BAUCHI STATE, NIGERIA.

It took Aman forever to evade the horror in front of him then he sprout into action and went to her side. "Take deep breath and close your eyes." He finally said, bringing her to his laps in one strong thug.

She tried doing so but it's taking so much effort from her. He wrapped his arms around her, her head right on his broad chest. He kept whispering sweet nothings to her ear, calming her down with soothing and emollient voice he didn't know he was capable of using or knew existed. So many things and emotions, she should quickly leave before he loses his prudence.

She listened attentively, and then slowly her head lulled to his shoulder and she became more hefty on him. He sighed, cleaning the hidrosis from his forehead because damn, he also panicked for a moment there. Now she is alright, breathing slowed and steadied.

"What the fuck was that?" He questioned after a while, not able to stop himself from cursing along the way. It's been long since he's been terror-stricken so it's only natural he took the old route.

Mahnoor sighed and pushed herself deeper into his arms, making his chest expand for some unknown reasons. He panicked again, what is this? Why is she snuggling to him like a little baby? He gets that she is still filled with adolescence but not too infantile to forget who he is and what he's planned to do to her. But in real sense, what's he planned to do? He wouldn't have done anything to her, it was just to shock her so she can leave the country or something.

"It's called panic attack. I've had it twice after Aasim's death, after Asad's and then this." Her breath kept fanning him even though he is wearing his tangerine prison outfit, he could feel it's sweltering hotness inside, sizzling his blood in process.

"What triggers it?" Unconsciously, his hand went to her back and rub it in an emollient way, to calm her further by instincts.

She gave a shrug, an incomplete one. "I don't know. Some say it's mostly stress and I've been stressed for awhile now so that should be it."

Aman nodded and they continue in silence, none wanting to break it because it's going to yaw awkward the minute they pry their mouths open. But minutes later, Mahnoor got tired of that position and wanted to turn only to stop as if remembering she is in Aman's arms inside his cell! She flushed, she is relishing being in his arms and more so the way he is gently rubbing her back like she is some kitten. Her heart warmed, he is not as bad as he looks to be, he is actually a big softie that loves his brother a lot. That doesn't mean he hasn't wronged her, all she wants from him is an apology but that won't ever come from him, he is so arrogant.

What she's just realized about herself is, she is a very forgiving person. That's just how Allah has created her and she loves that. Our Lord, pour upon us patience and let us die Muslims. That is what she's been praying for her entire life because she knew and had seen how lack of patience tormented the people from her village. So many of them lost their lives, some their whole family and others their friends and parents. What else is there to lose in this world that is filled with fake people? All you have to do is straighten your affairs between you and Allah, and all shall be well in His Grace.

"Now what?" She questioned in desperate need to fill in the silence. Her head is throbbing from everything, she needs a little break from the world and won't mind sleeping for a month straight without waking up, not even for food.

Aman's hands halted, putting a cessation to the movement behind her back but didn't push her away. He is starting to feel things, he hates them, each one of them because he knew what it was going to lead to. Attraction, he doesn't want that. He is probably going to set more distance between them, something he's been avoiding is getting cracked in just a few minutes. This isn't right. Was that how his heart is or this is something new? Or he is just sympathizing with her, pitying all she's been through? Guilty and responsibility?

"I'm going to leave this place and go back to Portland to continue my career." His voice was gruff, hefty with emotions she cannot place a finger on but they are definitely there, her ears aren't playing tricks with her.

"How sure are you they will accept you back with open arms? You sound so confident about it." She played with the hem of her coat, accusing it for making her feel extra warm in his arms. It wasn't this warm when she came earlier, or the weather is becoming more humid.

"I told them about everything. The coach found it weird that I'm doing all these to protect my brother but agreed to keep the secret till I come back. I work with my senses, you should know that by now." He mocked, not able to stop himself and that elicited a large scowl on Mahnoor's face.

"Are you insulting me again?" She sat up, leaving his arms in a few seconds and landed straight on the floor with a loud thud, she groaned in pain.

Aman was quick to leave the cemented bed in this awful need to protect her and helped her to her feet, bracing her against his sturdy form. But amidst all the compassion, he chortled beneath his breath.

"Slowly." He murmured, his voice gruff in her ear. "Are you still dizzy? Nauseous or panicky?"

Mahnoor's eyes widened, she felt absolutely fine. But it was so delicious to stand there with him that she said breathlessly. "Perhaps a little."

Oh, what the hell is wrong with her now? Why is she acting like a lonely wanton woman in heat? Hours ago she considered him to be the most inconsiderate man to ever exist but now this? The sudden need to be in his arms and all that shit. God, what kind of woman is she? Perhaps there is something wrong with her, that should be the only thing to explain her situation if not why? Delicious standing there in his arms inside his cell room? Mahnoor Muneer Imam, are you out of your senses or not? Maybe she should go see Dr. Ali too, maybe she has some sort of disorder too.

