Fa'iza Mubarak Hakimi.

I have gone on a few dates before, most of which Ummi forced me to go to or Ruqayya asked me to accompany her only for me to go and find it it's a double date and I've been set up for a blind date. So this date is actually something I'm putting in efforts for, and I have no idea what to wear.

It already 3.45pm and Abdallah said our ride will arrive by 4.30pm. And even though I insisted we use mine, Ruqayya's or both our cars, Abdallah outright refused. He said he has already rented two cars, one for each of our duos. I think the man has an ego or something. Or he's one of those misogynistic men with twisted thoughts about women. I can't be sure, but I will find out on this date.

That was the first time I spoke to Abdallah by the way. We have never spoken, until today when he saw me coming back from a celebratory outing with one of my uni friends and he told me the times and other details for the date.

I would've asked for Ruqayya's help but the woman has been in front of the mirror for the past hour, apparently making herself up, covering up blemishes and watching videos on feminine energy and all those stuff, none of which I think will help her but who am I to say anything?

And now, here I am, looking through my abaya rack for the umpteenth time. I know Ruqayya won't like me matching with her, so the olive two piece abaya is out of the question. My eyes go over the handful of abayas I have and I decide to finally look at the other racks.

Laces, shadda and kampala are not even options. So I'm left with atamfas and the other clothes I won't even spare a look. I finally decide on a pink and blue wrap-around gown with a blue veil. I don't bother with makeup, not today. I just simply apply lip gloss and a bit of kohl to make my tired eyes look less lifeless. I had another nightmare last night, hence the tired eyes.

I step out, hoping not to come across Ummi but unfortunately she's right by the stairs, with her book in hand, this time a history book about Abubakar Sadiq RA. She frowns the moment she sights me coming. I plaster a smile and stand in front of her.

"Meye haka?" I frown.

"Meya faru?" Ummi takes in my outfit.

"Did you see what your sister wore?" I shake my head.

"Kije ki saka gown, koh riga da skirt."I look down at my outfit. Am I not wearing a gown?

"I'm wearing a gown, Ummi." Ummi does something with her eyes that resemble a roll.

"Let's go." I sigh and follow behind. There's no escaping Ummi now. I have to dress up.

We enter my room and go straight to the closet. It take Ummi less than five minutes to pick out a pleated high-waist skirt together with a matching body hug, shoes, a veil and jewelries. It's like the woman already pictured me in the clothes before we came into the room.

"Get dressed." And then she walks out of the closet, no doubt to go wait for me in the room. It's a red skirt with white polka dots, the body hug is red and the veil is white. Then the shoe are silver heels. The jewelries, consisting of a long chain necklace that rests on my bosom, small studs for earrings, two knuckle rings, a bracelet and tiny hoop earrings that are silver. It's good she didn't insist I put any jewelry in my nose piercing, I only do that when I'm feeling confident.

When I step out, she smiles proudly.

"Now this is my daughter. Ina jakan?" I sigh and without argument, I go back and pick the bag that came with the shoes I'm wearing and hold it. Her smiles morphs into a grin and she stands up and blows prayers over my head before she leaves. I put my phone, ATM card —just incase—, and my lip gloss in the bag then step out.

According to my phone, it is already past four and since my monthly visitor is here, I am not allowed to pray, but I won't show that. Hopefully, I don't get any cramps on the date. Though my cramps only come at night, like some devil's handwork.

I go to the foyer to find BK coming into the house. He's dressed in black jeans and a white t-shirt, a leather jacket thrown on it. It's like the man doesn't realize the temperature outside is about thirty six degrees but who am I to judge?

"Assalamu Alaikum warahmatullahi wa barakatuh." BK says, giving me a once over. His sweep of my form with his eyes has me adjusting my perfectly wrapped veil.

"Ameen wa alaikas salam."

"Ruqayya fah?" Before I can open my mouth and reply, I hear her voice beside me.

"I'm right here. I hope I'm not interrupting something scandalous." Ruqayya looks pointedly at me but I ignore her gaze. Wallahi the girl has a problem.

"No, not at all. I just came in and I met Fa'iza here so I was asking her for your whereabouts." Poor guy, from his rushed explanation I can tell Ruqayya is starting to have him in tight wraps. He'll be gone before he even realizes it.

"Whatever, I'm ready when you are." BK nods and gestures for Ruqayya to start walking, and then he follows closely behind.

I also walk out, looking around to see if I can find Abdallah anywhere. I finally sight a car that's not belonging to anyone in this house, a white Chevrolet with tinted glasses, and the engine is running.

