MALIK'S POV:
The family parlor was as I remembered—elegant yet warm, with an understated luxury that spoke about my parents' sense of style. The high ceilings were adorned with a massive crystal chandelier that cast soft light across the cream-colored walls. Framed family portraits lined the walls, each capturing milestones in our lives—my siblings' graduations, my parents' anniversary, and even a candid shot of us on a family vacation years ago. The room smelled faintly of lavender, a scent my mother insisted made the space feel more welcoming.
The furniture was carefully arranged: plush beige sofas with mahogany accents, a polished glass coffee table adorned with neatly arranged magazines, and a striking Persian rug in deep shades of red and gold that tied the room together. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed natural light to spill in, giving the space a serene glow.
As I stepped inside, I spotted my parents seated comfortably on the central couch. My father, General Haroon, sat upright with the discipline of his military days. Though retired, he carried himself with a quiet authority, his graying beard adding to his air of wisdom. He had traded his uniform for a simple yet sharp white kaftan that reflected his no-nonsense demeanor. My mother, ever the epitome of grace, was dressed in a pastel blue boubou with a matching scarf, her hands clasped neatly in her lap.
"Malik, is that you?" my mother asked, her face lighting up in surprise as I walked in.
"Yes, Mom, Assalamualaikum" I said with a small smile, bending slightly to greet her. "Wa alaikumu salam, my dear! Kai, you remembered us today, eh?" she teased, holding onto my shoulders as if to ensure I wasn't a mirage.
"Look who decided to remember his old folks," my father teased, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement. He extended a hand, and I shook it firmly.
"Assalamualaikum, Dad. It's been a while," I said while prostrating.
"Wa alaikum salam warahmatullah— a while? More like forever," he replied, his tone gruff but affectionate. "What brings you here, son? You're always busy running around Lagos."
"I had some free time and thought I should visit," I said, settling into the armchair opposite them.
Mama gave me a skeptical look, one brow raised. She always had a way of seeing through me, but she said nothing—yet.
"And how are Yusuf and Fatimah?" I asked out of habit, even though I already knew bits and pieces. Yusuf was in Canada for his master's program, and Fatimah was preparing for her final exams. I make sure to keep in touch with them despite my busy schedules.
Mama waved a hand in the air, her bracelets jingling softly. "Ah, Yusuf is doing well, alhamdulillah. He called last week, and he said he's thinking of coming home for Eid. Fatimah is buried in her books as usual. I keep telling her to take breaks, but she won't listen. I wonder when she'll start thinking of marriage"
"She's focused. It's a good thing, Mama," I said. "Besides, she still has plenty of time to enjoy without thinking of marriage," I added.
Baba nodded in agreement, his tone approving. "My girl is ambitious and InshaAllah she'll go far. Don't pressure her Suweiba," my father said while a finger at my mother playfully.
"Ba matsala, father and son. You guys won this time around," she said raising up her hand.
We spent the next few minutes catching up on life, discussing work, family updates, and the latest news. It felt good to be home, surrounded by the people who had shaped me into the man I was.
But I wasn't here just to catch up. I had come with a purpose.
Clearing my throat, I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees. "Mom, Dad... there's something I need to tell you."
They both straightened, their attention fully on me now.
" I knew it.What is it, Malik?" my mother asked, her brows furrowing slightly.
I exhaled, suddenly feeling the weight of what I was about to say. "I've found someone," I began, choosing my words carefully. "Someone I really like. And I think... I think she could be the one."
For a moment, there was silence. My father's expression was unreadable, his sharp eyes studying me as if trying to gauge my seriousness. My mother's hand flew to her chest, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Alhamdulillah!" she exclaimed, breaking the tension. "Malik, this is wonderful news!"
My father, ever the pragmatist, leaned back in his seat, his fingers steepled. "Tell us about her. Who is she? What does she do? And most importantly, is she a good Muslim woman?"
"Her name is Amina," I said, my voice steady. "She's a calligraphy artist—very talented. Infact, we have a project we're working on together —and yes, Dad, she's a practicing Muslim. She's modest, intelligent, and... different. Not like anyone I've met before."
"Amina?" My mother's eyes lit up with recognition. "Wait—Amina? The same Amina from the wedding?"
My heart skipped a beat as I nodded. "Yes, Mom. That's her."
She clapped her hands together, her smile widening. "Oh, Malik! I remember her now.I remember her. She was shy, so beautiful! Kai, this is amazing. She was sitting with her friend near the couple's table. Oh, Malik, this is truly Allah's plan! Remember I even tried linking the two of you together?Ya Allah na! So you actually had your eyes on her?" She gushed.