But at what he did next, it's totally not her fault! How could he change swiftly from ice cold satanic wicked man to a big ass softie?!

His hand came up to her head, gently cradling it against his shoulder. Her temperature escalated as she felt the protectiveness of his embrace, the wonderful solidity of his body. All this from Aman Zubairu Ajuji, the most unromantic man she had ever known. Maybe the both of them are losing it after all, she isn't the only one in this. What should this disorder be called? Definitely not obsessive love whatever, it is something that even a mad person won't go near to it.

He accompanied her back to the cemented bed and sat her down, went to fetch water for her in a small clay urn from a silver one.

Mahnoor watched him with intense curiosity then suddenly blurted. "Why are you being nice? I thought you wanted to avenge your brother's death because you think I killed him? No scratch that, just stop being nice, it's weird and reminds me of Asad."

Aman stopped mid stride, his hand holding the urn tightly then he continued forward as if the mere notion of being called nice shocked him. Mahnoor gave him a toothy uneasy smile when he scowled, he definitely looks scary and frightening so she'd rather watch his indifferent face. Why did she talk about his attitude? Now he will murder her before she leaves the place and run away too because the warden man is so slim, not at all a competition to Aman's bulky figure.

This is my end now, I've called death upon myself, she thought ruefully as she accepted the urn.

"I'm not nice, I don't want you panicking again in this room because next time I'm going to let you die." He sat down, raise his leg up to wrap his one arm around it in that aristocratic style of those Indians.

She closed the trembling of her lips with the urn perched across her mouth while continuing to stare at him with blunt fear in her eyes. Where is that bold and daring Mahnoor? Where had she gone to when she needed her most? He might take advantage of her fright and kill her, or so she thought.

"What about me?" Again, she blurted what she is thinking in her head. Is he going to kill her or divorce her?

He frowned in confusion, perplexed at the uneven question. "What about you?"

"Are you going to kill me or divorce me?" At his still bemused expression, she went on. "I know you told Dr. Ali about some sort of plan you have. Please, don't kill me. I don't want to die now. I want to do so many things, like going back home with my parents and living like a baby again. Just divorce me and you'll never ever in your life see me again, I promise."

His brows shoot up and then he cackled, the sound a bit emotionless but got her heart pumping out extra liter of blood to her aortas. "I have no plans and I'm not going to divorce you. That is your punishment for slapping me that night."

Mahnoor paced across the room, waiting patiently to hear the news of Aman coming back home after being declared free of all charges against him but nothing and this is the fifth day. She forgot to ask him when he was coming back, that's slipped her mind since she thought he was going to do that immediately. Isn't he eager to go back to Portland and continue playing? They have this important match coming up, she saw something about it few days ago. The FIFA World Cup Final or something along the lines coming up in a few months.

Sounds of footsteps echoed in the room and she yawed to see who walked in and beheld Azima. "Stop pacing around please, you'll make a dent on the carpet. Tell me your concern and we can solve it again together."

Mahnoor sighed and went to sit close to Azima who's filled a plate with food to the brim and is pushing it down her throat like the glutton she is. She's been eating nonstop for the past few days, always filling her plates like that of two to three people. The servants in the house are getting tired of her demands but the matriarch of the house is always there to stand on their heads. She's started caring a bit about Azima seeing as her pregnancy is reaching it's limits but not enough to sit and talk to her. She just asks what she needs or if she is craving anything for the day.

After losing Aasim, she wants to love another grandson of hers and this one happens to be the last remnant of Asad living.

Azima had told her Asad told her not to get pregnant and she should wait a bit longer after they spend more time with one another. She was afraid of telling him but thanked God he never came back during her days. While she was away in Paris, he is here in Nigerian building his business and spending time with Mahnoor, helping with her case and so on. She never got the chance to tell him, she wanted to do so when he comes back but he never did. May his soul continue to rest in peace.

She found out he never liked children in the first place. The mere thought of having one scares the living daylight out of him.

Crossing both her legs in front of her, she cleared off the lints on her cotton pajamas. "I've told you everything that's happened with Aman in his cell right?"

Azima almost choked on what she is eating but settled back just in time before Mahnoor hit her back hard like she always does.

"I remember! I mean, how can I forget that romantic moment you guys shared? I was swooning the whole time so there is no way I'm going to forget that. Girl, he was holding you and then... No!" She yelped as Mahnoor soft small hand hit her naked calf.

"What was that for?" She glared, her food long forgotten on the bed.

"For talking needlessly when I'm here worried sick. Are you going to help me or not?" She faked being mad but the blush coating her face says otherwise. She's been thinking about it too, restless to the core because she's never responded to a slight touch like she did Aman's. Or maybe that's because he is always stern and austere so it's a bit shocking. Not bit, myriad.

"I'm ready to help. Talk. But allow me to swoon once in awhile. Aman doesn't look like the one who's all gentle and stuff so excuse me for swooning." She sassed, keeping aside the plate of food and bringing forth red velvet cake.

