However it goes, it ends in pain.

Chapter 7

My friend Jonathan gives me a call on Tuesday. And I am certain my mother contacted him with a sob story of how lonely I am. I rub my hands on my face and groan. This is her punishment for me deciding I've spent too much time at my parents' place.

I pick the call because if I don't, I'll have to call later. Draping the dirty rag on my shoulder, I slide off my slippers and sit down on the couch in the living room.

'Hi, Jonathan!'

'Amra. Long time'

'How are you?' I ask.

'Good, good. You?' He doesn't stop to hear my answer. Classic Jonathan. 'Not so good I guess; I hear you had an accident.' Straight to the point.

'I am better now.'

'Yeah? Amazing. I want to invite you out, just a couple of old friends, a restaurant and then board games before ending the night'

I consider saying no. but that'll just make my mother more worried.

'When?' I get up to keep cleaning.

'How does Thursday evening sound?' Jonathan's distracted voice comes through the speaker.

'Perfect.'

Jonathan hangs up after telling me he'll send me the details. And five minutes later I regret making two plans in one day with people I'm not very acquainted with. I groan and go to my room- I don't feel like cleaning anymore.

-

City hall park, there's a nice restaurant that we'll hit it at 8pm, and then we can go to the house for games and a movie or whatever.

Forwarded.

Jonathan has sent 'the itinerary.'

Before I left for UK, I did my foundation year in Nigeria. Where Jonathan and a couple of his friends and I spent a lot of our time together. We'd get food, and then head to their sorority house for a party. It was fun stuff, a bottle of coca cola, music and board games, I don't know why the board games. It was one of the things I missed most when I moved. Being in that house, I had a community of people who even though I wasn't besties with, I could have a good time with.

I exit WhatsApp and go into Instagram. Most of my colleagues are getting married, it's always someone I went to school with, an old friend, or just someone I've met before that I recognize on my screen smiling next to their spouse.

I always thought I'd be married at the latest by the age of 23, but I am 24 now, and I have practically just been dumped.

Since Usman dropped me off at my parents' house, I have been asking myself if it means that we are over. I don't know what to think. In fact, I am trying not to think about it.

Three weeks of not talking to your girlfriend means that you're over. It must.

I should call him.

But he doesn't want you.

But he's hurting.

And he's not willing to let you in.

I can try to make him let me in.

That's the same fight you had with Ahmad.

I stun.

It's not the same.

The voice in my head goes silent. Surrender.

I am calling Usman.

His phone rings continuously, until it says 'unavailable.'

I don't get angry. I get up, go on Pinterest, look for recipe and half an hour later, I am making donut.

I put on some music on Spotify, and dance in my sundress in my kitchen. A half-drunk bottle of wine on the countertop.

While the dough for my donut and puff puff set, I decide to go and finish cleaning up the living room, it's the last part of my house that needs tidying anyways, except my kitchen that will need special attention after todays baking marathon.

The music on my phone blares, and since I do more dancing than cleaning it takes me way more time to finish than I should. By the time I'm done, my mixture has puff puff mixture has risen. I give extra time to the donut.

My kitchen is designed that the four walls are tiled, an alternating cream and yellow pattern. It's a small kitchen relative to my mother's, a gas cooker, refrigerator, fridge and sink. The inbuilt cupboards are brown, and all my utensils are mismatched parts I've collected over the two years I've been here.

I jump back, the hot sizzling oil splattering on my skin and hiss.

What the hell are you mad about? I ask the oil. I often speak to my kitchen.

The oil splatters more, telling me to fuck off.

I get the message and walk away from the gas, wiping my fingers on a kitchen towel and picking up my phone to check on my messages.

Apart from messages in groups that aren't directed to me, my phone is bare. I guess I am not popular today.

Just as the sulking begins, I receive a message from an old friend both Amira and I used to hang out with.

Samiha.

'Hi, Amra you just crossed my mind! how are you?'

'It's Samiha by the way!'

I don't reply immediately, cause that's just the kind of thing I like to do, take my time with messages.

I go back to my oil, and it's not as angry as when I left it, so I start frying my puff puff.

I attempt to eat the first batch that I scoop from the oil and burn my tongue.

I don't attempt eating another one after that.

When I finish frying the puff puff, I decide to respond to Samiha's messages.

'Hey Samiha, I am fine Alhamdullilah, thanks for checking in.'

'How are you!'

I place my phone down on the counter and bring out my donut to fry.

The sound of my music diminishes as a phone call comes through. I have no idea who that may be.

Wiping my hand on my sundress, I reach over to the phone, and swipe to pick the call from an unknown number.

'Hi' I recognize that voice anywhere.

'Hey' I say, putting the phone on speaker and replacing it on the counter.

'How are you?' She doesn't wait for my answer. 'I bumped into Amira! My god, she grew more beautiful.' Samiha was always one for compliments.

'I can't believe I saw her without you, you were joined at the hip you know!' she reminisces.

'Really, what did she say?' I ask curiously.

'Oh, that you're fine, and really busy.'

'I am. Really busy'

'Oh. She wasn't keen to talk about you.' Samiha says. Shit.

'What do you do for work?' she asks.

'I am a teacher now. I say, smiling at it'

'Really? That's beautiful.' Silence. 'Oh you were made for teaching, you were so smart and amazing'

'You know, we should meet up!' she squeals. 'Oh please say yes, Amira shut me down for an outing, but you must say yes. And you could convince her to come. Please!'

By the time my phone call ends, and my donuts are fried, I have agreed to an outing with Samiha Gambo.

Way to go Amra, three outings planned in a week. 

.

.

.

This has been in my drafts for over a month. I was just so occupied. 

Alhamdullilah, I can now say that I'll be back to regular publishing.

Nafisah.

Eid Mubarak.