FreeFreeDescription
Fatima stood up from the small mattress in the room, intending to step out with her phone in hand. The girl sitting next to her quickly held her back and said, “For Allah's sake, Fatima, what is this? Are you deliberately humiliating me just because I came to your house?”
Fatima sat back down and replied, “Well, I just feel like you are desperately trying to make us lose our class. Besides, I need to go to Ammi now; she has been calling me for a while.”
Her friend frowned and countered, “Oh come on, Fatima, this has nothing to do with losing class. You know it's only because I don't have a phone right now. Please, just follow him. It's not for anything major—just so we can at least look at his photos, please! It's not like you're going to be chatting with him constantly.”
Fatima widened her eyes. “Are you out of your mind, Husnah? I can't stoop myself that low to follow him. You know I have class.”
Husnah snatched the phone and said, “Fine, since you have class, let me do the following myself, not you.”
Fatima tried to grab the phone back. “No! Even if you do it, he will see the name Fatima Muhd, not Husnah Usman!”
Husnah hissed, logged into Instagram, and without wasting any time, followed the account she had been obsessing over. Watching her, Fatima remarked, “Look, it's a private account. Let's just hope Allah makes him accept your request in the first place.”
Husnah burst into laughter. “Listen to her! Either way, he will see Fatima's name, not Husnah's.”
Fatima gaped. “Oh, is that how it is? Wallahi, I am going to cancel it right now!”
Husnah quickly hid the phone behind her back. “No, please, be patient!”
Fatima pouted. “Just like that, he’ll look down on us.”
Husnah reassured her, “It has nothing to do with looking down on us. I know he will accept the request later today.”
Just then, they heard the voice of Ammi, Fatima’s mother, calling out to her. Fatima quickly stood up. “See? I told you...”
She walked out into the courtyard, where Ammi had just finished hanging up the laundry. Ammi said, “I am about to set the pot to cook for the children before they return from school.”
Fatima frowned. “Ammi, but I told you earlier that Husnah and I were planning to go out.”
Ammi replied coldly, "Then go out." With that, she went back into her room.
Turning back as if she were about to cry, Fatima returned to her room. Husnah asked, “What is it?”
“She wants me to cook for the younger ones. Who is going to do it for them if I leave the house?”
Husnah smacked her lips. “Well, you just have to endure it. My mother keeps suffocating me at home too, wallahi. It makes me wish we hadn't even graduated from secondary school.”
Fatima agreed, “Wallahi, same here. Living in this house has completely exhausted me.”
Husnah laughed. “Well, in that case, just tell Umar to send his marriage emissaries so we can enjoy a wedding!”
Fatima twisted her face in disgust. “Ugh, please! Umar irritates me so much these days. Honestly, I’ve grown to completely detest him.”
Husnah’s eyes widened. “Why?”
Fatima adjusted her posture. “Have you seen Sa'adatu’s boyfriend? Have you seen the kind of car he drives to her place at night? Hmm, you wouldn't understand. Now, it's not just her clothes—even her stride has completely changed, wallahi. I can't deny envying her. That's why I don't even talk to her anymore, wallahi. Even if she speaks to me, I pretend I didn't hear her.”
Husnah leaned her chin on her hand and sighed, “Wallahi, Sa'idu irritates me now too. Even when he comes over, I don't go out to see him. Right from the beginning of the street, that wretched, rotten motorcycle of his announces his presence. I'm just bored of him, wallahi.”
Fatima laughed heartily. “Well, at least you’re better off because he actually has a motorcycle! What about Umar, who comes to see me on foot?”
Husnah said, “Exactly! That’s why I want us to make a grand entry into the social scene too. Now, imagine if this Elbasheer guy accepts our request and we start chatting with him. You see, one day, we might end up just like Sa'adatu.”
Fatima fell silent and didn't say a word. Husnah pressed on, “Seriously, Fatima, just think about it.”
Fatima shrugged. “Well, let's just hope he accepts the request first.”
Husnah said, "In sha Allah, he will. And if you see that he has accepted, please try to drop this high-and-mighty attitude of yours and send him a greeting." Fatima merely laughed.
It was nearly two o'clock when they finally emerged from the room. Fatima found that Ammi had already lit the coal stove and set the pot to boil. She said, "Oh, Ammi, wallahi I didn't say I wouldn't do it." Ammi didn't even glance at her.
Husnah whispered, "Well, you don't need to escort me out anymore so you don't get into more trouble. See you later..." She headed out through the entrance hall, looking back at Ammi to say, “Ammi, I'm leaving. See you tomorrow.”
