SARAUNIYYA: Heartstrings

Chapter 9

The next time that me and Imran saw each other we went on a date -our first one with me as his girlfriend, as we almost always did. Except this time, there wasn't a single thing I could put my finger on that wasn't plain and very normal. He even replaced all of his Armani clothes (he was fully dressed in Armani at least three times a week.) with simpler, more practical brands like Calvin Klein and Levi's. Who knew that Mr White Shirt, the crown prince in Armani, could style the perfect winter outfit using only Levi's and Calvin Klein clothes?

***

"I bet you couldn't go a single day as somebody that wasn't Yarima Imran Shehu-Abubakar, the Wambai of Gombe," I remembered teasing him, daringly, over our last phone call before that day.

"I can do anything that I want to, Ameera Danasabe." He'd sounded so seductive that my mind forgot he was several miles away and not directly next to me, speaking into my ears.

Of course, Imran Shehu didn't back down from my dare (even though it technically wasn't a real dare at all), and he did what he could to make the date as plain and normal for me as I could possibly want. We didn't go to any expensive places or do any expensive things. We visited an art gallery that didn't charge an entry fee, and we went there to look at the art (I love to go to galleries). Of course, there was the occasional joke from him about buying me one of the pieces, but then I would quickly remind him that only Imran Shehu, the man he was trying not to be (and some few alike others, of course), would act like that. By the time we were done at the gallery, I needed a coffee, and so we decided to get to-go lattes from Tim Hortons.

"I'm driving!" is what I would have exclaimed, grabbing my boyfriend's Mercedes key fob out of his hand and dashing towards his car with it had he brought it with him.

"You're sure you can handle calling us an Uber?" I teased, and he shot me a mean side-eye, to which I responded with my hands raised in surrender.

I took off my coat as soon as I got into the car. Feeling the weight come off me was relieving. I still had an overshirt on though, and a t-shirt beneath it.

"I miss your car," I whispered in his ear, and he chuckled.

"We're having a regular day." He planted a quick, soft kiss on my lips. "It's not a regular car."

"Fair enough." I rolled my eyes.

"Abdussamad drives an E450 as well, but his isn't a convertible or a coupe," I said, remembering my brother and his car.

"He sounds like a family man." Imran joked, and we both laughed.

"I'm sure you two are like the same age. But yes, he's weirdly like an older version of you." I responded. I thought almost everything about my brother was weird, to be fair. "He's not a saint, but he does Abuja-boy packaging too well."

There was a Tim-Hortons not very far from the art gallery, and so within an hour, we were getting seated yet again in our Uber -with our coffees in our hands, this time.

I suggested the driver take us to Hyde Park after our cute little coffee run, which he did. Although I preferred it in warmer weather, it still felt good to be there.

Imran and I took a long, relaxing stroll before eventually stopping at a bench to rest a little, and that was when his phone started to ring out of nowhere. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen.

"I'll need a minute or two to take this. It's work." He kissed my cheek softly, before excusing himself to answer the phone.

He was only gone for about ten minutes, before returning to his spot next to me on the ice-cold bench. He kissed my cheek again.