Here's a very long chapter to make it up to you.
I've been so busy with work😢 COMMENT AND ENJOY🩷

The next two days passed in a blur, each hour filled with tasks that kept her mind occupied. It was a whirlwind of activity so much so that Jadwa felt a quiet relief, even though she had completely lost herself to the weight of her emotions.

Fatima's parents had arrived, their anticipation building as they prepared for the twins' arrival. And finally, it happened: yesterday morning, Fatima gave birth. Her mind reeled back to yesterday when she entered the hospital room, she felt a surge of happiness for Fatima and Sadiq. Fatima looked radiant, healthy, and peaceful, a huge relief that set Jadwa's own heart at ease. She watched Sadiq and Fatima, their faces aglow with a joy that was almost tangible, their bond seeming deeper and more radiant than ever like a new love, amplified a thousandfold.

The two beautiful boys rested peacefully, and Jadwa couldn't help but marvel at how perfectly they blended their parents' features. She saw Fatima's Sudanese elegance in their delicate faces, tempered with traces of Sadiq's own look. Yet, despite the overwhelming happiness around her, Jadwa quietly kept to the secondary room of their hospital suite, a safe distance from the heart of it all. Somewhere within, she couldn't bear the sight entirely. It tugged at something deep inside her, like an ache she couldn't soothe, a longing she couldn't name. The drive home was long and silent, and she cried the whole way.

In the afternoon, she busied herself in the kitchen, filling her time and her thoughts with the comforting routine of cooking. She prepared a spread of traditional Shuwa and Sudanese dishes to send to Fatima's home, moving with steady purpose as she readied the food. She made sure everything was perfect, adding special touches here and there, before setting it all aside to go. Her schedule continued without pause, and before long, she gathered her things and headed to school for a meeting with her supervisor.

She made a special batch of kunun madara for Fatima and Ameerah, overseeing the chef as he loaded the car with the dishes. Carefully, she directed the driver on which items were meant for Ameerah and which for Fatima.

Afterward, Jadwa called her maid, Jessica, to help count and zip up the sets of boxes she and Imran had carefully prepared for the twins. They had truly gone all out, putting together an entire wardrobe for the babies, as well as thoughtful gifts for the new mother and father. Each item had been chosen with love and care, every detail reflecting the excitement and warmth they felt for Fatima and Sadiq's growing family.

Jadwa knew that Imran, too, had wanted to do something special. He had shown her the sleek new car he'd gifted Sadiq and mentioned the additional funding he arranged for Sadiq's restaurant in Abu Dhabi. It was his way of supporting his brother's dreams and celebrating the new chapter in their lives as the eldest in the family. She smiled as she thought about it all, feeling grateful to be a part of such a joyful moment.

But even as she moved through the day, there was a quiet emptiness in her mind, as though her thoughts had gone silent. Perhaps it was the numbness doing all she could to escape the nightmare pressing at the edges of her reality.

•••

"Hey, babe," Jadwa answered the video call, setting her prayer mat aside with a gentle sigh as he had been away for three days now.

"Hayati," he drawled affectionately, and she hummed in response. His face broke into a smile. "Good morning," he greeted with his captivating deep voice, the early dawn casting a soft glow over his features.

"Good morning, back from the mosque already?" she asked. It wasn't yet fully dawn, and she knew Imran usually lingered at the mosque long after Subhi every day.

He shrugged. "I had to move my class up to be this early. Some of my students had scheduling conflicts with other courses," he explained. Jadwa placed her phone on the table, adjusting the light to a warmer hue.

"They're working you too hard," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's not fair." She sighed and gave him a little pout.

"What can we do, baby?" he chuckled, his footsteps echoing softly in the background. "Neman halal da wuya," he added, the sound of his stride grounding the quiet between them.

For a moment, Jadwa's thoughts drifted to the life growing within her. The weight of responsibility, the fears, and the risks of bringing a child into this world. A knot tightened in her throat and she felt her breath catching unable to breathe properly.

"You're good, babe?" he asked gently, noticing her. She swallowed, trying to push back the bitterness that rose within her. Pretending had never come easy to her with Imran, and today was no exception.

"Thank you," she murmured, seemingly out of nowhere, and his brow arched in curiosity.

