HER CRUSH

Chapter2

ABUJA,NIGERIA
Abdullah...
The plane touched down at exactly 3:30 p.m.

By the time I made it through immigration, collected my bags, and walked out into the late Abuja heat, I spotted the driver immediately....tall, calm, and dressed in a clean white kaftan. He gave me a small nod and moved to take my bag, but I waved him off.

I tossed my duffel into the trunk myself and slid into the back seat, exhaling as the door closed and the AC blasted on. The city passed by through tinted windows...wide roads, It had been months since I'd last been home, and somehow everything still looked exactly the same.

My parents have been divorced since I was fifteen. Abba has three new wives now. Alhamdulillah, they're all kind in their own way. But the truth is, I've always been closer to my mother....my Ummi. Half Bahraini, half Nigerian, and all grace and fire. She raised me and my sister with firm hands and soft words, never once asking for credit.

My sister, Rukkaiya, is 29, married, and raising a smart-mouthed six-year-old named Ihsan who thinks I walk on water. Me? I'm 25....almost 26.... and still dodging marriage proposals like bullets. People never ask how I'm doing, just "When are you getting married, Abdul?" Wallahi, if I had a naira for every time I heard that...

When we finally pulled up to the compound, the black iron gate creaked open slowly. The smell of wet soil...rich and grounding...hit me as I stepped out of the car. That smell alone made the whole trip worth it.

I was home.

After a quick shower and Asr in the small masjid inside the compound, I changed into sweatpants and a black tee. I felt lighter already.

I headed straight to Ummi's part of the house.
She was still on her prayer mat, eyes closed, head slightly tilted back like she was finishing a quiet dhikr. I dropped to a squat beside her and murmured:

"Ummi, laqat 'aadat." Ummi, I'm back.

Her eyes fluttered open, and a smile crept onto her lips.

"Marhaban bieawdatik, ibni." Welcome back, my son.

"Kaifa al-madrasah?" How's school?

"Alhamdulillah, Ummi."

She studied my face. "Hal dhahabta ila bayt abik?"did you go to your father's house

Laa. Ji'tu huna awalan. Sawfa adhhab ghadan, in shaa Allah."No ummi i will go there tomorrow insha Allah

She nodded slowly, then touched my cheek. "Tired?"

I didn't even answer. My stomach did the talking, growling loud enough for both of us to hear.

She laughed. "The food is ready. Go eat."

"Laa, Ummi. Linadhhab ma'an."

She gave me a look but stood anyway. That's the thing about Ummi....she'll grumble, roll her eyes, and still do exactly what you asked. Love, expressed in small acts.

Dinner was simple but perfect: Chinese fried rice, spicy shredded sauce, and chicken sliders that I was sure Ihsan had requested the last time she was over.

Afterward, we sat in the living room. I sprawled out on the rug, head resting on her lap while she flipped through channels.

She landed on Zee World, of course.

"Ummi, ana la afham mada tushahidin."
I don't even understand what you're watching.

Without missing a beat, she replied, "If you change that channel, I'll knock your head."

I raised both hands in surrender and handed her the remote.

My phone lit up.

Asma.