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The ride to Mommy's house unfolded in silence, with Khadijah painfully aware of Tahir's presence beside her. His earlier ministrations had left her feeling beyond flustered, and she had no one to blame but herself.

It gnawed at her that unlike her, his composure remained intact, as though he wasn't the same man who had left her feeling as flustered as... she struggled to think of anyone who could ever feel as flustered as she did; who could rival her embarrassment. In a silent reprimand, she scolded herself for forgetting every single thing; her brain felt as if it had been reduced to mere specks of dust.

Then he had explained that it was her plea to visit her ailing friend, his words laced with a subtle hint, suggesting that he had perhaps kissed away her memories in the process. Fisted in the long sleeves of her elegant abaya, Khadijah clenched her hands tighter, her lower lip pressed firmly between her teeth, a futile attempt to contain the emotions brewing inside her.

"Do you aim to bite your lip off?" Tahir asked, breaking the silence in the car.

Khadijah's reaction was instant; her teeth released the pressure, leaving prints on her puffed skin. Turning her head to the side, she focused her gaze on the streets through the dark tint of the window, desperately searching for something to take her mind off the elephant in the enclosed space; the tension pulsing around them.

A sense of relief washed over Khadijah at the sight of Mommy's gates. Her fingers hovered over the door handle before the car finally came to a stop.

Tahir, attuned to her slightest movements, took hold of her left hand the moment the vehicle halted, urging her to turn in his direction. She did so, her eyes wary and full of questions.

"I'll be back to pick you up immediately after Maghrib or Isha," he stated, releasing her hand slowly.

Khadijah nodded, finding it hard to speak. "Thank you! See you later." Without waiting for a response, she rushed out of the car, waving at him, aware that his eyes remained on her as she made her way inside.

Tahir exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as she disappeared through the entrance.

Once inside, Khadijah greeted the friendly security guard, as well as the driver who had taken her and Amna to school and various places countless times. He was the man both girls dubbed their source of the juiciest news and was well aware of nearly everything happening in Kano and beyond.

Khadijah, pleased that Tahir had allowed her to spend most of her day with her best friend, felt her earlier fluster giving way to excitement.

The moment she stepped into the house, her footsteps fast and loud, she headed straight for Mommy's living room. There she found the older woman seated on a couch, reading glasses perched perfectly on her nose, fingers gracefully scrolling through the pages of her Kindle.

"Assalamu Alaikum, Mommy!" Khadijah greeted, excitedly falling into the older woman's open arms. 

"My beautiful Khadijah. What a lovely surprise! You look absolutely breathtaking, Mashaa Allah! Were you dropped off by your husband?" Mommy asked, peering over Khadijah's shoulder as though searching for Tahir.

Khadijah nodded, explaining that he had dropped her off to spend the day with her sick friend.

"Don't mind Amna, dear; she's down with a cold and takes full advantage of that by making everyone agree to her silly demands. She made you come all the way here," Mommy said, clicking her tongue lightly, her head turning towards Amna's room. "I'm sure she's in there, wrapped from head to toe, waiting for her knight in shining armor—you!"

Giddily, Khadijah nodded, fighting the urge to sprint down the path to Amna's room. She managed to compose herself and walked at a brisk pace to her destination instead.

Khadijah appreciated Tahir's gesture, but still, the time she had was far too short. She knew it wouldn't be enough to discuss all the things she longed to share with Amna.

Pushing the door open, Khadijah stepped inside, announcing her presence with a bright "Salaam!" Her greeting was met with a fit of coughing, and through the haze of sound, the sick one raised her head from the glow of her laptop screen. Amna's eyes widened to the size of saucers, and in the blink of an eye, she had flung herself out from under her blanket, setting aside both the laptop and her headphones, and was launching her body towards Khadijah.

Caught off guard, both girls toppled to the floor, excitement bubbling in their guts like a fizzy drink about to overflow.

"Oh my God!" Amna screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice hoarse and croaky. "You didn't tell me you were coming!" she exclaimed, her words as loud as her sore throat would allow.

"I did, but you said I was lying," Khadijah countered, stepping back to assess her friend with a critical eye. "You look like hell."

Amna rolled her eyes dramatically. "And you look every inch the glowing bride that you are! Tell me, how does being married feel? Good? Overhyped? Bleh?" She paused for a moment, her body shaking with another fit of coughing, "Or just normal?"

Khadijah shrugged, placing a reassuring hand on Amna's shoulder. "Honestly, it feels... normal. Not normal, it feels weird that I cohabit with a man!" They giggled, collapsing onto the bed with a soft thud.

Biting the insides of her cheeks, Khadijah fumbled with her next words, feeling as if Amna could see the signs of everything she had done etched across her face. Mortification gripped her in a chokehold, and she quickly turned her gaze away, recalling Tahir's behavior at the most inconvenient time.