"You're the best patriarch ever," she said, holding back a smile, and he gave a dry laugh still looking at her inspecting her face.

"Oh, I see." He tilted his head, feigning boredom. "That's how you think of me now?"

She nodded eagerly. "Not just me, actually—but don't tell anyone I snitched. Wallahi, that's what we all call you now," she said, feigning seriousness to avoid his knowing look, the one that seemed to read the worry in her eyes.

"'We all'? Who exactly is 'we all'?" he asked, narrowing his gaze.

"Just us—the babies of the family," she shrugged, nonchalant. He eyed her with disbelief.

Imran chuckled "the only babies of the family are the twins Madam baby" and she rolled her eyes.
"Ai, Sadiq already told me he heard Fatima call me that," he said, and Jadwa gasped theatrically.

"Our mighty 'Patriarch, Alhaji Babba,Oga Boss?,'" she bit her lip, stifling a laugh as he shook his head.

"Har da 'Chairman,'" he added with an exaggerated eye roll, and she couldn't hold back her laughter any longer.

"Allah ya shirye ku," he said in a tone so sincere, as though he were admonishing wayward children, and she coughed to compose herself.

"Babe, babe, listen," she managed, still giggling. "You know, this is why it's dangerous to pry into things you're not supposed to know. These names? Just harmless, light-hearted banter," she explained, but he looked wholly unimpressed, ignoring her, making her laugh even harder.

"Aren't you ashamed?" he asked, tilting his head as he unlocked his door. "All this talk, and it's all about your husband and you are involved?" He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

Jadwa gasped, covering her mouth in mock offense as she gulped down a ginger shot, a newfound remedy became a morning ritual that helped soothe her nausea so much.

"You are the Oga Boss, Chairman, Mighty Patriarch, Odogwu, Alhaji Babba..." she listed off dramatically, and he groaned, visibly cringing.

"Please, stop. You and your Zamfara village girls, continue as you wish—I don't want to hear it," he muttered, shaking off the cringe with his shoulders visibly, and she laughed.

"Mijin Jadu din? Alhaji na?" she teased, softening her voice with playful flirtation, and he stared into the camera as she fluttered her lashes.

"I don't know who that is; I only know Jadwa," he said, making her laugh. He had never once called her Jadu—it was as though her nickname didn't exist for him.

"Haba, Alhaji na..." she started, but he cut her off.

"Is this about the necklace you sent me?" he asked, and she gasped, hand to her chest as though deeply wounded.

"Habiby, am I a gold digger?" she asked, her eyes wide. "Is that how you see me?"

"You're not a gold digger," he said, setting his laptop up for his class, "but this behavior clearly has a motive to get something, or to cover up some mischief." He raised a brow. "You know I know you."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she masked it quickly. "I want the necklace, yes," she admitted, grinning. "But hear me out this is just husband and wife banter. It's what we Gen Zs do, you know?"

He shook his head, sighing. "Why not just use my card and get it?"

"It's an emerald, babe," she said, biting her lip. "Very expensive. I needed your approval first." She told him the price.

"You're spoiled, wallahi. Lily and Rahma are teaching you how to waste money on things you'll barely use," he ranted, and she listened patiently. "Why not get a nice watch instead? I even have my eye on one for you—the women's version of mine, so we can match," he continued, oblivious to her amusement.

"But it's beautiful, and it'll look perfect with my dress for Zarah's wedding. I could keep it for decades if I wanted," she countered, softening her voice.

"Even if you will keep it for centuries, I'm telling you not to follow Rahma and Lily's habits." He insisted, launching into a familiar speech. "They're always spending on jewelry instead of saving all that and investing in land."
"If you add it up you could invest that money in real estate, maybe a house in Abuja," he went on, offering another lecture.

"Baby, you've already made plenty of investments for me and for them. We're just girls, you know," she replied her voice soft, almost pleading.

He sighed, looking back at the camera. "You can get it," he relented, and her face lit up as she broke into a wide grin, clapping her hands in delight.

"Next time, I'll say no," he warned, though she laughed, knowing it was an empty threat. She'd heard him say this a thousand times, and yet he never followed through.

"MUAH!" she dramatically kissed the camera and he gave her an approving thumbs up.

