Khadijah.

After Mama assured me that they would never make a decision that would hurt me, I could only nod my head, finding it truly surprising that they had finalized my future. If Baba had found me a husband, then said husband should already be aware of it.

So I wondered how he was approached. 'We have a rebellious daughter available for marriage; you in?' Was that what he was told? Was I even his type?

My head pounded, it pulsed in stride with the hammering of my heart.

Mama noticed my absolute stillness and continued, her voice warm but firm. "Your father and I will speak to you about him later in the week. A date will be set and preparations will begin. And yes, you will be given the chance to speak with him before the wedding, and as I said earlier, neither is he a stranger to you, nor are you to him. You can go back to your room now and continue praying hard over everything." She took my frozen hand in hers, squeezed affectionately and moved away. "Amna is staying for the night, right?" she asked when I made no single move to do as I was told.

"Yes, she is. Thank you Mama," I replied, trying to mask the whirlwind of thoughts in my head. With that, I walked out of the room in slow motion, feeling like a zombie, still trying to process everything Mama had said.

When I reached my room, I found Amna cuddled up on the edge of my bed. I could bet my whole life that—
1. Her phone was plugged in, and she was using it, hoping I wouldn't notice.
2. She was pretending to be asleep.

And that was exactly what she was doing. She feigned a yawn as if I had just woken her up and rubbed her eyes, asking what was wrong.

"I'm getting married," was my absurd reply.

"Well, I think we're aware of that already." She got off the bed, placed her hands on my shoulders, and pressed a finger below my eye, stretching the skin softly. "Khadijah, where is the blood in your body? You look drained, and you don't look human; you're acting like a robot."

"Amna, I was just informed that Baba has selected a husband for me, that the formal proceedings are soon to begin, and that I know him already. Of course, I would seem drained; I'm so dead!" I panicked, my voice rising in disbelief.

"Shut up!" she squealed, moving to a sitting position. "Ya Allah! Are you kidding me?" she exclaimed, jumping up and bouncing on the bed, excitement clear as daylight on her face.

A hypothetical question: If I happened to grab a pillow and force it over my best friend's face, cutting off her air supply until she became motionless, does that make me a murderer?

"You're of no use, Amna," I grumbled, throwing a fluffy pillow at her instead, which she dodged effortlessly. "You're supposed to be making me feel better, not jumping on the bed!" I glared at her, biting hard on my lower lip.

Amna rolled her eyes. "I'm happy you were saved from the whole courtship thing. You're one lucky girl." She glared at me, hugged the pillow I threw at her, and stared at me with a goofy, creepy grin; like a goon.

I gave her the stink eye, exasperated that I was being deprived of exactly that. "That's the thing! I want to be courted, I want to be taken on long drives, perfect dates; I want to feel loved before going into marriage, I love the fun of being loved but I am fearful of the actual marriage thing. You hear the same stories I hear, Amna. What if this lucky man is a sadistic creature? I'm too young for this," I admitted, absentmindedly rubbing on my arm.

"You're saying this, but when someone else repeats the same sentence, you go raving nuts and ask if he hasn't seen 19 year-old girls in their marital homes. Now this is expensively ridiculous," Amna guffawed.

"Well, yeah, I get to say it, but no one else does." I tried to reason. "I'm too young for this old people thing." I grumbled, sulking hard in frustration.

Amna groaned loud enough to summon Baba Kashim's Rottweiler. I bet the beast had its ears perked up and its nostrils flaring, searching for the love of its life—aka the one who just groaned. In simpler terms, the b-i-t-c-h that is my friend.

I mouthed the term at her, and she rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Khadijah Abubakar Bello, in case you have forgotten, I haven't. Mama got married at age sixteen and Mommy at fifteen. So, imagine being three to four years younger than you and having a husband—and a child in Mama's case—not long after. Be a darling and shut your trap; get ready for Isha. We have tons of things to do. And try to be positive for a little while, alright?" Being the obedient one, I reluctantly did as I was told, or instructed more like.

Minutes later, we were both tucked in bed, conversing about school. Left to Amna, we would keep on talking about my impending marriage, but thankfully she got on my page and refrained, suggesting instead that we do something interesting.

"Baking?" I asked, grabbing my phone from the nightstand to watch a video I had saved a few days ago. It was a brownie recipe that I'd never tried before, and the thought of the nuts in it had me salivating before I even hit play for my friend to see.

"Yes, please!" Amna giddily clapped her hands, pulling me up with enthusiasm.

I checked the ingredients and did a happy dance when I realized we had enough of everything we needed. Mama and Baba are fond of stocking my side of the pantry because they love how passionate I am about baking. I could spend a whole day beside my oven without getting bored. Besides, Mama is a caterer, so both Ya Aisha and I inherited our kitchen-loving tendencies from her.

