However it goes, it ends in pain.

Chapter 13

I ghosted him. As he always did me.

I get up and get dressed. When I am changed into something decent (a cream boubou dress with a matching cream veil) I go outside.

I find my mom in the hallway.

'I am going for a ride in an uber' I am ordering one on my phone.

I see the way my mother wants to argue with me, she wants to say no.

But she also sees my red nose. She knows I need this.

I wait at the hospital's entrance for the Uber. My mother wrapped a blanket around me; I may get chilly.

The uber driver is a woman. That brings me comfort. I enter the car and we start driving.

I am looking out the window. 

Your first love is something pure, it is not affected by your experience with love before, it is not influenced by people's opinions. It is unconditional. Or at least mine was. And what I hate most is that the man I loved fiercely, never knew to love me.

I have never felt loved. I know my mother loves me. And so does my father, Amira, Habeel, even Usman. But I haven't felt loved. Not the way I have loved. And I may never allow myself to. Had I loved someone who loved me, things may be different.

I am trying to enjoy the wind in my face, but it's evening time in Abuja, everyone is trying to get home and there's traffic.

I decide to call Usman, I tell him to pick me up, and that we should go for a ride and have a chat.

He is happy to pick me up. He'll be here in 3 minutes. I sit on an uneven stone under a tree. All this movement is making my leg hurt- it's in an air cast. I can't wait for physiotherapy this week. That's the only time my leg is left out of the cast, and it feels freeing.

He gets here in 2 minutes 47 seconds. I counted.

After Usman helps me into his car, he jogs to get into the driver's seat.

'Amra, I am so sorry' I had no idea you were in an accident. I just needed time away' he sighs 'I should've told you. I shouldn't have gone of like that' his voice is smaller 'or yelled at you'

I turn to him.

'You shouldn't have.' I whisper. You had us all worried.'

'I know. I know. I had a mouthful from Umna' he smiles. It's a sad smile. He's sorry.

'You'll get one from me once I am much better' I joke.

I see the relief on his face that I am no longer mad.

'I can't wait.' He smiles. 'How do you feel?'

'Tired.' I answer honestly. 'Very tired.'

He nods. 'May Allah grant you shifa.' recovery.

'Do you want to get food?'

'Actually, I am starving. I was supposed to eat but-' I trail off. But you came in.

'Suya?' he asks, his eyes twinkling. When Usman and I were in the UK. The only Nigerian dish he craved was Suya, apparently his mom used to get it for them every Friday after prayer. He learnt how to make it, and every Friday after prayer, Usman and I would go back to his apartment and make suya. That memory makes me smile.

'Suya sounds perfect.'

...

The drive to the suya spot is quiet. One thing about him, Usman doesn't do anything else while driving. He just drives. I mock him about it a lot. Not today though, today I drift into a light slumber.