"Tell me you are coming back tomorrow" she looked at him with puppy eyes.

"I'm Sorry baby" he apologised sincerely "there's a huge work load here but In Shaa Allah in two days I'll be back" he promised and she shifted back.
Half of her was disappointed, and the other half was relieved.

"It's okay, just take care of yourself and eat well" she said and he nodded switching on his laptop.

"May Allah reward you for all you do for me, and for us" she said sincerely and he looked over at the camera.

"Amin baby, Allah ya miki Albarka" he kissed the camera and she blew him kisses.

"Ameen, I'll talk to you later"

Jadwa's thumb hovered, quivering, above the red button. The tip of her finger pressed down and click, a sudden, raw scream ripped from her throat, filling the room, vibrating through her bones like an earthquake threatening to shatter her.

She tasted salt and metal, something primal tearing from deep within her, beyond logic or even fear. Her hands dropped to her sides, limp, like she had no command over them, a hollow weight settling in her gut. Her mind was spinning, fragments slipping like sand through her fingers. Why couldn't she feel anything for her baby—her own flesh and blood? How could this thought be so dark, so buried, yet alive enough to twist inside her?

A small, frantic whisper, almost choking her left her lips "You can't do this. You won't survive this"

With trembling hands, she pressed her palm to her flat stomach, feeling the warmth of her skin as if she might actually feel the small life beginning to stir within. Muhammad is everything to her, He was so good to her, endlessly patient, always there. He cherished her, put her on a pedestal, showered her with everything she could possibly ask for.

But why then if he's so perfect did she wish that this was untrue?

He had never once told her "no." And yet, here she was, spiraling, as her fingers gripped her abdomen harder, fingernails digging in. The sweat pooled under her shirt, a single droplet slipping down her neck as she choked on the air. She tried to swallow, to breathe but she couldn't.

A hollow ache from her childhood throbbed to life, pulling her back to memories she'd locked away. She had never touched her mother, never felt the warmth of her arms. But every time Jadwa looked in the mirror, their faces was a near-perfect match, she found traces of that lost woman, whose absence haunted her like a shadow.Everyone said that fate has a cruel way of repeating itself, of cycling back with a vengeance. The thought echoed in her mind like a death knell: she wouldn't survive this. And that fear, unshakable and bottomless was almost too much to bear.

Childbirth had always been her greatest fear; it was bound up with that hollow, aching knowledge of growing up motherless. How could she face carrying a child to term, knowing all too well what it felt like to mourn someone she never really knew?

She was a black mark on her family's legacy—her mother's side, at least. They'd always been connected to  Ahmad and Hanan, keeping in touch through social media, meeting in Lebanon, and sometimes they even posted pictures of Hanan and Ahmad but never hers. She was the forgotten one, blocked and excluded. She was shame. She was pain. Her mother died birthing her and death lingered around her, a phantom only growing more vivid since that old woman had hinted she was pregnant.

Her stomach clenched suddenly, a sour bile rising in her throat. She bolted for the bathroom, heaving until her body was spent. Trembling, she took two shots of ginger and a B3 supplement she'd read about online. It was supposed to help with nausea, and thank God, it had eased it somewhat. Exhausted, she dragged herself back to bed, putting the vitamins away in her bedside table, before sleep claimed her in her defeat.

••••

The moment Jadwa woke up in the afternoon, she reached for her lemon water, savoring the tart freshness as it soothed her throat and grounded her. She moved to the bathroom, indulging in a long, steamy bath that eased her nerves and let the tension melt from her body. When she was done, she carefully oiled her skin, feeling her own hands work gently over each curve and line, a reminder to herself of care and presence. She slipped into a cozy hoodie and shorts, relishing the soft, comforting fabric against her skin, then padded back to bed with a handful of her favorite snacks.

Curling up, she opened her laptop and put on a movie, something lighthearted and familiar. Picking up her phone, she wanted to text Imran to let him know she was awake. But as she unlocked it, the Face ID automatically opened her hidden album. Her gaze fell onto the photos displayed there: her mother, Hanan, Baba, and Ahmad all together, preserved in time. She stared at them, getting lost in the faces that seemed so close yet unreachable, her mind drifting to the haunting, endless loop of thoughts she couldn't shake.

