𝓜𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂, 𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓮

26# HATE

THE KHALIL RESIDENCE,
ASOKORO.
JANUARY, 2022

Was it possible to lose all sense of direction? Of purpose?

Ayman didn't think he'd ever felt that way.

He'd gotten to his uncle's house earlier that day, only to find Mallam Sabo looking very hale, very hearty, and very much not on his death bed.

Somehow, Ayman knew.

He knew the lack of calm he'd had the entire trip wasn't unfounded, but he'd still trusted his mother.

He hated to think of her right now. No, not when his entire head felt like it would fall.

Still, he wasn't sure.

Everything might have been fine.

His mother might've had a good explanation for sending him out on a wild goose chase the night before his wedding.

Even his thoughts sounded ludicrous to him.

His mother was the least likely person to play pranks on him.

She was way too serious for that.

But Ayman would rather believe that Hajia Zaynab had grown a sense of dark humour overnight than give into the disturbing possibility of things going awry.

Mallam Sabo could tell that something was up with his favourite nephew.

There'd never been a time when Ayman had visited him and the house wasn't shaking with both their laughters in mere minutes.

Yet, it'd been thirty minutes and Ayman's hands hadn't stopped fiddling with his plate of seafood rice.

If even his favourite — seafood —wouldn't lift up his mood, Mallam Sabo had every reason to be worried.

But it wasn't in his nature to prod.

Ayman was a bit like Zaynab in that regard. They'd only sink further into their shell if you tried to coerce them out of it.

Like obstinate little tortoises.

When the man had stood up barely two hours later, informing his uncle that he had to leave, Mallam Sabo didn't stop him.

Ayman had realized long ago that he'd lost his phone. That or it'd been taken from him.

'We're not going there, Ayman. It's all a misunderstanding', he tried to convince himself.

But not even the words he was telling himself could stop the rapidity of his feet against tarmac.

Mallam Sabo's house was a bit far from the main road, where he'd find a taxi but he wasn't calm enough to wait for the Uber person to arrive.

He looked quite the sight, that was for sure. And if it was a regular day, Ayman wouldn't be caught dead running like a mad man on the streets, eyes locked onto one destination.

But it wasn't a regular day, that again, was for sure.

The strain in his muscles got worse with every lunge he took.

By now, his heart was squeezing painfully and he felt like he couldn't breathe.

Still, his legs carried him forward.

He was panting as he hailed the cab, as he called his connect at the airport to get him on the earliest flight.

And when he got into the plane an hour later, it was with half his senses.

And until it took off, his eyes were glued onto the skies outside.

Clusters of gas wafting through the air, so free in their movement he felt like he was being taunted for feeling so......un-free.