HER CRUSH

Chapter32

Zarah...
One month to my wedding! Time flies. I can't believe it....me, Zarah, somebody's wife. Not just anybody, but Abdul. The man of my dreams, the man who drives me insane, and the man who somehow still makes me melt like suya in hot oil. Ya Allah, my heart races just thinking about it.

Today is special. My in-laws will arrive with the traditional kayan lefe. Every Hausa girl grows up daydreaming of that day....the boxes lined up, the fabrics, shoes, bags, perfumes, jewelry... the subtle statement of, Yes, our son can take care of your daughter.

My  heart is torn between two emotions: excitement and escape. Because my mother, my aunties, and every female relative with functioning lungs have turned the house into a market. Everyone is shouting at the same time, nobody is listening, and I swear if I stay here another five minutes, they'll send me to iron wrappers or arrange gold bangles by size.

Part of me wants to sneak away to Farida's or Ama's. Okay, scratch that. All of me wants to.

And then there's Abdul. My calm, steady Abdul. He's been my rock, soothing me every time I panic about moving to Abuja for Baze University. Leaving my girls here scares me, but he keeps saying, "Don't worry, my sisters are there. Hanan's in medicine, Fadila in business.....you'll like them, wallahi."

Hmm. We'll see.

Still, Alhamdulillah, our relationship grows daily. He calls me wifey every day, even though technically I'm not his yet. But try telling him that...he'll only stroke his beard and say, "Few more weeks, habibty."
Speaking of beard... Ya Allah. That beard is a fitna on its own.

Anyway, where was I? Right. Trying to avoid chores.
Earlier...

After showering, I'd just wrapped a towel around myself, mentally debating between my brown maxi or the black abaya, when my phone rang. Video call. Abdul.

Panic. I threw my hijab on and swiped.

There he was. My husband-to-be, with his low fade haircut, arched brows, and those lips that could convince a girl to hand over all her secrets.

"My wifey," he exclaimed, grinning.

"Not yet, mister," I laughed, rolling my eyes. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

"Just a few weeks, babe," he said, stroking that criminal beard. "You're glowing. Wallahi, you're killing me."

"Glowing?" I scoffed. "I just showered. It's soap. Calm down."

He tilted his head, smirking. "Still glowing. And I won't calm down."

Ya Rabbi, this man.

"I'm heading out," I said quickly before he could continue his nonsense.

"Where exactly?" he asked, rubbing his beard again. That gesture always makes me weak, but I can't let him know that.

"Ama's house."

He nodded, pretending to be casual, though I knew he was silently calculating the number of minutes I'd be away. "Okay, take care."

"Bye." I ended before he could ask more bold questions about my innerwear sizes. Wallahi, men have no shame.

I stepped out of my room, already dressed in my black Abaya, veil tied neatly, perfume in the air. Just as I was about to tiptoe out, the aroma of stew hit me. My nose betrayed me and dragged me into the kitchen.

Aunty Ramla and Aunty Sadiya were in full swing, one stirring a pot, the other scolding a maid.

"Assalamu alaikum," I greeted, praying they wouldn't recruit me.

"Lfya lou, where are you heading?" Aunty Ramla asked, eyes still on the pot. She knows me too well.

"Ama's house," I said quickly. Then, in my sweetest tone, "But please, Aunty, keep food for me, hmm? Don't let Ammi finish it before I return."

She snorted. "Everyday food, food. Your husband will suffer."

I clutched my chest in fake offense. "Aunty, please! Don't curse my marriage before it even starts."

She burst out laughing, waving me away. I ran before Ammi could spot me and add, "Zarah, come pound pepper!"

The driver quoted N500.

I nearly fainted. "N500?! Malam, haba! You think I'm Dangote's daughter?"

He laughed, showing tobacco-stained teeth. "Fuel don cost, Hajiya."

"Fuel don cost, but my pocket no dey refill like your tank," I shot back. "Wallahi, I only have N200. If you like, take it. If you don't like, abeg find passenger."

He tried haggling to N300. I folded my arms. "Oga, abeg, carry me like that. I didn't say drop. Pick passengers on the way."

He shook his head but started the engine. Victory!

The 30-minute drive was full of my inner rants. Wallahi, Nigeria will humble you.

At Ama's House...
She flung the door open, nearly choking me in a hug. "Our Amarya!"

I gasped. "Ama, please. Do you want to kill Abdul's wife before the wedding?"

She laughed, dragging me inside. "I was just thinking of coming over to your house. Guess what?

You almost clashed with Faruoq....he just left!"

"Subhanallah. Good thing I didn't meet him. My heart is too fragile for drama today."

We plopped on the sofa, gossip spilling like drink from a broken calabash. She asked about my events, the asoebi, the rival wife's plans. I rolled my eyes so much, I thought they'd get stuck at the back of my head.

"Hungry," I muttered finally.

"Kitchen. Noodles. That's all I have energy for."

We cooked together, playing loud music, dancing with spoons as microphones. Honestly, only Ama can make me forget I'm supposed to be stressed.

In the middle of our cooking concert, my phone rang. Unknown number.

Ama raised a brow. "Maybe it's Abdul."

"Abdul doesn't hide," I replied, swiping to answer anyway. "Salam alaikum?"

"Wa alaikum salam," came a soft female voice. "I'm Hanan. Abdullah's sister."

My heart did a somersault. "Oh, hey! Ya kike?"

"Lafiya qalau, in-law. How are wedding preps?"

I laughed nervously. "Alhamdulillah. You?"

She sounded friendly, asking about my studies. When I mentioned medicine, her tone brightened. "That's great! We'll be classmates soon. I'm looking forward to meeting you."

"Same here."

We exchanged a few more polite words before she hung up.

Ama's eyes gleamed. "New friend?"

"Yeah. Abdul's sister."

Ama nodded approvingly. "She sounds nice. But don't worry, if she tries anything funny, I'll come to Abuja myself."

I grinned. "Wallahi, I believe you."

The rest of the evening was filled with food, gossip, and laughter until the clock forced me back home. My mind replayed everything: Abdul's grin on video call, Aunty's teasing in the kitchen, Ama's loyal banter, and the unexpected phone call from Hanan.
For the first time in weeks, I wasn't anxious. I was just... excited.

Excited to step into this new chapter, flaws, chaos, and all.

Ummeetarh05