The creak of the door interrupted her reverie. Startled, she looked up, barely able to process what she was seeing as the door swung fully open. There he was, standing tall in the doorway, a warm smile breaking across his face. Muhammad.

Shock rippled through her, leaving her frozen as he chuckled at her expression. Finally, her body unlocked, and she hurried toward him, taking long, almost desperate strides. She stopped right in front of him, her wide, expressive eyes gazing up, brimming with emotion. Reaching out, she traced his beard with gentle fingers, a dramatic gasp escaping her lips. "You tricked me, I had no idea," she whispered, her lips forming into a natural pout, which he quickly leaned down to kiss.

"My baby," he murmured, bending to wrap her in a tight hug. She clung to his shirt, her fingers gripping as if he might vanish again. And then, as if a dam had burst, the tears she'd been holding back all day came rushing out. She buried her face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably, his heartbeat strong beneath her cheek,  as his arms encircled her protectively. Guilt flickered across his face, realizing how lonely she must have felt, left here by herself.

"Baby, what's wrong? I'm here now," he said softly, his fingers brushing through her hair, his hands cupping her cheeks as he tried to calm her. But his words only made her cry harder, the emotions pouring out faster than she could process them.

I am pregnant

I'm carrying our child

You are going to be a father

We are going to be parents

She wanted to say at least one of those statements but all she could muster was "I just... I just missed you so much," she managed through hiccups, her voice breaking. A soft, sad smile curved his lips as he bent down, pressing tender kisses to her tear-streaked cheeks. Lifting her up, he coaxed her to wrap her legs around his waist, her head nestling against his shoulder as more tears fell.

"Once you're done with this semester, we'll travel together, okay? I won't leave you here alone anymore." He held her tightly, but she shook her head in protest.

Imran took in a breath, there was something definitely wrong with his baby. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked gently, his voice teasing. "I'll go if that's what you want. Just say the word." But she only clung tighter, unable to speak, her emotions still too raw and tangled.

"Toh, stop crying," he murmured, his tone soft and coaxing. "I don't like seeing you like this." She nodded, trying to compose herself, sniffing back the tears as he carried her over to the bed, settling down with her still nestled against him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, dabbing her face as he handed her the water bottle from her bedside table, the cool water soothing her hiccups. He watched her with a mixture of awe and affection, struck by how deeply she seemed to feel everything, how easily she melted into him, unguarded and open.

"I don't like crybabies, fa," he teased, eyes narrowed playfully. But her pout returned, her face crumpling as fresh tears threatened to spill over.

"You don't like me?" she choked out, her voice wavering, the words spilling from her with a rawness that nearly undid him. Another dam broke, and she started crying again, her shoulders shook and her hands dropped to her sides, her emotions spilling over in waves as his mouth hung open in surprise before he sighed, defeated, pulling her close once more.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean that," he whispered, stroking her back in gentle circles. "I just meant you're not a baby, and I hate seeing you sad. It makes me so upset." She glared up at him through her tears, half-pouting, half-crying, until he smiled softly, cradling her face.

For thirty minutes, they stayed just like that, tangled together as her sobs gradually quieted. He held her tightly, grounding her in the steady warmth of his embrace, until the storm inside her finally stilled.

"Go wash your face and come back," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She nodded, gathering herself as she headed to the bathroom. Once she was out of sight, he unlocked his phone, opened the period tracker, and stared at the screen. His lips pressed into a tight line, realization settling over him. With a quiet sigh, he closed the app and kept the phone aside.

As she freshened up, splashing cool water over her cheeks, she took a deep breath, gathering herself. She couldn't let her emotions betray her too much; Muhammad was clever, and he'd figure it out in a heartbeat if she didn't keep her composure.

Returning to the room, she hesitated, her voice quiet as she said, "I didn't even cook today." Her tone held a note of apology, her raspy voice betraying her exhaustion.

Muhammad's face lit up with a wide smile. "Don't worry, I'll order something for us. What are you in the mood for?"

"Indian food," she answered quickly her voice raising in excitement, and he chuckled.

"There's my girl," he murmured, a glint of warmth in his eyes reading his hand to give her a high five.