Without looking at her, Ammi replied, “Alright, extend my greetings to the people at home.”
"They will hear it," Husnah replied and left.
Fatima stepped closer. “Ammi, please forgive me. I didn't say I wouldn't cook.”
Ammi replied, "That is entirely up to you, Amira. If these are the kinds of friends you are going to keep around, wallahi, you are in for a lifetime of hardship. Now get out of my sight before I lose my temper completely." Fatima said nothing and returned to her room, pouting.
Hearing her phone ring for nearly the third time while Ammi was sitting on a mat eating with two of her children, Ammi called out, “Amira, isn't that your phone ringing?”
Fatima, who was sitting on her own mat near her bedroom door with a bowl of food in front of her, replied, “Yes, Ammi, but I can't go out right now.”
Ammi asked, “Who is calling you?”
Fatima frowned—though Ammi couldn't see her expression clearly due to the darkness of the courtyard—and said, “It's Umar.”
Ammi asked, “And that's why you won't go out?”
She replied, “I'm exhausted, Ammi. My head is aching badly, so I won't even pick it up.”
Ammi muttered, "Very well then," and said nothing more.
Fatima finished what she could of her food, stood up, and went into her room. She made her bed and lay down, anxiously waiting for Ammi to go inside so she could send her younger sister to buy her a recharge card, as her data subscription had expired earlier that afternoon. She picked up a Hausa novel and began reading until her younger siblings entered the room.
Standing up, she opened her clothing bag and pulled out the one-thousand-naira note that Umar had given her when he visited the day before yesterday. She said, “Ummi, go fetch me a one-thousand-naira recharge card.”
Ummi blinked. “Did you say one thousand naira?”
Fatima snapped, "Should I ask Sajjad to go if you won't do it, madam?" Ummi left the room without a word and returned shortly after with the card.
As soon as she finished loading it, she subscribed and turned on her data. Instantly, her WhatsApp messages began flooding in, followed by Instagram notifications. Ignoring WhatsApp, she opened Instagram. She stared, stunned, at a notification showing that Elbasheer had accepted her follow request—though he hadn't followed her back.
Her face darkened. Exiting the notification screen, her eyes landed on a photo he had uploaded three days prior, which already boasted over six thousand likes. He was standing beside a car with his arms crossed in front of a massive, European-style mansion. Beautiful flowers surrounded the house, and she could spot about five cars in the background. He was the epitome of true handsomeness. He looked flawlessly elegant in his shimmering milk-colored *geznar* fabric. He was exceptionally tall—the kind of man referred to as a true gentleman. He was fair-skinned but not overly so, with a long nose and large eyes that enhanced his striking features. She noticed his neatly trimmed millionaire’s beard and mustache line.
Suddenly, her spirit dampened. Husnah was clearly just daydreaming; what would a handsome, wealthy guy like this want with poor girls like them? She let out a soft sigh and began scrolling through all his photos. Eventually, she had to stop looking because she felt like she might faint just from staring at his breathtaking features. Gathering her courage, she went into his DM and sent a complete, formal Islamic greeting, avoiding any abbreviations. She wrinkled her nose and logged out. Switching back to WhatsApp, she replied to her chats and turned off her data. Her mind remained entirely consumed by this stranger; she felt a deep, genuine aversion toward Umar in her heart. Shortly after, sleep overtook her.
At dawn, she woke up having dreamed of Elbasheer, just as she had fallen asleep thinking of him. She woke her younger siblings for prayers. Since she wasn't praying due to her monthly cycle, she took a bath, brushed her teeth, tidied herself up, and returned to bed. She pulled out her phone and turned on her data. Seeing no sign that he had read her message, she put her phone down, feeling dejected.
Until noon, she remained completely lethargic, unable to stop thinking about Elbasheer. She barely drank any of the millet porridge Umma had prepared for them that morning. Every few minutes, she would turn on her data hoping to see a message from him, but there was nothing; he hadn't even opened her DM. Frustrated, she sent him a "Hi" and turned off her data.
She sat near the coal stove, completely oblivious to the fact that the rice and beans she was cooking had begun to burn. It was only when Ammi shouted at her that she snapped out of her daydream in a panic.
Ammi barked, “What on earth are you fantasizing about that you're letting my food burn on the fire?”
Fatima quickly grabbed a cloth, lifted the pot off the stove, and stammered, "I'm sorry, Ammi, I was starting to fall asleep." Ammi gave her a scathing look.