Mahnoor shook her head, the girl is more than a glutton. "So I'm wondering why he isn't out from jail till now. I thought he was going to leave immediately but no news from him. I'm dead curious. I want this divorce because I'm ready to start life afresh back at home."

"Do you think he requested for a silent release? You never know with these people for real. And why divorce? Why are you always talking about it? Don't you want you guys to work out? He is not a bad person just like you've said... well, not as bad as we portray him out to be." Azima excused, swerving the murder part about her dead son and the real murderer, they haven't talked about it since that day.

As if a silent order is on them to not ever talk about it, it's better that way.

Mahnoor mulled over her words in deep concentration, not that she's never thought about it, she did. Work out with Aman? Isn't that amongst the dreams that you very well know will never come true? Does he want her? He didn't say anything about staying married to her because he wants them to work out only that that is her punishment for the slap she gave him, he never forgets. She also doesn't like him in that manner, not even in any manner. She is done with all the Ajujis, she is tired of them all.

"I don't know. I just want to go with fate, I don't want to make my own decision at this rate. After what's happened with Asad, I'm afraid all of them are liars in my eyes and cheaters. He might not be a bad person but you never know, it's in their blood. I don't want to live a life like that of their family's, no." She shook her head negatively for emphasis, a shudder breaking out.

"Now what do you want?"

The answer was instantaneous. "I only want to get the divorce from Aman and leave. I also want to confirm whether he is still here in Nigeria or he's left silently like you've said."

"When are you going there?"

"Where?"

"To the prison of course. That's the only way you can find out everything you want." Azima gave her the are you kidding me look, must I explain everything.

"Oh. Today, right after my bath. Thank you so much, even though your advise is always the same, going to the prison to see him." Mahnoor stood up from the bed, tugging at her shirt and threw it across the room.

"Let me change the advise today. How about you cook some nice ass meal and take it to him? You said the food there is awful. Maybe if you try being nice, he might divorce you. You know men and loving submission...Just an advise." She shrugged her shoulders when Mahnoor frowned, cook food for him?

"Why are you back again?" He asked, throwing her a look from his shoulder but when he sighted the woven brown picnic basket in her hand, he turned around fully with a raise inquiring brow.

Mahnoor ferried further into the room and place the basket on the cemented bed. She thought she won't find him there, that was fifty percent. "I came here to see whether you're still here or not." She shrugged. "And also beg you to divorce me."

That got a smile from him. Beg him to divorce her? He's never heard of such a thing but look at his wife here actually very serious about the begging thing. Does she find staying married to him repulsive? Well, why should he care what she thinks? That is her concern and not his. For now, he wants to see what she's brought in that basket because the last time he's eaten correct homemade food felt like centuries ago. He's stopped his parents from sending him food just like he's halted his father when he tried turning the case to ashes. He wants no favors as he is capable of taking care of himself.

They are too late to care about him now when he is used to being alone in the world. They should've cared long ago before he had the disorder, now he wants no one around but himself.

"Beg me to divorce you how?"

Her hand clasped on the picnic basket handle, Mahnoor gave another half shrug. "I don't know how. Which was why I decided to cook for you. Maybe that'd help?"

"How smart. But when did you learn how to cook? Or did you get it from the manor?" He knew about her lack of knowledge when it comes to kitchen since she told him that herself. She told him her mother wouldn't permit her inside the kitchen because she was babied for being the only child.

"When I decided to live alone. I am a great Cook now, thanks to YouTube. And a great makeup artist too." They chuckled at the same time remembering the first time they met and the makeup adorning her face. Ah, a wraith.

Aman ate the food heartily. She made him hummus, kebab and paratha, all in the name of Arabian food coupled with curry sauce. She's asked a few maids to taste it and they gave her two thumbs up, she was over the moon. After bragging that she's learnt how to cook, she'd faint if he gives her a thumb down but the way he is devouring and ravishing it, her mind is very well rested. He likes what he tasted and wants more. She'll have to acknowledge his appetite, he's finished the whole food she thought she would give the warden guy that's always there to show her the way. Maybe she will give him some money instead.

This will be her last time in that prison, no more.

"You are also a glutton like Azima. You've finished everything!" Mahnoor searched again inside the basket for maybe remains of the five parathas she's made but none was left. Oh, boy.

Aman slurped the cocktail then patted his toned stomach. "Thanks for the meal. And who the hell is Azima?"

"Your brother's pregnant wife." Mahnoor busied herself arranging back the plates and warmers although her heart gave a painful thug at the mention of Asad's wife not in jealousy but remembrance of what has been made of her, a joke.

"That's her name?" He flattened his lips while she gave a jerky nod. "Wait, did you just say pregnant?"

"Yeah, she is six to seven months pregnant now. What's up?" She raised a brow, daring him to deny the child being Asad's because she always expects the worst from the Ajujis. She was surprised that none of the geriatrics or sisters raise a tantrum about the baby's paternity.

"That's good. How about you? Are you not pregnant?"