AMINAH'S POV:
I adjusted my hijab once again as I entered the restaurant, even though I knew it was already perfectly in place. Something about this meeting had me feeling off balance. Maybe it was the fact that Malik seemed so at ease the first time we met here, while I spent the entire time trying to keep my composure. Or maybe it was because I couldn't shake the memory of his teasing smile.
He was already seated at a corner table, the warm light from the hanging lamp above casting a soft glow over his face. When he looked up, his eyes locked on mine, and I felt an unwelcome flutter in my chest. He stood as I approached, his expression warm and confident.
"Amina," he greeted, his voice smooth. "You came."
"I said I would, didn't I?" I replied curtly, trying to keep my tone neutral.
"You did," he said, motioning for me to sit. "But I'll admit, I thought you might change your mind."
I took a seat across from him, setting my notebook and pen on the table. "This is strictly about the project, Malik," I said, feeling the need to establish boundaries early.
"Of course," he replied, though his tone carried an edge of amusement. "Strictly business."
"So," I began, flipping open my notebook, "about the inscription on the piece—I noticed the specifications you gave me were a bit unclear. Should the Arabic script be ornamental, or are we going for something more traditional?"
He leaned forward slightly, his expression thoughtful. "Ornamental, I think. Something that captures attention but still holds meaning."
"Got it," I said, jotting down his response.
There was a pause. I focused on my notes, but I could feel his eyes on me, studying me.
"Do you always keep things this formal?" he asked suddenly.
I looked up, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"
He smiled. "You have this way of creating a wall around you, Amina. I noticed it the first time we met."
I frowned, not liking where this was going. "I don't think this is relevant to the project."
"Maybe not," he said, his tone easy. "But I'm just curious. Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why you're so determined to keep me at arm's length."
I sighed, closing my notebook. "Look, I don't think—"
"I want us to be friends, Amina," he interrupted gently, his voice lowering. "You don't have to keep me at a distance. Trust me, and feel free to be yourself around me."
The sincerity in his tone caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. Then I scoffed, shaking my head. "Friends? I don't make friends with men. Especially ones who wink at random women at weddings."
His smile faltered, and I immediately felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe i was too quick to jufge? But instead of looking offended, he nodded slowly. "You're right. That was... inappropriate. I'm sorry."
I blinked, surprised by his straightforward apology.
"I'll earn your trust and respect," he continued, his voice steady. "I don't expect you to believe me now, but I hope I can prove it with time."
I was confused. Why does he want to be my friend anyway? Is this one of his games? My mom has told me about young men who go out of their way to impress a lady just to have sex with them and looking at Malik.... I don't know. I mean, no guy has ever offered to be my friend. I've always been careful to avoid conversations with guys except when it's necessary. The Qur'an—the muslim's holy book— talked about not moving in the direction of Zina—more like pre marital sex. Therefore, I consider too much interaction with the opposite will lead to it. Hence, my distance. During my university days, I made sure to keep up with my schedule—from the small apartment I rented to school,then back to my apartment. Sometimes, I go to the mosque or library in between. It was a boring life but my calligraphy kept me busy, an online course I stumbled upon.
You might be wondering why I couldn't just spend more time at my school mosque. Yeah, my university mosque was full of great sisters, infact I got like 3 marriage proposals from 3 brothers that I rejected—I was and am still not ready for marriage—but I'm a very private person. I don't like too much familiarity. Maybe I'm a snob. The only close people I have in my lives are my families and my best friend, Maryam. Therefore, this friendship stuff Malik is not sitting well with me..
But it can't be that bad right? As long as our intentions are clear.
"Fine," I said finally, looking down at my notebook. "But don't think this means I'm going to be close to you or anything."
He smiled, a genuine one this time and my heart fluttered. "Fair enough. One step at a time."
Who was i kidding? Being friends with him is definitely going to be bad. I'll need to be careful.
The rest of our conversation was focused on the project, and I forced myself to stay professional. But as we parted ways outside the restaurant, his words lingered in my mind.
"I'll earn your trust and respect."
I didn't want to admit it but part of me hoped he would.
Little did I know I was already falling for him.
AMINAH'S POV:
"Wallahi, Amina, if I don't leave this house soon, I might go mad," Maryam huffed, dropping on her bed beside me.
I raised a brow. "What did Mummy do this time?"
She rolled her eyes dramatically. "It's not just Mum. My dad has suddenly become the president of Find-Maryam-a-Husband Association. I guess mum finally managed to convince him to join her in her matchmaking business. Every day, there's one random suitor appearing out of nowhere, carrying flowers or dates." She snorted. "And don't get me started on the lecture about how I need to act like a 'proper wife-to-be.' Imagine, I can't even eat 'kulikuli' in peace because I'm too 'playful.'"
I burst into laughter, nearly falling down from the bed. "Well, you are twenty-six, Maryam. What did you expect? Your dad is just doing what every Nigerian parent does when their daughter is still at home past twenty-five."
"If it's not that I love this my room too much, I would have left this house for them since," she lamented.
Truly, her room is beautiful. Maryam's room was tucked away on the first floor of their house, both cozy and vibrant. The lavender walls complemented the bright yellow curtains that framed her window. Her bed, covered in a colorful patchwork quilt, was surrounded by a jumble of throw pillows in every shade imaginable.
A vanity table stood by one corner, cluttered with makeup products, perfumes, and a potted plant that seemed miraculously alive. Her wooden bookshelf was crammed with romance novels and self-help books, with a few framed photos of her and Amina tucked between them. A small noticeboard hung near her closet, covered with sticky notes, quotes, and little doodles she'd made over the years. The room exuded her personality—vibrant, slightly chaotic, yet inviting. I can't imagine her leaving this room too—well except for marriage.
