By twenty-two, Zainab Bello had perfected the art of disliking men without apology. Not quietly. Not politely. Loudly, deliberately, and with enough reasons to justify it. Men talked too much when they knew too little. They took space like it was owed to them. They listened only when it suited them. And if there was one thing Zainab was certain of, it was this: any room that required her to shrink for a man was not a room she intended to stay in. So when the white Benz scratched her car and sped off without an apology that morning, she didn't see an accident. She saw proof. NOT A HALAL LOVE STORY!!!