That kiss.

Her toes involuntarily curled.

"What are you not telling me?" Amna probed, raising an eyebrow. "Or let me rephrase that. Tell me every single thing except what we both know I don't care to hear."

"Nothing like that," Khadijah stammered. "I mean, we... I'm... his sisters are so good to me. I feel like we've known each other for years," she explained after feeling as though she had made a total fool of herself.

Amna's eyes narrowed, recognizing the reason for Khadijah's fumbling words. But since it fell into the category of "what we both know I don't care to hear," she let her friend off the hook, choosing instead to listen as Khadijah rambled about his family. Before long, Khadijah had shared everything there was to know about Tahir's family yet skirted around revealing anything personal about him. She consciously avoided saying his name, something Amna found amusing.

Khadijah knew there was no way she could divulge the details about everything that transpired between her and Tahir to anyone. She was too embarrassed to speak about it, and it was unnecessary; their secret to keep.

"Your turn, Amna, tell me everything I missed about you," she suggested, her voice filled with eagerness as she took off her abaya, preparing to settle in more comfortably on Amna's bed.

"There's really nothing to tell about me," Amna groaned dramatically, scrunching her face. "Except I've exhausted several rolls of tissue paper, and my nose is all blotchy and red! I know you probably smell amazing, but I can't even tell because I feel nothing," Amna ranted, exasperatedly unplugging her phone in the midst of her tirade.

Khadijah stifled the laughter threatening to bubble out. "All this because you refused to listen to Mommy and go to the hospital. What actually caused your cold, anyway?"

"Ice cream. I had ice cream and popsicles. Ya Kamal let me take my share and his, only for me to end up like this!" She groaned, faking a dramatic cry, her hand resting over her forehead as if she had been struck by a cruel fate.

Khadijah laughed wholeheartedly. "It was the same ice cream you sent me pictures of! Poor you, Amna darling. You'll get better soon, In Shaa Allah."

"Ugh, In Shaa Allah, yes. I'm already tired of this whole thing," Amna lamented.

A sharp knock sounded on the door, and Mommy stepped into the room after they eagerly bade her to enter. She balanced a tray on a wheeled cart, expertly maneuvering it as she handed Khadijah a plate piled high with pastries, while Amna received a steaming bowl of soup.

"But Mommy, I can eat samosas and meat pies too!" Amna deadpanned, her eyes wide with longing as she eyed the delicious-snacks on Khadijah's plate.

"Thank you so much, Mommy," Khadijah exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.

Mommy returned Khadijah's smile with a bright one of her own, brushing her fingers affectionately across her cheek before turning her gaze to Amna. "Amna Kabir Bello, take your broth and your medications. Get better today, and you can have what's on Khadijah's plate tomorrow."

"But I'm the patient! I'm supposed to be treated with all the care and love I deserve!" Amna harrumphed, looking every inch the indignant sick person she was.

Mommy rolled her eyes, clearly unfazed by her daughter's dramatics. "Don't mind her, Khadijah. She finished almost all of my frozen samosas last night, claiming they were helping her recover. Just enjoy! And ensure you take all those meds, Amna; I'm not joking. Khadijah, keep an eye on your friend; she thinks she's clever."

"I will, Mommy," Khadijah promised dutifully.

"Bye!" Mommy added with a wave, gliding out of the room.

Khadijah turned her attention back to Amna, who was extending her hand like a little beggar, her expression portraying feigned innocence and desperation. "No. Take your broth; it's good for your health," Khadijah cackled, playfully keeping her food away from Amna's sneaky hands.

In the end, they decided to share the snacks and broth together, because apparently, the broth was too delicious to be left uneaten.

"The phone I was telling you about? I've finally started using it." Khadijah announced, pulling the phone Tahir got her out of her bag.

Amna laughed boisterously, already privy to the new phone drama. Grabbing the device, she captured several selfies, blessing it, completely ignoring the fact that she was sick.

But then, Amna was an attention seeker—sometimes. Capitalising on her attention seeking tendencies, she posted a few pictures of her sick face, which comprised only half of said face on Khadijah's Snapchat and Instagram story.

Once satisfied with her exploits, she took her medications while Khadijah got up to pray Asr, leaving Amna bundled up on her bed. After praying, Khadijah stole a glance back at her friend and found her on the brink of dozing off. Sleepy herself, Khadijah removed the hijab she had worn for prayer, leaving on only the camisole beneath her abaya, before slipping onto the other side of the bed and falling asleep almost instantly.

Two hours later, both girls awoke in a panic, the realization dawning on them that they had squandered their precious time sleeping instead of making the most of their afternoon.

