His Accidental Bride

Ten

Salma made a reconciliation meal and took her time to dress the table, it's going to be a candle lit dinner, her job is at stake here.

So she brought her all to the table and went on to wear a cotton material gown not minding that her bones are aching for a rest. She sat on the soft, suede couch with her legs crossed, spinning her silver heirloom ring around her finger anxiously. Her gaze flicked towards the clock, the minute hand ticking steadily away as the night grew darker. The air in the room felt heavy with anticipation, and the sound of the ticking clock was the only noise echoing through the empty house.

She shifted uncomfortably on the couch, the cushions seeming to envelop her. She tried to distract herself, picking up her phone that was sitting on the coffee table, but she quickly lost interest and tossed it aside. Her mind was consumed with worry, and she couldn't shake the feeling that he was still angry at her.

Salma lay on the couch, exhaustion finally claiming her. Her eyelids fluttered shut, her breathing steadying as she entered a peaceful slumber. The room was cast in shadows, the only sources of light being the soft glow of a lamp in the corner and the moon peeking through the curtains.

A noise invaded her peaceful realm, gradually pulling her back to her senses. As the sound grew louder, it morphed into the distinct jingle of keys, followed by the creak of the front door.

Her eyes flickered open, heavy with sleep, and her gaze fell on her husband, stumbling through the entrance with a mix of inebriation and guilt. Confusion crossed her face before it was quickly replaced by irritation and anger. She sat up abruptly as she swung her legs over the edge of the couch, her bare feet landing on the cold tiled-floor.

Her expression was one of pure annoyance as she rose from the couch, her steps purposeful and heavy. She stomped her way up to their bedroom, creating a resounding echo that reverberated through the silent house.

Silence settled once again, enveloping the room as her husband stood there, his shoulders slumping in remorse. He knew he had made a mistake for not coming home early. She maybe feigning macho but she is still a woman.

The following morning Salma didn't even care to go down and make breakfast, after praying she took her bath and got back to bed to do the much needed sleep in her bathrobe.

The knock on the door startled her from her sleep, "come in," she said adjusting the cap on her head and tightening the belt of her robe. Jamal strode in with a tray in his hand, he used his leg to push the door. How did he even open the door with all that in his hands. Ita dai idan aka mata wasa da kaya sai an biya ta".

He kept the tray beside her on the bed and she opened it almost immediately without uttering a word to him. It is pancakes with honey and a bowl of custard to accompany it. She picked the tray and did what he was silently pleading her to do. Jamal didn't say a thing until she was done eating.

"I'm sorry i didn't come home early yesterday, i needed to clear my head".

Salma saw no need in prolonging the issue since he didn't know what she was planning and he apologized appropriately, she just gave him a lopsided smile as a reply.

She has forgotten what caused the duel in the first place and the essay she memorized off-heart, well it was formed in the heart from all the regrets she was going through at the moment. Jamal startled her when he took the tray that was still on her laps and kept it on the floor, he was back to the bed and this time around not folding one leg and stretching the other but right beside her putting both of his legs underneath the quilt like she did. "Babu ko tayi, are you usually stingy or it is just with me", she didn't see his facial expression while uttering that because he's facing forward and she could tell he's just fooling around.

"Afwan. I didn't know the chef starved himself, why did you report me to Ummi?"

"I did? Ohh! I wanted her to enlighten you, woman to woman maybe you'll understand that better and not think I'm some sort of misogynist".

"It actually worked but at the expense of our dinner, a candle lit one", she chuckles.

"We can say it was delayed, i packaged every food item to the fridge. I can't afford this fiery woman to dice me in the morning when she finds out that all her efforts have gone down the drain", he held her right hand between his palms caressing it as if that will give the both of them warmth.

"Why Architectural engineering?".

She sighed softly before replying him.

"My grandfather's gifts was always dollhouses and I used to wonder where he gets his own because you can never see its type in supermarkets.

I asked him when I was in junior secondary school and he told me he did it himself. Imagine my shock, i told him blatantly that he was lying. You are not even a white man so i cornered him till he did that one in my office now. We basically did it together, i was passing him the tools asking him tonnes and tonnes of questions. That was when I made up my mind to become an architectural engineer and got the name farar baturiya because I started calling him Baƙin Bature (Black white-man/American)".

All the while she was talking he didn't interrupt her, he just kept rubbing her hand. "I was the only girl in technical drawing class and I didn't like the fact that the teacher is always lenient on me, maybe it is because I'm the only girl so he was trying to encourage me or because he thought I was a weakling, a weaker cell like the boys tease us those days. Nonetheless, it motivated me. I will copy the scheme of work for the next term and go to my grandfather for tutoring. Follow him to sites with my helmet in hand".

I was heartbroken when I got Civil engineering because architectural was not accredited for my year. I was in year two when they gave it partial accreditation but i wasn't willing  to take the risk besides, they are similar. Graduated and went for masters in Architectural engineering in Hong Kong, that you already know".

All through my university days my aunties were against engineering because it's a course for boys. I will turn into a tomboy and no man will marry me. I myself will not respect any man because I'm rubbing shoulders with them. But nobody dared to say it out loud to provoke me because I have Alhajin Jigawa on my side, my baƙin bature.

Imagine their shock when they heard that my hand have been asked for marriage a month after my return from Hong Kong and not by a Chinese but a  Hausa journalist.

"So Kamal is the savior aye?"

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Hello helloooo
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