Fatima stood up from her stool, walked over to the makeshift kitchen structure in the courtyard, and brought out a small pot. She went into Ammi's room to fetch the oil jar, poured some into the pot, and placed it on the fire to fry some onions. Once they were fried, she took the pot off, doused the glowing charcoal with water, transferred the rice and beans into a cooler, and carried it into Ammi's room.
Suddenly, she heard her phone ringing from her room and rushed inside. She glared at the screen upon seeing Umar's name. He had already called her four times that day. She silenced the phone, lay down, and immediately fell asleep.
It was nearly mid-afternoon when she woke up, disturbed by the rustling noise of her younger brother preparing for Islamiyya school. She hissed, grabbed her phone, and walked out into the courtyard.
Ammi, who was busy packaging her business stock of dried okra and baobab powder, remarked, “Have you graduated from attending Islamiyya school now, Amira? You have nothing to do but sleep, fiddle with your phone, and entertain your friends whom you've now substituted for your mother and father. Do you think you're fooling me? Umar really crossed a line when he bought you that wretched phone that is leading you straight to ruin.”
On the verge of tears, Fatima whined, “Ammi, it's not like I'm holding the phone all the time...”
Ammi yelled at her. Standing up with tears welling in her eyes, Fatima lied, “Besides, I already told you that Malam Suraj keeps targeting me at school, so I prefer to just memorize my lessons here at home.”
With that, she retreated into her room and turned on her data. To her utter astonishment, she saw that Elbasheer had uploaded photos of two women who bore a striking resemblance to him. Judging by the caption, which read *"Blood"*, they were clearly his sisters. She checked their DM and saw that he still hadn't opened her message.
Furious, she quickly typed a message: *"Well, aren't you a big shot? The type who thinks he's too important to reply to people's messages, right? Do you even know who I am to ignore me like this, without even knowing what I wanted to tell you? Please save your arrogance and pride for your family meetings, mister!"* She added a red-faced angry emoji, sent it, turned off her data, and put the phone down.
She then began preparing for the Islamiyya school Ammi had confronted her about. Since she never took her phone to school, she grabbed only her schoolbag, said goodbye to Ammi, and left.
They returned home around half past six. Without even changing out of her uniform, she turned on her data. Her heart pounded furiously when she saw a message from Elbasheer.
Opening Instagram, she rushed into the DM.
*"Really?"* was his brief reply.
She fired back, *"You reason it..."* Just as she was about to put her phone down, his next message popped up: *"Ok then."* Pouting, she typed, *"Reply my salam now."* About a minute later, he sent: *"Wslm."* An involuntary smile escaped her lips, and she suddenly found herself at a loss for words. Eventually, she typed, *"Good."* He didn't reply again, but she stood up and walked out, her heart feeling incredibly light and content.
By ten o'clock, she finished making her bed and unplugged her phone from the charger since there was electricity. As soon as she lay down, Umar's call came through. Hissing, she reluctantly answered.
With deep concern in his voice, Umar said, “Are you okay, Fatima? I've been calling since yesterday and you haven't been responding.”
In a very weak voice, she lied, “I've been sick since yesterday.”
“Subhanallah! What's wrong? What is bothering you?”
Grimacing, she replied, “A fever.”
“Ya Salam! Have you been to the hospital?”
“Yes, we went.”
“But are you feeling better now?”
She shrugged. “That's why I picked up the call.”
He said, “May Allah grant you full recovery. I will come over tomorrow morning.”
Briefly, she replied, “Alright.”
“How is Ammi and the family?”
"Fine," she muttered.
“Alright then, go get some rest, my dear. May Allah heal you. I'll call tomorrow.”
"Alright," she said, cutting the call before he could hang up.
She immediately turned on her data. To her absolute shock, she saw a follow request from Elbasheer. Following his lead, she had also made her account private, and though she had never posted her own face on Instagram—only pictures of beautiful young children—she had nearly eight thousand followers while only following a few accounts herself.
Her eyes widened with joy as she accepted his request. She waited anxiously to see if he would message her, but there was only silence. She desperately wanted to slide into his DMs but didn't know what to say. Eventually, she gathered her courage and sent him a message:
*"I am Fatima Muhd, the daughter of the former Minister of Education in Nigeria. I am studying Pharmacy at Cambridge University, currently home for the holidays. What more..."*
About five minutes later, a notification popped up. His message read:
*"Is there any need of what I didn't ask?"*
Fatima stared at the screen, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. She felt so intensely humiliated she wished the ground would swallow her whole. Biting her lip, her confidence completely shattered, she fired back:
*"Mtsww, I am far above being humiliated by you, mister. We aren't even on the same level. I messaged you for a purpose... otherwise, you aren't even worth me following, let alone introducing myself to. Who do you think you are?"* She puckered her lips tightly as she hit send.