"Tahir's coming to pick me up after Maghrib. I can't believe it's only in a few minutes," Khadijah exclaimed, her throat parched and her heartbeat quickening. "I can't believe we overslept!"

"I can," Amna yawned, her eyes drooping with sleep. "We both know how serious we are about our naps."

"Yes, but Amna, I might not see you until God knows when! I'm so pissed at myself."

"I seriously find it hard to believe you miss me this much. Anyway, get up. Go to the bathroom and do something—whatever—before your husband arrives. You look like Sid the Sloth right now." Amna joked, hiding her face behind a pillow as if to shield herself from Khadijah's intended retaliation.

Khadijah gasped in feigned outrage, playfully smacking Amna right in the chest with a heart-shaped pillow. "Why, thank you, Manny!" With an exaggerated eye roll, she hopped off the bed and headed for the bathroom, dreading, yet at the same time looking slightly forward to Tahir's arrival.

As promised, he arrived after Ishaa. Contrary to her expectation that he might call her once he got there, he came accompanied by Kamal and Mukhtar. They spent a bit of time conversing with Mommy before she announced their presence to the girls.

Amna's eyes grew wide with surprise, deftly shifting her gaze away from Khadijah, who was styling her veil.

"Wear something and come out, Amna. You heard Mommy—Ya Kamal and Ya Mukhtar are here." Khadijah giddily insisted, practically shaking with glee at the thought of seeing her brother.

Since the wedding, whenever she asked either of her brothers when they would come over to her house, their responses had always been one and the same: "Soon." To Khadijah, that vague word felt synonymous with "forever," much like Amna's interpretation of it. In truth, Khadijah had entirely stopped accepting "soon" as a legitimate answer; she had effectively canceled it from her vocabulary, promising never to use it again unless absolutely necessary.

"Amna, mana!" Khadijah cried, tugging on her friend's arm to urge her out of bed. "Please, let's go."

"I'm not dressed to entertain guests. Have you seen my face? You said it yourself—I look like a mammoth." Amna protested, crossing her arms defensively. "Please, Khadijah, go alone and tell them I'm sleeping. I look terrible and blotchy."

Khadijah rolled her eyes at Amna's exaggerated complaint. "And so what? It's just Ya Kamal, Ya Mukhtar, and Tahir. Why would you even care about your appearance? You've never bothered before! Wallahi, get up, or I'll bite your fingers—all ten of them!"

Amna groaned louder than before, her heart racing at the thought of meeting them while she likely looked her worst. Knowing Khadijah wouldn't let her be without prying if she stubbornly chose to refuse, Amna begrudgingly swung her legs over the side of the bed and made her way to the bathroom, muttering under her breath.

With Khadijah's relentless encouragement, she emerged not long after, surprised to find a baggy t-shirt and a jersey veil waiting for her on the bed. It took her only a minute to adjust her messy pigtails, shrug into the oversized shirt, and throw on a long hijab, opting to ditch the veil for something a bit more comfortable.

"You'll pay for making me get up," Amna grumbled, following closely behind Khadijah, whose steps were quick with anticipation of seeing her brother.

"You're welcome, habibty!" Khadijah called over her shoulder, turning briefly to blow her a kiss before resuming her brisk walk.

Upon entering the living room, Khadijah's gaze first met Tahir's, and almost as quickly as it landed, she sought out her brother, battling the urge to sprint straight into his arms.

Amna, however, caught his eyes first and noticed the worry reflecting in his expression before his attention shifted fully to Khadijah.

Khadijah greeted the men respectfully, Amna's voice echoing hers. She then slowly made her way to Mukhtar, offering him a handshake accompanied by the widest grin on her face.

"Amna, how do you feel?" Tahir asked, his gaze shifting from Khadijah to her friend, who had settled onto the two-seater sofa where Kamal was sitting.

"I feel better now, Alhamdulillah," Amna replied, her voice brightening.

"Allah ya qara lafiya," he said, to which they all chorused "Ameen" in response.

Next, Kamal spoke to her, his voice lower than Tahir's due to their closer proximity. The moment the room fell silent, Mukhtar glanced at the clock on the wall, suggesting they should be on their way before it got late.

Seconding his words, the men rose from their seats, bidding Mommy farewell before heading to the entryway. Tahir and Kamal led the way, while Khadijah, Amna, and Mukhtar strolled at a slower pace behind them. Once they reached the driveway, Khadijah turned to Mukhtar and wrapped her arms around him, indulging in a fierce hug.

"I miss you so much, Ya Mukhtar. You don't even love me anymore, or you would've come to see me at least ten times," Khadijah complained, fully aware of Tahir's gaze lingering on her as she spoke.

"Ten times? Twice a day?" Mukhtar asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"Or we could make it three times per day!" she shot back. "Please, Ya Mukhtar, you should come over tomorrow. Please!" She pleaded, dragging out the words to prolong the time before she had to get into Tahir's car.