A little while later, they were curled up in bed together, waiting for the food to arrive. Imran had drifted into a nap, his arm protectively around her, while Jadwa lay awake, her heart finally calm. When the food came, they ate in comfortable silence, and afterward, he recounted the details of his work in Maiduguri. She listened, letting his words fill the room, grounding herself in his presence, the quiet moments bringing a sense of peace she'd longed for all week.

"I went to see the babies before I came home," he said softly, his voice warm with joy. She hummed in acknowledgment, a gentle smile crossing her face.

"I'll pray with Sadiq and come back later, okay?" he added, leaning in to place a tender kiss on her lips.

Before she could respond, he quickly continued, "Or should I take you to the house?" His brow furrowed slightly with concern, but she shook her head with a quiet laugh.

"No, babe, I've got some hefty school work to do," she explained, glancing at the stack of books beside her but he didn't look convinced as he stared at her as if waiting for her to try harder.

"And I'll need to cook dinner to send over to the family house." Her tone was light, but there was a sense of duty behind her words.

He nodded lazily, his fingers gently caressing her head before he rose. "Thank you, darling," he murmured, grateful for her efforts.

After he left, she took a long sip of her mango lassi, savoring the sweetness before tidying up the room. The day had worn on her, and with a soft sigh, she prayed and then climbed back into bed, where sleep, her new best friend, quickly claimed her.

Meanwhile, the arrival of the twins had brought a warmth to Imran's heart he hadn't known before. Holding them, blessing them, praying over them—he found a deep joy in these small rituals. He even took pictures, sending them to the family group chat where everyone shared in the awe of the newborns.

Driving home, Imran's mind swirled with thoughts on how to lift his wife's spirits, knowing she'd been feeling down lately. As he stopped to pray Isha at the mosque, a quiet resolve settled over him. Returning to the house, he was greeted by the comforting sight of a beautifully set table, the warm scent of bakhoor lingering in the air, and a soothing coolness that blanketed the home.

Hearing his car, she descended the stairs with a smile, her eyes lighting up. "I heard your car... is it the new one?" she asked, her gaze sparkling with excitement.

"Yes," he chuckled, pulling her onto his lap and offering her a bite of his pasta.

"Throw something on," he said, a playful glint in his eye. "Let's go out for some ice cream."

Her eyes widened, and she spun around in surprise. "Dagaske?" she exclaimed, her voice lifting with delight.

"Of course," he laughed. "Why are you so surprised?"

She rolled her eyes, grinning. "Because you're always going on about sugar and eating healthy!"

He smirked, brushing it off. "You've been a good girl; you can have whatever you want tonight." She laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

"Before I go, I want more," she said, pointing to his plate, and he happily fed her until she was satisfied. She then hurried upstairs to get ready, choosing a pair of tights, a long-sleeved shirt, and a dark blue abaya with a matching veil.

After a light spritz of perfume and slipping on her crocs, she rejoined him downstairs. He was clearing up the table, and they left the house hand in hand.

His new car, gleamed under the streetlights. She spent a moment in awe, taking in its sleek lines before sliding into the passenger seat. As they drove, the evening was filled with a peaceful silence, his hand resting comfortably in hers. Occasionally, he glanced over, his eyes soft with affection.

Once on the open highway, he lowered the roof. She looked at him, her gaze locked with his. "I love this," she whispered as the wind tousled her veil. With a mischievous grin, he revved the engine, sending them gliding faster down the empty road. She closed her eyes, stretching out her hand to feel the cool night air, her heart filling with a sense of liberation she hadn't felt in a long time.

Eventually, as they neared a livelier road, Imran broke the silence. "What would you do if I suddenly got gray hairs?" he asked, his tone light but his eyes curious as they darted over to her.

She whipped her head toward him. "Albi," she whispered, moving closer, her voice soft. "Are you... are you getting gray hairs?" Her brows rose, and her eyes widened, studying his face intently.

He ran his hand through his beard, chuckling. "What if I am?" he replied, with seriousness in his tone.

She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. "That means you're truly becoming old," she teased, a sparkle in her eyes. "I mean, you're already old, but now you'll start to look it!"

He burst out laughing, the sound filling the car. "What's wrong with that? What would you do?" he challenged, raising an eyebrow.