Taking a glance at the wall clock, we decided to ditch our hijabs, knowing my brothers wouldn't be around the house. Ya Mukhtar typically stayed out late, while Ya Bashir preferred to remain in his room in their quarters.

After getting permission from Mama, we made our way to the store to fetch the required ingredients for both the brownies and the toppings Amna suggested we make.

Amna believes she is gothic, but I think she's crazy because she has an album filled with all the songs from Barbie. She hit play the moment we started whisking and mixing things up, and we sang out loud, danced, and enjoyed ourselves while doing the work.

It didn't take long for the chocolate dessert to come out of the oven. We let it cool and focused on the nuts, caramel, and cream toppings, devouring half of it before spreading it over one bar while leaving the bigger one for those who preferred their sugar to be less abundant. Amna and I fancied our dessert dripping with sauce from all angles.

We made a show of presenting Mama her share, bade her goodnight, and then returned to the kitchen to clean up. We rushed through the whole process and were so grateful when the house-help suggested she would do it instead.

Deciding to watch a movie while we snacked on our brownies, we made our way to the living room, with chocolate bars on Amna's flat plate while I held the plate containing our share of the dessert.

What we weren't expecting was to find Ya Mukhtar and his friend Tahir lounging in the parlor.

Both Amna and I were caught completely off guard—we were only in our pyjamas, three-quarter length trousers and sleeveless shirts—and we weren't wearing our scarves. Panic set in, and we both shrieked, unintentionally bumping into one another as we attempted to make our escape without dropping the plates in our hands. My forehead began to throb as it collided with Amna's, which felt like it was made of solid rock. Racing to my room, we burst through the door at the same time. I quickly locked it behind us, and we collapsed onto the floor in a fit of giggles.

"That was so not supposed to happen," I whispered.

We exchanged glances before bursting out laughing again. Picking an ice cube from my fridge, I placed it on my forehead, and she did the same. Amna muttered something along the lines of, "Stupid girl with her hard forehead," while we panted from the adrenaline of our run.

We heard a knock that cut our laughter short, it abruptly ceased. Mama's voice floated through the door, asking what happened, to which we both replied, "Nothing," simultaneously. She left after making sure that we were speaking the truth.

That was a close call; we would have certainly gotten a lecture on how girls ought to dress before leaving their rooms and such. You know, if there were a course in school called "Etiquette", my mom would have been the perfect lecturer worldwide. I trust her completely.

Plus, have you seen Ya Mukhtar in his element? Put aside the fact that he is my favorite person, he gets absolutely furious when I don't cover up in the presence of other men.

The men in my house might just win a medal for being overly protective.

...

The next morning, Amna and I prepared breakfast for the whole family, which was quite exhausting. We whipped up a large batch of egg sauce, along with chips and sausages, and then made some French toast. We took our breakfast together, everyone was accustomed to Amna's presence because we have been close since our relocation to Kano years ago. We were neighbors before they moved to another side of the state, and she spends her holidays and many weekends at our place, so she felt like the twin sister I never had.

Today, Ya Bashir was scheduled to pick up Fawaz, a cousin of ours who lives under my parents' care, from school. I hadn't seen that guy in a long time; he attends a boarding school in Kaduna. The boy could easily pass as the devil's incarnate and he's been living with us for six years now, so he's basically part of the family.

That boy does whatever he pleases just because he's the baby of the house, a position he took from me by force! But if I tried doing what he does, I'd be roasted and served to Baba Kashim's dog for lunch.

See that? Unfair!

A not-so-sumptuous meal that would have been for the dog. But then, dogs love bones, don't they?

After breakfast, Amna and I got ready for the day before she begged Baba to let me take her home. But Baba, being himself, paid no attention to our pleas. Just when I thought we were out of luck, he instructed Ya Mukhtar to take us there at the very last minute.

I did a happy dance in my head.

Amna bade everyone goodbye, including Ya Aisha, who had come over after breakfast.

First, we stopped at a supermarket and bought lots of biscuits, frozen yogurt, and junk food for ourselves, taking full advantage of Ya Mukhtar's patience with us. And his credit card too. Or, it might be because we gave him a share of the brownies we made last night, while Tahir was still around.

After that, we took off to Mommy's house.

Upon arriving, we found Mommy and Kamal, who is one of Ya Mukhtar's friends and is also a cousin and neighbor to Amna, sitting in the veranda. Amna and I both hugged Mommy and greeted them warmly before grabbing three more chairs for all of us. Ya Mukhtar joined us, and we spent a few minutes conversing with them before rushing to her room for some privacy. We didn't want to risk missing the deadline set for me.

We divided everything into two, including her new collection of goodies. After praying Asr, Ya Mukhtar and I left, feeling satisfied.

...

AN/
I'm sorry if the chapters are short.
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NanaAmiinah🤍