Honestly, it's exhausting," she said, flopping onto her back. "You'd think after my Master's degree,she'd let me live a little. But no, marriage is apparently my only purpose in life."
I smiled sympathetically. Maryam's relationship with her mother had always been a mixture of love and exasperation. "At least you don't have Aunt Zaynab breathing down your neck everytime she visits our house. Every time she sees me, it's: 'Amina, when will we start tying gele for your wedding too.You know, Hajia Bilkisu's daughter just got engaged. The boy works in an oil company.'"
Aunty Zaynab is my mum's younger sister. She's the nosiest person on earth.
"Aunt Zaynab is relentless. Didn't she say that last month too?"
"Every month," I said, laughing. "Wo, we go dey alright sha."
"Last last o my sister," she replied laughing.
As the laughter died down, Maryam tilted her head, a sly grin spreading across her face. "So... how's that calligraphy project going?"
I shot her a warning look. "Don't start."
"Start what?" she asked innocently.
"You know exactly what," I said, narrowing my eyes.
Maryam's grin widened. "I'm just curious. I mean, working with a certain someone must be... interesting."
If I tell Maryam he asked for my friendship,she'd blow it out of proportion. And I don't want that. Besides, it's nothing. What do girl and guy friends do anyway? Nothing right?
Keeping my tone neutral, I said. "It's going fine. He's professional, and so am I. That's all there is to it."
"Right," Maryam said, dragging the word out. "Totally believable."
"You like man too much sha. can we not talk about Malik for one afternoon? Please?"
"Fine," she said, sitting up. "Let's talk about something else. Like how your mom called me last week to 'check up on her other daughter.' What's that about?"
I groaned. "I don't know why she does that. She probably wanted to report me to you. What did she say this time?"
"Nothing serious," Maryam said, grinning. "Just that you've not been eating well and still glued to your work like it's the only thing keeping the earth spinning."
"Typical Mum," I muttered, rolling my eyes.
"She's just worried"
"She'll never stop worrying about me. Do you know that time i traveled to Abuja for business?, she called me every morning to remind me to pray. Like I don't know the time for Fajr prayer. Infact, Last week, my mum said I should start making my own perfume blend because according to her, that's what cultured women do. I think she saw it on one of those Instagram reels" I said shaking my head.
She laughed. Mummy and her reels! Did she send you the video too?"
"Of course she did," I said, laughing along. "With the caption: 'This could be you.' Honestly, Maryam, sometimes I feel like I'm living in a drama series."
"Well, you kind of are," Maryam said, smirking. "But it's not just you. My parent's new obsession with this match making stuff is getting worse by the day. Atleast your dad is not stressing you. Infact, your own is better jare. My mum sent me the profile of some guy who works in customs. He looks nice, but—"
"But what?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Maryam sighed. "He texted me 'Hi dear' and 'Send your pictures' in the same message. Immediate red flag."
"Ahh e don finish. Maybe he wants to get straight to business now." I laughed.
"I know you're whining me sha," Maryam smiled, dropping back onto the bed. "Anyways, enough about my mom's matchmaking drama. What about your dad? He's been quiet lately. Any new projects he's working on?"
I shook my head. "You know how dad is. He never really tells us what he's up to until it's almost done. But I overheard him talking to Uncle Abdul about a building project in Ikeja."
Maryam nodded knowingly. "He's always been like that. So mysterious but still the family's backbone. May Allah bless him. "And what about Aisha? Last I heard, she was planning that ridiculous TikTok dance challenge with her friends."
I rolled my eyes fondly. "That girl will give my mum a heart attack one day. Can you imagine? She posted a video of herself dancing, and one of my mum's friends saw it and called her immediately. The drama was endless."
Maryam was laughing so hard tears streamed down her face. "I love Aisha! She's the complete opposite of you. Where you're reserved, she's... extra."
"Tell me about it," I said, shaking my head. "But she's also the one who keeps the house lively. Without her, it'd be too quiet. Bilal is now forming big boy"
Maryam sat up again, brushing invisible dust off her dress. "I miss those chaotic family dinners at your place. Everyone talking at the same time, Mama scolding Aisha for taking too much meat, and your dad just sitting there, pretending not to notice."
"Sebi na you no get time to come again. You're always welcome to come over," I said sincerely. "Mama loves having you around, and Halima needs someone else to distract her from me. Bilal doesn't have her time again."
Maryam grinned. "I'll take you up on that offer soon. It's just that I've been so busy with my business. Thank God we separated this day to catch up on each other's life. If not, I'll be at my studio like this o."
"Money woman. Sha be calming down." I teased.
"See person wey dey talk." She laughed. Wo, let's order food, I'm hungry and I don't feel like eating mum's rice.
"Should we order amala from White House?" I suggested, already reaching for my phone.
"You read my mind," she said, grinning.
While waiting for our amala, the conversation shifted to my younger brother,Bilal's latest obsession with trying to start his suya business and my mom's objection. According to her, he's just looking for a way to waste money and stay out late. By the time the dispatch rider arrived and we finished our food, it was already close to 7. I got up to leave so I could get home in time for maghrib—muslim's evening prayer. Our house was a just 20 minutes to Maryam's by car.
As I got to the living room,Maryam's mother called out from the kitchen. "Amina, Greet your mom for me o!"
"Alright ma!." I said, bending my legs. Once outside, I waved at Maryam and entered my Lexus. As I stepped into the chaos of Lagos traffic, I couldn't help thinking: Sometimes life can be messy, complicated, and loud—but it was ours.