over his broad chest and that ugly jersey of his. His caramel skin and dark beard looked more silky in the sun's light.

Fatiha felt her heart skip a beat as she watched him watch her with those honey brown eyes. She took a startled step back. You have a fiancé, a voice warned her.

"What are you still doing here?" she questioned without thought, her voice rising in shock and irritation. It was because she was surprised, she told herself in reference to the sudden lapse in her heartbeat.

With a quirk of an arrogantly fine eyebrow, Munir countered, "Is that how to respond to my salaam?"

Fatiha shuffled her feet, looked away in shame then flipped a hand over her face before she responded back to his tasleem.

"That's good." Munir smiled, his straight white teeth shining brightly in the forest of his dark beard. "How have you been?"

Fatiha didnt answer. Instead she forced herself to move. She took a step away from the pharmacy and then another, and soon she was standing a good distance away from the prying eyes of Mommy Freedom and Munir's curious gaze. But he followed her movement with his eyes.

A memory of the night she'd argued with him came to the surface of her mind's eye as she stood there. The screaming, the questions, the crying. Fatiha realized that she hadn't seen Munir ever since that night and the same went to his sister, her best friend. A tide of guilt flooded her as the reality of what had happened sunk her deeper.

She turned to glare at Munir but upbraided herself against doing so. Trying to put the blame on him was just childish behavior. If she was wrong she had to admit it and take responsibility. Besides, she missed her friend.

"How's Noor?" she asked quietly, her eyes darting all around her but on the man she spoke to.

"She's doing fine," he responded, then added, "I guess. You should talk to her. Come over and see her."

Come over? Fatiha couldn't do that. She began to decline his offer but he beat her to it.

"Fatiha," he started with a resigned sigh. "If you're avoiding our place because of me, I'll leave. I'll stay in my room till you leave or I'll find somewhere else to go to, but please don't spoil your friendship because of me. Noor would never forgive me."

Shame and guilt was never the right mix for someone who thought so stubbornly that they were in the right. But here she was, right in the middle of its stickiness, Fatiha thought bitterly. Had she been wrong about him? No! She thought. He had given her that chair. He is not good, girl! Get that in your mushy brain. He is a mean person. This is what he does, remember? Act all nice and then, bam! you're dropping to the ground like an overripe and heavy cashew fruit.

Fatiha looked reluctantly at her companion. He looked so genuine, so much so that if she didn't know him that well, she'd believe his lies.

She lifted her chin in the air, her pride pushing her. "I'll think about it," she told him. "Not because you suggested it but because I have to make amends with her anyway."

"Really?" he asked, pushing away from the wall where he'd been resting on. "You'd do that for me?" he teased.

"It's not because of you," she repeated with grit. "But because of me."

He laughed and Fatiha wasn't sure if it was the sun or because she had become a total mess, but he seemed to glow brighter and handsomely. She gasped in shock and spun around. She was definitely out of her mind! You're engaged. Remember you're engaged! Astagfirullah.

"JazakAllahu khairan, Fatiha. Really." He beamed at her.

Stop smiling at me like that! She wanted to scream, but what she said instead was, "Are you not feeling fine?" She nearly took the words back at the look of surprise that caressed Munir's features.

"Just a little headache. I can't tolerate it." He shared.

Fatiha nodded.

"You?"

"Hmm?"

He jerked his head towards the small paper pouch in her hands.

Fatiha looked down at the item and then back at him. "Oh. It's not mine."

Munir nodded. "What about your wrist? Is it okay?"

Fatiha ran circles over the bluish skin. "It was an accident, but it's okay. Doesn't pain like before." She told him with a small smile.

"Okay." Munir uttered and they both fell into silence.

Fatiha scratched at her nose as she took in the nearly deserted area of their street. Three huge rocks arranged side by side with swept away ashes and charcoal where the only remnants of the kosai joint that opened every morning and evening. Other than two mai ruwa and mai dinki, Fatiha and Munir were the only ones on the street. 

This is really awkward, Fatiha thought as the silence stretched further. Say something! She begged herself. Munir was the one who did.

"I, um..." He cleared his throat, swallowed and moved two steps closer. "I have something to say."

***
Glossary:
Mai ruwa: Are men who sell water in trucks.
Mai dinki: Are tailors.

Asalamu alaykum guys! So sorry for the late update. I just started working and got really exhausted to write yesterday, so I slept off. Please put me in your prayers.
Anywho! Here's your update with a huge cliffhanger 😈
So sorry luvs, but I hope you enjoyed reading the chapter. Tell me what you think Munir said to Fatiha in the comments section. Whoever gets it right would have the next update dedicated to them.
Until then, vote, comment, and share.
Ma salaam 😘