𝓜𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂, 𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓮

45# TURMOIL

THE KHALIL RESIDENCE, 
ASOKORO.
MARCH, 2022.

"Congrats", one of the numerous bald men spoke up from across the table.

Aliyu nodded, a gesture as fake as the man's well-wishes were. "Don't be in a hurry, we've not won yet".

"Forget it. Yahya has been so preoccupied with his dying wife that he doesn't even have the time for his campaigns. The seat is basically yours at this point", bald man number two said.

The first man nodded in agreement. "Even God is on your side, he's helped us deal with that Khalil man". 

Aliyu listened to the fools laugh and chatter on at the table in disgust. The meetings repulsed him. From the old men dallying around with their brainless escorts, to the stench of alcohol, to the pretence...it all got a bit too annoying sometimes.

It didn't help that the escorts always had their beady eyes on him, batting their fake lashes at him in a pathetic attempt at seduction. 

As much as he could, he avoided glancing at them. Repulsed or not, he was still, undoubtedly male in anatomy, and his body unfortunately, still reacted to the naked women at the table. 

He busied himself with his phone as some old crone said some closing prayers. He didn't even know why any of them bothered, they were all far from holy...but it wasn't his place to speak.

The second the meeting ended, he left for his car. And while he didn't have to worry about keeping his eyes away from the women anymore, his thoughts wouldn't leave one particular woman. 

His mind wandered, travelling back through years he'd somehow never forgotten.

When he was in primary school, he'd been on scholarship at Jamilah's school. It was a school for the kids of the elite, and he hated every bit of it.

The kids didn't look like he did. They looked polished, refined...clean. They didn't speak his broken dialect either. Aliyu didn't converse much back then. It was hard enough picking out their words through their heavy accents and complicated grammar, but they'd have an even tougher time understanding his pidgin.

He kept to himself most of the time, and the kids fortunately didn't bother him either. However, despite his hatred for his school, he kept coming. Not because he was compelled to — He'd lost his parents years back in a terrorist attack. He had no family...no one who cared enough about him or his education. 

He only kept coming because of Jamilah. Back then, almost all the boys in their class had a crush on her...However, they liked her because she was pretty, and smart. He didn't. 

Aliyu liked Jamilah in a manner that transcended how pretty her smiles were and how the sight of her ceased his breath. He liked her for a reason beyond the fact that her speech was eloquent and that she was absolutely brilliant; He liked her because she didn't notice him.

The other kids in the class mostly left him alone, but they always noticed him. They'd at least glance at him when they passed by him, and the girls always stared too, clearly smitten. But Jamilah...she'd never once glanced his way.

In a way, it might've been weird, but Aliyu reasoned that if she didn't take special notice of him, she must have seen him the way she saw the others, not as the poor kid like the boys saw him, or the cute but unfortunate kid like the girls saw him… just honestly, purely like a classmate.

Her eyes had never lingered on him. It was always a passing gaze, on her path to stare at something else.

While Aliyu generally liked the idea of not being noticed, when it came to the girl, he kind of wanted to be noticed. Everyday, he'd take the longer route home, through the path that cut through her house. When he neared her gates, he would slow down his pace, his eyes peering at the windows, at the balcony...searching for her.