Beyond

HELLO FAM!

Abuja, Nigeria.

20th May, 2017

Fatimè found solace in the smallest of things amidst the chaos of the world, such as the breathtaking beauty of sunrises during her morning runs. It was what she needed after the unsettling encounter she had two days ago, and by the time she got home, drenched in sweat, she felt relatively better. As she gulped a cup of water from the dispenser in the dining room, she overheard a conversation between her brothers, Mubarak and Khalifa.

The aroma of coffee and the sizzling sound of frying chips hit her when she stepped into the kitchen. That was when she realized how hungry she was. Khalifa was toasting some bread while Mubarak was making a cup of coffee.

"Hamma Mubarak, useni, Just this once," Khalifa begged.

"Shafa, I want a plate of that, please," Fatimè said to their help who was standing over the cooker, turning the chips.

"With eggs?" Shafa asked.

Fatimè shook her head and said, "I'll eat with yaji."

"Hamma Mubarak, answer me now," Khalifa begged again.

"No," Mubarak replied firmly, "I am not shooting your girlfriend for free. I can consider giving you a discount, but free? Nope. I have told you several times to avoid dating broke babes..."

"Who's dating a broke babe?" Fatimè asked, interrupting their conversation.

"Whoa!" Both of her brothers screamed at the same time.

"What?" Fatimè asked with annoyance written all over her face.

Khalifa was the first to reply, "You. You are in your workout gear..."

"And so?" Fatimè asked, not understanding their sudden interest in her morning routine.

"You haven't gone for your morning run in ages... since..." Mubarak said, trailing off.

"Well, I felt like it today. Now can you two stop staring at me like you've seen some aliens?" Fatimè said it with a hint of irritation in her voice.

"Hmm," Mubarak said.

Fatimè ignored him as she collected the plate of chips from Shafa and grabbed a jar of yaji from the cupboard.

Mubarak and Khalifa exchanged looks when Fatimè left the kitchen. "Something is up," Khalifa said.

Mubarak had known something was wrong since he picked her up the day before yesterday, but his sister had become so adept at masking her emotions with the "I am fine" facade that he decided to let her be.

Fatimè descended the stairs after a refreshing shower, her emerald-green dress complementing her radiant complexion. The fitted waist flared out into a flowing skirt, and her head was wrapped in a stylish turban. As she entered the sitting room, there was a lingering scent of bakhoor mixing with his subtle woody fragrance. His visit did not come as a surprise to her; after all, he was in the habit of appearing and disappearing. She didn't say a word to him and simply focused on sipping the tea she had asked Khalifa to make for her.

Kamal cleared his throat, "Sunshine." He called, "Did something happen? You haven't been answering my calls or text messages. Are you okay? Is everything fine?"

Fatimè's response was blunt, "Why don't you ask that girlfriend of yours? I'm sure she has an answer."

Kamal was taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

Fatimè stood up, her frustration evident as she dropped the cup, and replied, "You're seriously asking me that?"

Kamal was now more puzzled than ever, trying to make sense of Fatimè's anger and accusation.