The Riddle Of Us.

9; BELATED REGRETS.

Toh, Allah yayi. My drafts don finish. 

Your case now is with the Lord.

The warm water cascaded from the shower head, embracing Asma in its warmth as it fell on her body, the steam heavy, filling up the space. Her hair was moist, but she cared not. Instead, she flicked her eyes shut, welcoming the hot water, biting her skin, doing more harm than intended. She welcomed it, taking a huge breath as she stood there.

Her mind played with the memories of everything that has happened leading her up to this point, and she could see the images playing right before her eyes, haunting her. Every bit of it flooded in her mind, just as vividly as it had when it woke her up in the middle of the night, a routine nightmare that she has gotten accustomed to, welcoming the insomnia that has now become a part of her life.

It did not help that the entire place felt suffocating to her—not just the room or the house, the palace entirely.

She had no idea how long she stood under the water, but one point, she found herself taking in another sharp breath, and she could hear her mind playing the sound of the ticking clock, almost like a reminder that life outside that very room she had locked herself, continued. A second more, a minute more, and hours...life still continues.

She stepped out of the en suite, the shower turned off and now all wrapped up in a purple robe as she made her way to the adjoined walk in closet of the room, picking out her outfit of choice for the day after a bit of deliberations, deciding against the first outfit she chose, deeming it too simple. Once satisfied with her choice of clothing, she settled on the stool by the vanity table, then went about her morning routine. From lathering on the body cream, to every bit of skin care she goes through.

When she was done, she took her time to do her makeup, dedicating a bit more time to her favorite oxblood lipstick, loving the surge of confidence it gave her. When she was done, she then settled into her outfit which she had chosen before hand, her entire action meticulous from donning it on, to her choice of jewelries, down to the shoes.

Once fully dressed in the kabbasa smoked she loved, she walked back to her room, removing the phone that is now fully charged, she stepped out of the room. Her gaze yawed to the room at the farther end of the hallway, and her eyes narrowed slightly, not directed towards the room per se, but to the owner that is nowhere to be seen, not that she expected to see him. He must be out already. After all, she has not seen him in two days nor does she care—despite living under the same roof. Neither was interested in running into the other.

Dissolving her glare, she turned around and then descended the spiral staircase, her steps slow, and graceful, the soft pat of her shoe against the glistening marble floor resonating, making her presence known. Even before she reached the bottom of the stairs, her gaze fell on that of the workers, running around to do their task for the day. Based on her knowledge, there should be about fifteen of them in the house, excluding the fadawa outside but just those that take care of the house.

The minute she reached the bottom of the staircase, those around the area stopped what they were doing, then crouched down low to greet her. "Ranki dade, barka da safe."