"Kaman mai karban breakfast, lunch, and dinner?" Mukhtar teased, affectionately ruffling her braids through her veil, promising to visit soon.

"Not soon, I want a specific date," she insisted, crossing her arms with a determined look in her eyes.

Turning his gaze from his sister to his friend, Mukhtar acknowledged Tahir directly. "Come and get your wife, man," he chuckled, half-serious and half-teasing.

Smiling at their antics, Tahir willingly complied, walking towards them at a slow pace while Khadijah continued to nag Mukhtar into making a promise to visit, insisting on a specific date.

In the middle of Khadijah's passionate tirade, Tahir came to stand beside her, facing Mukhtar while Amna and Kamal chatted from a short distance away. Without looking down, Tahir found Khadijah's right hand, unexpectedly causing a hitch in her voice mid-sentence as their fingers intertwined.

"Mukhtar will come next week, right?" Tahir asked, tugging gently at her hand until their arms brushed against each other, the intimacy of the gesture sending a flutter through her. His voice lowered into a soft whisper against her ear, "Let's go home."

Shifting his gaze from the couple before him, Mukhtar glanced briefly at Kamal and Amna before returning to meet Khadijah's expectant stare. Mukhtar nodded in agreement, confirming his friend's words, leaning in slightly to plant a warm kiss on the top of his sister's head while Tahir took a small step back to provide them with a moment of privacy.

"Goodnight, Khadijah. Be a good girl," Mukhtar said, his tone affectionate.

"I'll miss you, Ya Mukhtar. I'm always a good girl," she reminded him, stepping out of his embrace when he let go.

With an enthusiastic wave, she called Amna's attention, wrapping her friend in a bone-crushing hug before wishing Kamal goodnight. In his usual cool manner, he wished her well, repeating the words to Tahir, who quickly took her hand and led her toward his car.

Amna watched them leave, Khadijah's beaming face and waving hand refusing to fade from view until the gates closed behind them. Turning slightly to face Kamal, she asked, "How did you guys know I was sick?"

Kamal nudged Mukhtar. "We were together when Mukhtar saw your sick face on Khadijah's story. So, of course, we decided to come check up on you."

"I'm really grateful," she whispered, but the relief was short-lived as she fell into a fit of coughing. Quickly recovering, she felt a tad embarrassed when she looked up to find their concerned eyes seeking hers.

Drawn to Mukhtar, she turned to face him directly.

"Have you been to the hospital? Taken anything for it yet?" he asked, his eyes narrowing in worry, fully aware of how both Khadijah and Amna often found ways to slink out of hospital visits.

"Yes, I'm recovering now. I feel a lot better," she assured him, forcing a brave smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Mukhtar studied her for a moment longer, uncertain whether to call her bluff or to agree that she was feeling better, because in his eyes, she didn't seem quite up to par.

"Keep away from ice cream and anything cold, Amna," Kamal warned, looking every bit the concerned older brother—or, in their case, an older cousin.

Amna pouted, her lips curling into an almost childlike sulk. "Until I recover, right? Because I'm already looking forward to the next time you take me out for ice cream." She laughed, delighting in the expressions on their faces.

Kamal shook his head with a knowing smile.

Mukhtar's brows knitted into a frown. "No more ice cream for you, Amna." He paused, noticing the indignant look on her face, which only intensified his resolve, his expression turning several shades more stern. "It makes you sick, and remember, your health is more important than anything else. Next time, opt for a different, non-cold dessert to satisfy your cravings."

Out of words, Amna shot him a fiery glare. "But Ya Mukhtar, I love ice cream!she exclaimed, exasperatedly. She parted her lips to say more, ready to plead her case, but the stern look in his eyes silenced her mid-sentence.

Before Mukhtar could respond with any further rebuttal, Kamal interjected, his voice empathetic. "He's telling the truth, and you know it, Amna. I feel guilty for being the cause of your suffering. There won't be a repeat of this."

Amna's lips wobbled slightly at the finality in their tones. "Mommy won't agree to this," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Here's a compromise—how about you take your ice cream, but not iced—just melted. And it shouldn't be cold at all," Mukhtar suggested, shrugging nonchalantly while trying to sound utterly serious.

That defied the concept of ice cream, Amna thought.

"Why are we only talking about ice cream?" Amna cried, fighting the overwhelming urge to send them off to their cars—or car; or whosoever's car they used.

She received no response, save for their similar unyielding expressions.

"Fine! Nothing cold," she reluctantly agreed, her resistance crumbling under the force of their concern. Beneath her breath, she added, "At least not until the weekend."

Mukhtar exhaled a breath of relief, finally satisfied with her response.

...

Hello Assalamu Alaikum.

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