She folded her arms across her chest, pretending to be serious. "I'd leave you. What would I do with an old man?" She shot him a teasing glance, leaning closer to tug off his cap and inspect his hair.

"Oh, really?" he scoffed, laughter dancing in his eyes. "Here I was, thinking my sweet wife would want to stay with me no matter what."

She touched his beard softly, planting a gentle kiss on his lips. "Yes, I'll always be with you," she replied sweetly. Then, with a grin, she added, "But only because you're young. I can't be with an old man!"

Chuckling, he pulled into a parking spot near the gelato shop, his heart lightened by her playful mood. Her earlier sadness seemed to have faded away, replaced by the sparkle he loved so much.

They entered the building together, hand in hand, and she eagerly ordered out a few extra tubs for their freezer. He watched her with a fond smile, grateful for the small, joyful moments that filled their evening.

"I love this," she hummed, taking a big spoonful into her mouth and savoring the sweetness.

"It's not too sweet—I like it too," he agreed, spooning his own ice cream with a satisfied grin.

They lingered in the car for an hour after finishing their treats, chatting about everything and nothing, debating what gifts to get for Fatima. She suggested they choose a gold set to add to it.

"Ibrahim got her that even, we should too of course, and I'll add something personal for her too," he said, and Jadwa smiled approvingly.

"Yes, please, as the Chairman, Alhaji Babba..." she began, teasingly formal, only for him to cringe and interrupt.

"Village girl," he laughed, and she giggled as they continued on their way home. Jadwa's eyes caught a Suya stall by the roadside, and she grabbed Imran's hand.

"Baby, I want gasmeat," she said with a hint of longing, looking at him with her most convincing expression.

He turned to her, eyebrows raised. "We can get it somewhere else, not this one," he insisted, and she scrunched her face.

"Why? It's right here, babe," she protested, tugging on his arm.

"It's not hygienic. I know a better place," he replied, naming a restaurant. She frowned, visibly irritated.

"No, I want this one!" Her tone was firm, crossing her arms defiantly.

Imran slowed the car, giving her a serious look, but her expression was resolute.

"Look at it, baby; it doesn't look healthy or clean," he pointed out, gesturing toward the stall.

"To you!" she shot back, sulking slightly. "It's street food for a reason, and it tastes better." She crossed her arms. Not wanting to upset her, he finally turned the car around and pulled up to the Suya stall.

"Malam, barka da dare," he called, rolling down the window.

"Ahh, Alhaji! Sannu da zuwa!" The vendor came rushing over, delighted to see them.

Imran ordered a mix of Suya, balangu, gasmeat, and masa. Jadwa quickly adjusted her veil, grinning at her husband. He looked over, pinched her nose tightly, making her squeal.

"Baby!" she mock-complained, but he just rolled his eyes.

"Dirty girl kawai," he teased, and she stuck out her tongue playfully.

"Yeah, yeah. That's why you can't get enough of me," she shot back with a smirk, just as the vendor handed over four hefty bags of their order.

As they chatted, Jadwa noted how Imran fell into a conversation naturally with the vendor . He took out a stack of money, more than enough to cover their meal, even before the vendor could announce the price.

"Rayuwa tayi wuya, Alhaji. Ko ina yayi zafi, shiyasa komai yayi tsada," the vendor sighed as Imran handed over the money.

"Gaskiya, abun karuwa yayi bissa wanda muke ciki," Imran agreed, nodding thoughtfully.

"Kai!" The vendor exclaimed looking at the fold of money in gratitude as Imran accepted the bags, adding a bit more money for the man's trouble.

"Toh Allah sa muga sauyi mai ma'ana ga rayukan mu," Imran prayed, his accent thick and flawless. Jadwa marveled at how effortlessly he matched his tone and words to those he spoke with. "Ga wannan, a kara jari," he added with a smile, handing over an extra wrap of cash to the man.

"Ameen," the vendor replied, raising praises and now showering them with prayers for a blessed life as Imran thanked him and drove away.

Jadwa leaned back, watching her husband with admiration. His humility never ceased to amaze her; no matter who he spoke to, he always met them at their level. He was extremely humble and generous and it was one of those things she just couldn't help but melt over.

