VULNERABLE

COURSE, UNIVERSITY AND UMMI

ABIDAT

I clutch my hair in frustration as I stare at the list of possible courses I could go for. Being a science student had its perks, but there was one problem—I didn’t want to go for the usual courses people expected, like medicine or engineering. I was more inclined toward business and marketing, though I didn’t want to admit it to anyone yet.

I scroll through the endless list of options on my screen. Digital Marketing. Event Management. Data Analytics. All courses I liked, and courses I could see myself excelling in. There were even more like Agribusiness Management and Environmental Marketing, but nothing felt like the right fit yet.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling as if it would give me some sort of divine answer.

"You’re going to figure it out, Abidat. You always do."

But that was a lie I told myself every day, and the weight of the decision was crushing me. I did some freelance marketing on the side already and knew I had a passion for it, but I wasn’t sure if it was enough to base my entire future on.

I sighed again, clicking through tabs and glancing at universities in Abuja. I didn’t want to go too far from home; after all, it was comforting knowing that Mama and Baba were just a drive away.

God, is this what adulthood is like? Stressing over degrees and proximity to my parents?

I chuckle at the thought before scribbling down five options on the side of my notebook:

- University of Abuja
- Nile University
- Baze University
- Veritas University
- African University of Science and Technology

There was less than a week left before school resumed, but thanks to the wedding, I’d be resuming late. Laila still wasn’t back from the wedding, and I couldn’t even bother her about this. I couldn't even go to Mama about this cause I had told her everything was under control

“Of course she does,” I muttered.

But right now, I needed to talk to someone. Someone who wouldn’t tell me to relax or that it’s going to be fine. I needed someone who’d understand my anxiety and help me figure this mess out.

One person came to mind.

Aalim.

I hadn’t seen much of him at the event, as Mama had been dragging me around and telling me I’d get to see him more later. I had wanted to ask her why she hadn’t told me that Armaan—Aalim—was still in Nigeria, let alone Abuja, but I’d held my tongue. Mama was always up to something.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up my phone and dialed his number. He answered almost immediately.

“Assalamu alaikum,” I greeted.

“Wa alaikumus salam,” came his deep, familiar voice. A warmth settled in my chest just hearing it. “Tahbeer? Is everything okay?”

Was it? Not really.

“Actually, no,” I confessed. “I’m... I’m trying to figure out what course to go for, and my head is spinning. I’ve been staring at a list of possible options for hours and... I don’t know, I just can’t decide.”

I could hear the chuckle in his voice. “Calm down, Tahbeer, take it easy. Are you sure you’ve looked at everything?”

“I’m trying,” I rambled on. “But like, I don’t know if I should go for Digital Marketing or Event Management or something else entirely! I mean, I like marketing, but what if I hate it after a few years? And then there’s university! I don’t even know which one to go to! I don’t want to go too far from home, but at the same time, I want a good school and—”