It didn't take long for him to reply: *"Really?"*
She answered, *"Yes."* He opened the message but didn't type a response. She waited and waited until she grew drowsy. Finally, she turned off her data with a heavy heart and fell asleep.
The following morning, which was Wednesday, Fatima slept late, well after her younger siblings had left for school. Ammi left her alone and went about her household chores. Around ten o'clock, Fatima finally woke up and went outside to draw water from the well for her bath. She brushed her teeth first and then took a long bath, taking her time to apply her creams before picking out a beautiful *atamfa* dress to wear. Since it was Friday, she finally walked over to Ammi’s room and found her reading the Qur'an.
Fatima opened a covered cooler and saw millet porridge and fried bean cakes (*kosai*) inside a nylon bag. Knowing it was left for her, she wrinkled her nose in disdain, turned around, and went back to her room. She unplugged her phone, which had been charging since dawn, and turned on her data.
She froze, staring at a new message from Elbasheer:
*"Send your face."*
An involuntary burst of laughter escaped her lips. Smiling widely, she typed back: *"For what?"*
He happened to be online, and his reply came instantly: *"I don't chat with people i don't knw facially."*
Smirking, she countered: *"I don't think that bunk policy of urs is true coz u have been chatting with me since yesterday."*
He replied: *"And What are you insinuating?"*
Bursting into laughter, she typed: *"What you are thinking ryt now."*
He asked: *"Are you calling me a liar?"*
Widening her eyes, she replied: *"Is that what you were thinking? Ohk then so be it, that was what I insinuated."*
He wrote: *"How dare you."*
She sent a laughing emoji and added: *"Whatever."*
He threatened: *"Ohk xa ki gane baki da wayo (Okay, you'll realize you aren't as smart as you think)."*
She retorted: *"Babu abinda ka isa ka min malam, ni ban ce xaka gane baka da wayo ba sai kai? (There is absolutely nothing you can do to me, mister. Did I challenge your intelligence first?)"*
He sent a brief: *"Ohk."*
She replied with a teasing emoji sticking its tongue out alongside a laughing face. He read it but chose not to reply.
Suddenly, her phone rang, cutting her laughter short. It was Umar. Frowning, she answered.
He offered a warm Islamic greeting and asked, “Hope you woke up well, dear?”
As if forced, she muttered, “Good morning.”
"Are you feeling better?" he asked.
"I'm relieved," she replied curtly.
"I'm heading to the market and decided to stop by and check on you. I'm right outside now," he said.
She smacked her lips. “But is there any need?”
He replied gently, “There is, please, Fatima.”
"Fine, I'm coming," she said, terminating the call.
She stood up, grabbed her ironed hijab, put it on, and walked over to Ammi’s room. Kneeling beside her, she said, "Good morning, Ammi." Ammi offered a thoroughly indifferent reply. Fatima knew her mother was upset because she hadn't woken up at dawn, even though she wasn't praying. Softly, she added, “Ammi, Umar is outside waiting.”
Ammi replied coldly, “That is your business.”
Fatima fell silent, then stood up and went outside. She found him leaning against the wall, looking remarkably handsome dressed in a spotless white *shadda* outfit matching his cap. Umar was undeniably attractive—tall and carrying the distinct, fine features of a Fulani man. He had earned his Bachelor’s degree in Biochemistry in Kano, followed by a Master’s degree in Medical Biochemistry. Since he hadn't secured a formal job yet, he ran a trading business here in Suleja, where his family home was located. They had met back when she was in her first year of senior secondary school (SS1) before he had even finished his studies.
Deep down, Fatima knew Umar’s love for her was boundless, and she used to love him deeply in return. Once upon a time, no man seemed more attractive to her than him. But ever since she saw the luxurious car Sa'adatu's boyfriend drove, and ever since Husnah started showing her sophisticated men on Instagram, Umar had lost all his charm in her eyes. To her, Elbasheer was vastly more handsome and sophisticated.
She pouted, crossed her arms, and said, “I'm here.”
He asked gently, “How are you feeling?”
"I'm better," she replied.
“May Allah grant you permanent healing. How is Ammi?”
“She's fine.”
“Please extend my greetings to her. I'm heading out to the market, I just wanted to check on you.”