Abdallah can't be waiting for me in there, expecting me to figure it all out like some soothsayer, can he? I decide to test my theory, so I walk to the car and knock on the glass window. It rolls down and Abdallah's grim face is revealed.

"Get in," He says and rolls his window back up. Rude!

I enter the car and close the door. A faint scent of Oud and car perfume or whatever they call it waft through my nostrils. I turn to him to find him looking at me with disapproval.

"Baki da atamfa ne?" Excuse me?

"Pardon?" I take in his own dressing, a huge contrast to his brother's. Obsidian shiny kaftan with silver jewelry and a black cap.

"No proper arewa Muslim woman is supposed to dress like that." Before I can open my mouth to reply, he swerves the car and drives out, behind BK. I didn't even notice the absence of the car BK and Ruqayya are occupying.

"Use your seat belt." I do as he said and he starts driving. It takes us twenty minutes to get to the restaurant. When we do, I take off my seat belt and is about to go in when Abdallah's voice stops me.

"Wrap your veil around you properly, it's already bad enough that you have decided to dress like this." I want to argue with him that I am well covered but I shut my mouth. I don't like confrontations and even if this isn't anything close to a confrontation, I don't want to risk it.

Hopefully, this is the only red flag he has.

He steps out of the car and I follow behind him, clutching my bag to my side. I can see BK and Ruqayya enter the restaurant side by side in front of me. So I pick up my pace and start walking beside Abdallah.

"Don't walk beside me, that's disrespectful. Walk in front of me, or behind me." I almost get a whiplash from how quick I turn to him. He isn't even sparing me a glance. I don't want to walk in front of him, that's uncomfortable. So I lag behind and wait until he's in front of me before I continue walking.

He asks for a table for two that is far away from the entrance and we are led to one. He takes a seat first before I take mine. A waiter is in front of us almost immediately, asking us the kind of water we'd like first while we go through the menu.

Before I can open my mouth, Abdallah speaks.

"I'll have sparkling water, and she'll have plain water." Ehn?! Is this man actually okay?!

I wait for the waiter to leave before I turn to him with a frown.

"Why would you order for me? I wanted lemon water." Abdallah looks up for a split second before his eyes go back to the menu.

"Here is your water. Have you decided on what to order just yet?" I open my mouth to reply, but again, I'm cut off by Abdallah.

"I will have the mangolian beef with gusto mix and she'll have the fattoush and fresh carrot juice." The waiter bows and leaves. I skim through the menu to see what he has ordered for me. My lips fall to the table, literally, when I see the supposed fattoush.

"You ordered the cheapest salad in the menu, and a carrot drink, with no other food for me." He raises a brow, waiting for me to say something.

"You could've allowed me to order something myself. I'm not really a fan of salads. And carrot juices are hardly ever sweet. You could've ordered watermelon." Abdallah snickers at the same time our foods arrive, well, his food and my bundle of leaves and vegetables.

"Should you need anything else, I'll be around the corner." The waiter leaves again and Abdallah digs into his food after I catch the slightest hint of Bismillah. Well, at least that's one green flag, out of almost ten red flags.

I say Bismillah and start eating the salad, hoping I can actually eat it and tamp it down with water so it stays down because I always end up throwing salads up. The reason why Ummi stopped making us salads for dinner and breakfast as a starter.

"How old are you?" Abdallah says as he takes a sip of his oh so fancy drink.

"I'm twenty three." Abdallah scrunches his face up as he looks at me.

"I thought you'd be like twenty. No wonder."

"Excuse me, no wonder what?"

"You're so not well behaved mana. You think you've done it with life so you do what you want to. That day at the table, if I were your mum, I would've smacked you across the face. You ladies these days just don't know your place." He shakes his head and I feel bile rising up to my throat. This man is sick.

"Anyways, I'm thirty three, so you will talk to me with respect. I'm older than you by a whole ten years. You will call me Yaya. And I don't like endearments. You will call me, as I just said, Yaya. No baby, sweetheart or anything of that sort." I stop eating the salad and look him in the eye, but he's not even sparing me a glance.

"I don't know what makes you say ladies don't know their place but that's not a good thing to say, you have no idea what happened that day. That's my family's problem to deal with. You are not allowed to have any opinions regarding my family." Abdallah raises his head and looks at me before he lets out a chuckle.

