𝓜𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂, 𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓮

23# EMERGENCIES

THE KHALIL RESIDENCE,
ASOKORO.
JANUARY, 2021.

Ayman hadn't hated his circumstances right now as much as he had in a while.

The past few weeks had been bliss, just raw, unadulterated happiness.

The knowledge of himself and Maliya's impending union, and all it would bring with it, had kept him on some kind of high he couldn't quite explain.

But here he was, on a flight to Kano, leaving behind the woman he was meant to be getting married to the next day.

It was urgent, the flight.

But when he'd heard his uncle, mallam Sabo was on his deathbed, what else could he do except leave the office for the airport?

Ayman was quite conflicted.

A part of him was worried, and his heart was quaking.

Mallam Sabo had been the closest to his mother, he'd been the only one to help his mother when she'd been at her lowest.

Biologically, there wasn't the slightest relation between the man and himself.

Where Mallam Sabo was dark, Ayman wasn't, where the man had a large, jiggly potbelly, Ayman had a lack of it, fortunately.

And where the man had a short stature, Ayman was built quite tall.

However, what they lacked in their more physical characteristics, they made for in their character.

Ayman and Mallam Sabo had similar characters, they both possessed a sort of charm to them that attracted people.

They were funny, jovial, and had care-free attitudes.

It might've been Ayman's closeness to the man that made Mallam Sabo's traits rub off on him, but they couldn't deny that they were two peas in a pod.

Ayman really did want to see the man, but a part of him hated to part from Jameelah.

He couldn't fight the feeling that him leaving just a day before their wedding had some kind of negative connotation, and as much as he tried to shake the feeling off, it wouldn't budge.

But even if he wanted to turn around, it was too late now.

He might as well attend to all he had to, and rush back to his wedding.

****

Jamil, hundreds of miles away from his brother was in his usual state.

Before him was a dress that caused him grief.

It'd been years since he'd sewn the last hem onto the dress.

It'd taken him a while, and was without doubt, his greatest work.

From the first loop of thread into the needle's eye to the last stone he'd pressed onto the bodice of the dress, he'd done it with utmost care.

How couldn't he?

...when it was Jamilah who'd be wearing the dress.

The day he'd gotten the inspiration for the dress, he'd just had a meeting with Jamilah.

She'd been a lot shier than she usually was that night.

The nightlife of Abuja was one of the few things that brought Jamil contentment. And when he wasn't driving, he enjoyed taking long walks too.

Sometimes, he'd close his eyes, listen to the sizzling of meat on the grill as the mai suya blew away the smoke from his field of view.