Baba smiled, finally letting his excitement show. "She sounds like a good match. But Malik, marriage is a serious commitment. Are you sure about this?"
"I am, Baba," I said confidently. "I've never felt this way about anyone before."
"You've spoken to her about this?" my father asked, his tone serious.
"Not yet," I admitted. "But I wanted to get your blessing first before I take the next step."
My father nodded approvingly. "You've done well, Malik. But remember, marriage is not just about liking someone. It's about compatibility, shared values, and commitment. Take your time and ensure she's the right person for you."
"I will, Baba," I promised.
My mother, unable to contain her excitement, reached over to pat my hand. "Malik, you've made me so happy today. May Allah guide you and make this easy for you."
"Ameen," I replied, feeling a sense of relief and gratitude.
As the conversation shifted to possible wedding plans and next steps, I couldn't help but feel a quiet sense of certainty. Aminat wasn't just a fleeting thought or a passing interest like the others—she was someone I genuinely wanted to build a future with.
And now, with my parents' support, I felt ready to take the next step. Convincing Amina to marry me.
AMINAH'S POV:
I stared at the delicate curve of the calligraphy stroke, the golden ink shimmering under the desk lamp. My hand hovered over the paper as I tried to focus on finishing the design. It was supposed to be straightforward—lines and curves connecting to create something beautiful. But my thoughts kept drifting, stubbornly pulling me back to him.
I set the pen down and leaned back in my chair, letting out a deep sigh. Malik. His face, his voice, his words—they refused to leave my mind. I could still hear him from the other day, standing across from me with that calm confidence I found equal parts frustrating and... distracting.
"Why did you block me?"
I hadn't expected the question. Not so directly. I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks all over again just thinking about it. What could I have said? That I didn't know how to handle the way he made me feel? That he seemed too different, too bold, too sure of himself? Or maybe too much of everything I didn't think I needed?
I shook my head, willing myself back to the present. It didn't matter anymore. We were working on a project together, and I had to keep it professional. No distractions.
My eyes flicked to my phone sitting next to the ink bottles. With a deep breath, I picked it up and opened the blocked contacts list. His number was right there, and for a moment, I hesitated. My thumb hovered over the "unblock" option, my mind waging a silent war with my pride.
"You have to do this, Amina," I whispered to myself. "You can't keep his number blocked when you're are working on a project together."
I pressed the button before I could overthink it and quickly set the phone back down, as if it might burn me. There. Done. Nothing to panic about.
But as I sat back down to work, I realized there was no avoiding the next step. I needed to confirm something about the design, and the only person who could answer my question was him.
The thought of calling him made my heart race. I couldn't believe I was the one reaching out now, after everything. But it was work, I reminded myself. Just work. I picked up the phone again and tapped his number before I could lose my nerve.
It rang twice before he picked up.
"Well, well," he said, his voice rich with amusement. "What a pleasant surprise. I didn't think I'd hear from you so soon, Amina."
I closed my eyes, gripping the phone tighter and steadying my voice. "Good day, Mr Haroon, I'll like to clarify some designs," i said ignoring his jab.
"Ah, strictly business," he replied, a playful lilt in his tone. "Alright then, how can I help you?"
"There's a section of the design I'm not sure about," I began, trying to keep my voice steady. "I thought it'd be better to confirm with you before continuing."
"Of course," he said smoothly. "How about we meet up? The restaurant where we had our first meeting? I can bring the reference materials and go over it with you in detail."
I frowned. "That's not necessary. I just need—
"It'll be easier to explain in person," he cut in, his tone firm but still light. "And I wouldn't want any misunderstanding with your work—it's been exceptional so far."
I didn't know why, but the compliment made my stomach flutter. I sighed, leaning back in my chair. "Fine. When?"
"Tomorrow morning. Same time as before."
"Alright," I said softly, the fight leaving my voice. "I'll see you then."
"Looking forward to it," he said, and the line clicked off.
I stared at the phone in my hand, my heart thudding in my chest. What is wrong with me?
Setting the phone aside, I tried to get back to work, but the thought of seeing him again wouldn't leave me alone.
"Ya Allah," I whispered under my breath, shaking my head. I didn't know whether to feel nervous or resigned, but one thing was clear—working with Malik was proving to be far more exciting than I had anticipated. Allah,Please guide me.