HER CRUSH

Chapter9

Abdullah...
After dropping Zarah at her gate, the drive back felt strangely light. The night air seemed different with her in it...less ordinary, more electric. I pulled into the hotel compound and stepped out, stretching like a man who suddenly realized he hadn't blinked properly in hours.

The truth was what it was: she was friendly, stubborn in a good way, and had this way of talking that made me smile for no reason. And the name on her  phone...CRUSH...still made the corners of my mouth lift.

I changed into my pyjamas, collapsed on the bed, and before I could beat myself up about not calling Asma, I fell asleep like a sack of rice. The world collapsed into nice, stupid, dreamless sleep. I woke later to chaos.

"Wake up! You disappeared last night and we were carrying on like headless chickens!" someone was yelling. It was bashir , voice rough with sleep and laughter combined.

He shoved a pillow at my face, then snatched it back.

I muttered, "We'll talk tomorrow, please," and tried to go back under the blanket. You know that kind of sleep where prayer disrupts it and you never get back to the same sleep? Yeah...Fajr had come, and this time, somehow, we didn't go back to sleep afterward. There was a restless energy in the room that felt like the entire wedding was still buzzing in my bones.

I stepped out onto the balcony, breathing in the dusty air My phone buzzed; Asma.

I took a breath, then answered, "Hey, babe."

Silence on the other end. That moment...her quiet...was loud; it told me she was mad. I wasn't proud of why. So I apologized before I even fully formed a sentence.

"Asma, I'm sorry. I know you called and I didn't pick up yesterday; I was in the hall and...I tried to explain, and even as the words left my mouth they sounded weak.

"It's okay," she said finally, voice small. "I was just worried."how's the wedding?

"Alhamdulillah. The wedding is fine. How are you?"

She told me she was okay, a little anxious. No one got my attention yesterday,?

The truth was....someone did. I hesitated, then said, "There was a girl. Friendly. Nice. Nothing more." I let that land between us.

There was a small, suspicious silence. "I hope nothing happened," she whispered, and I lied again, "Of course not, Asma. I'm with you."

We talked for a while...quiet, easy...until I felt like the old us again. Maybe there was forgiveness in the little mundane things: "You finished breakfast?"
"Did you sleep?" "Remember to pray." By the time we hung up, my chest was lighter, and I felt like a man who had narrowly escaped being a fool.

I dialed Sufyan. The cousin pick-up symphony was fast. He answered after three rings, full of the usual noise. "Hey, someone missed me so much?"

I laughed. "You think you're special?"

He chuckled. "Ummi said you were calling her, crying about how much you miss me."

I made a face he couldn't see. "I don't cry about missing you, idiot."

We traded stories....him exaggerating life at home, me sketching the night in sketches. The morning had a softness to it, like the world was giving us time to breathe between the wedding and the return trip.

By Zuhr the ceremony wound down. We offered our congratulations,, and climbed into the car for the long road back to Abuja. I remember the convoy: laughter, a particular song blasting from Yaro's speaker that we had gotten tired of by the third hour, and the kind of road chatter that moves from politics to the best suya spots in town.

Home's familiarity hit me like a blanket when we finally rolled into our compound late that night.

****

Back at school the next day felt routine again...the same lecture halls, the same coffee-stained notes. Finals were looming; the pressure was a slow drumbeat behind every page of calculus I pretended to read.

Sufyan and I were sprawled on my bed one evening, screens lighting our faces. He scrolled memes; I was on FIFA, pretending the virtual goals mattered

He tossed a pillow at me.

"Turn the sound off, bro. I can't hear myself think." He pointed at the TV speaker with theatrical annoyance.

I lifted my middle finger without looking. "Make me."

He sighed. "Abdul, I'm serious. The neighbors are giving me side-eye."

"Turn off your hearing then," I said, grinning as I dodged his pillow.

He moved to the sofa, setup his video call, and I kept my game going....simple, comforting. But the peace was thin.

glancing to the corner of my phone: a notification blinked. Instagram. A new post.

I swiped, and there she was—Zarah Tukur had posted. A picture of her with a friend, laughing, hair perfectly wrapped, caption not necessary because the picture said everything.

"God, I forgot about her," I admitted to no one in particular.

Since that night, I had told Asma something about meeting someone: that it was nothing. I followed Zarah back, more out of curiosity than anything else. Her story caught my attention like a hook: words flashing against a muted background...The person you love the most will hurt you the most."

My finger hovered, then tapped DM.

I typed

Who hurt my beautiful Zarah and made her sad? 🥺
Then I pressed send.

And there it was...the small white circle that said delivered.

For a moment I sat, staring at the screen. What am I doing? I thought. Stupid, dramatic, overstepping, being romantic, being nosy...call it what you want. But something in me had shifted that night...something curious, contrite, protective. Maybe I wanted to be the answer to that question I had just asked, and I didn't know it yet.

The reply would come eventually. Or maybe not. For now, the DM floated like a small, sincere pebble in a pond that would ripple in ways I couldn't predict.

Short chapter please manage it I'm sorry!!!
So Abdul is dan duniya he already forget about zarah existence...
Did you like Abdul and sufyan relationship?

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