"How did you learn that accent?" she asked, taking a bite of the meat and humming with delight.

"Did you forget I'm from Zamfara?" he answered sarcastically, and she rolled her eyes.

"I mean, you're more Kanuri obviously— you grew up in maiduguri, you speak Kanuri more than Hausa, and you even look and sound Kanuri more than Hausa! from Zamfara especially," she posted her reasons, observing him with a smile.

"Well, as you know, Abba was from Zamfara. He spoke just like this, so it's the Hausa I grew up with. I learned the polished one later," he admitted with a shrug, and she nodded, understanding now.

"Teach me Kanuri," she said suddenly, offering him a bite, which he reluctantly accepted.

"This is so good," he admitted, and she burst into laughter. "I will think about teaching you"

"Yen yen yen yen yen," she mocked. "Wasn't it too 'unhygienic' before?" she teased. "I'm not sharing with you," she added, pulling the food away.

But he gave her a pleading look, and she couldn't resist giving in and fed him more as they drove home.

Immediately after they arrived home, they both headed straight for the bathroom, the cool water a welcome relief after the day's heat. They quickly showered, then began preparing for the night ahead. Jadwa moved to her room, the door closing behind her with a soft click. She opened her closet and reached for a red slip dress. The fabric was light but clung to her curves in all the right ways, and the smell of the bakhoor she smoked it in still lingered. She ran her fingers over the material, feeling its smoothness before slipping it on. As she stood before the mirror, she took her time, applying lotions that she had always used to leave her skin soft and scented, ensuring every inch of her was as irresistible as she could make it.

She could only pretend for so long. The uncertainty of the night pressed on her, and she knew, deep down, that he was already sensing something was off. He wasn't blind, after all. So she made up her mind—she would keep them both busy for the night, avoid the inevitable talk that was waiting in the shadows.

She applied a thin layer of gloss to her lips, the sticky sweet scent of the product mingling with the sharp, sweet notes of the perfume she spritzed on next. The fragrance was warm yet sensual, with notes of amber and vanilla. She ran her fingers through her hair, giving it one last quick check in the mirror before she turned and left her room.

When she arrived at his door, she found him sitting on the sofa, his laptop open in front of him. He was only in his pajama pants, his bare chest exposed, leaning back casually, as though waiting for her. The light from the screen caught the sharp angles of his jaw, casting a faint glow across his face.

The moment their eyes met, he immediately closed the laptop with a deliberate snap. His gaze traveled slowly up and down her body, taking in the full effect of her appearance. There was a quiet intensity in the way his eyes raked over her.

"Sit down" he said pointing at the seat opposite him and her heart skipped a beat, he was going to have a conversation with her so she gulped and walked slowly over to him, sitting on his lap and running her hands on his chest.

She leaned in, lips hovering just inches from his, feeling his warm breath brush against her skin. But just as her mouth was about to meet his, he pulled back, breaking the moment. Her hand instinctively reached up, fingers curling around the back of his neck, refusing to let him go. She moved closer, pressing herself against him, her lips tracing a slow, deliberate path from his neck up to the corner of his mouth before finally finding his lips.

He responded, but his kiss was agonizingly slow, lingering with a controlled restraint that only deepened her need. Her eyes fluttered open, and there he was, staring at her, his gaze intense, burning with a fierce heat that sent a shiver down her spine.

He parted his lips, as if to say something, but she silenced him, pressing her mouth against his again, this time, she kissed him with an urgency that left little room for protest, pulling him deeper. He returned the kiss, his lips melting into hers with a sudden, fierce passion his, hands finding their way to her back, holding her close until he abruptly broke away. His hands found her waist, and in one swift motion, he lifted her off his lap and set her down beside him, his touch firm yet careful.

"Baby, stop," he said, his voice steady, though his eyes flickered with something she couldn't quite place. "We need to talk."

She bit her lower lip, glancing at his mouth with a hint of defiance. Slowly, she raised her hand, her thumb reaching to brush against his lips, but he caught her wrist before she could touch him, his fingers wrapping around her hand. His gaze bore into hers, piercing and unyielding, sending a tremor through her that made her heart flutter.

"Sit still," he commanded sternly, his voice low and deep like a calm river with currents she couldn't see "I said we need to have a talk."