Sadiya |REWRITING

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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ABUJA, NIGERIA.

With every start, came a finish.

Rubino was a pub, turned Italian bistro situated on the suburb of Abuja. The story behind the structure as once common talk began with love, flowed with weighted oppression, and ended with forlornness. Its unique vintage interior spoke high volumes of melancholy as the widow, Andrea, couldn't sell off the property her defunct husband had left for the fifty-seven years old woman even when she inwardly pushed herself to. Either by bailing out on the idea and secluding herself in the back garden of the small restaurant that held memories, or by flipping the 'see you tomorrow' sign on the glass overlooking the street.

Everything held so much. Including the sign she had considered changing over the years before Franco died.

Ramlah, having heard the lamentable story of the restaurateur who hadn't lost to love, but had lost love to the point of no return, could not mention the distressing number of times she pictured hers and Yazid's story in place of Andrea and Franco's; only difference being the latter's childlessness. Would she have still sold off Rubino, his last anniversary present to her? Would she have still loved a dead man? That was harsh, but as they said, reality was harsh.

The bistro was the one place Ramlah held her first conversation with her husband – one that carried more awkwardness than words, yet, still a conversation nonetheless. It started with a shy, but polite hi and ended with a 'fuck you', that which Ramlah considered the universal language of stuck-up individuals. She, more than anything, avoided the truth bolding her words because if that were true, she couldn't deny it that another quality of hers was being stuck-up. Months with her fling, turned her holy tongue to that of a sailor's.

The dense atmosphere of the table heightened her senses with warning signs as she stared down at the plate of Andrea's special recipe. The 'date' was one Yazid abruptly sprung up and like their first meetup, the air weighted with unspoken questions from the pair. Lunch over a plate of Andrea's special Casarecce pasta with broccoli and beef sausage sounded peaceful. With a spec for a husband, a delicious Italian meal in a hot afternoon. What could go wrong? Everything.

"Is there anything I should know?"

That was the worst way to begin a conversation with one's wife, especially with such tone that accompanied the words. Ramlah's brows almost hit her hairline from the dryness of his sudden question. He looked unbothered by the weight they carried as he carried on with cutting his beef steak. "What?" She narrowed her eyes in questioning, after washing down the lump in her throat with just a sip of the cold water. It didn't rid the discomfort.

While still avoiding her eyes, Yazid paused mid-chew and briefly glanced his wife's way. All he saw in her eyes was fear, a sentiment he deeply wished to unsee. He swallowed the ground piece of tender meat and returned his eyes to the window. The six words he'd uttered laid a questioning doom like dark clouds over their heads, but he was oddly caught up with the interaction seemingly going on between two finches chirping aggressively on a tree branch.

Amidst all the noise, the mated pair seemed to understand one another.

One of the two in particular, hopped furthest as if pouring out its annoyance through the peaceful act of singing. That was the male, clearly. While the other, with a laid-out option of flying to the nest hidden under a smaller branch, followed the male. As though in a silent agreement, the female finch embraced the other's wing and like voodoo, the mates began preening each other. It was a sight worth awe.