"Am I not going to marry you?" I almost shout no, but I fold my lips in. I don't want to be so quick in judging him. It's just past five now, and we have another place to go to. So I won't be able to say anything regarding that until after the night is over.

I look around and find Ruqayya and Abdallah eating and laughing at something. They look so happy, and I'm sure from afar we look like this Arewa couple where the wife is scared of her husband. Ew. I don't want to ever have that kind of relationship. Ever.

"Anyways, finish your salad. I want to ask for the bill. We have somewhere else to go to."

"I'll just have it to go." He looks at me with raised brows before he gestures for the waiter.

"Can I have the bill? And she'll have her salad to go." The waiter smiles and takes the plates. I sip the carrot juice, which is surprisingly sweet, although not very sweet, but it is sweet for a carrot juice.

Before the bill is brought, I finish my juice and Abdallah is done with his mix.

"Card or cash?" Abdallah replies with the latter and I pull my card from my bag.

"Split the cost to the two of us." Abdallah looks at me like I've grown two heads before snatching my card and slamming it on the table.

"Charge it all to my card, with a one thousand naira tip." The waiter smiles appreciatively before doing as told. He hands the machine to Abdallah and he puts in his pin. We are handed a receipt and we stand up to leave. I collect my take-out bag and we leave.

"Don't you ever try to split bills with me. That is very disrespectful to me. Kuma halin yahudawa ne," Abdallah says once we're within the confines of the car.

"That's something I can't not do. I have been raised to know that my bills are mine and your bills are yours. And unless we're married, I won't allow you to just pay for my bills. And if you had offered to pay for it nicely, I would've allowed you to do just that." Abdallah scoffs and turns the corner to a very busy road.

"You expect me to go all "Can I please pay for your meal"? I took you out, isn't that enough for you to know that I will be paying for the bills? Only men with no masculinity say please and thank you to women." Yup, definitely misogynistic.

"So you believe having masculinity means not being a well mannered man?" I fold my lips in when Abdallah looks at me pointedly. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. Because the way he's looking at me right now, it's not good, at all. He doesn't reply until we stop at a red light.

"Today should be the last time you ever say something like that to me. You dare not question my manners, don't you dare do that again. Is that how you were brought up?" I turn to him with narrowed eyes when he continues to move.

"You also just questioned my manners. And I didn't mean for it to come out like that anyways." I turn to the window, eager for this disaster of a date to just end so I can go back to reading the book I bought this morning when I went out.

"If we're going to get married, I'm going to have to let you know some things I expect of my wife. First of all, you will not work, or have a business. Everything you may want or need will be sponsored by me." I turn to him, almost having a whiplash, again.

This man makes me want to cuss! The actual freak is he talking about? What is he, an eighteenth century man? We are in twenty twenty two, for Allah's sake! Not working? Oh never, no way he's being serious.

"You're joking, right?" One look has me nodding, right, he's not joking.

"Well, I have a degree in psychology. And I will start working on Monday In Shaa Allah. And after I get married, I plan on going to Qatar for my masters, In Shaa Allah." He scoffs.

"Demolish those In Shaa Allahs. You will do no such thing." I can feel anger bubbling deep within me.

"Until you see me in your bedroom as your wife, you can't say that." I will not, even to save a baby, get married to this man. No freaking way.

"Secondly, you will not wear skirts or whatever they are called. It will be gowns and zani for you. And if you must wear a veil, then it will be that wrap around thing you do. Otherwise, you will only wear a hijab. Your hand will never be allowed free of red henna, and you will not have any makeup." What have Ummi and Abba gotten me into? What am I? Some girl from the village? Abdallah better be kidding.

"Again, you will not have junks. I dislike fat women. That is why I ordered a salad for you." Okay, now he's joking.

"If I was going to get fat, I would've gotten fat a long time ago. I do not have it in me to get even thick, not to talk about chubby, or fat, as you put it." Abdallah scoffs as he parks in front of what looks to be a shopping mall.

"That's what all girls say. Get married, get knocked up, give birth and you'll look like an overfeeding hippo. Get out." I gape. Well eff it! I don't cuss but this man makes me want to. How can you have such disgusting thoughts?

We enter the complex, me walking behind him. He picks a perfume and two packets of chocolate for me then we leave.

The drive home is a quiet one. He doesn't talk and neither do I. When I get home, I go straight to Ummi's room, recounting every bit of our date with her. When I'm done, she bursts into laughter.

"I'm not shocked that this is who Salaha raised. Let me tell you a small story about that family. I didn't want to, but I guess it's better you know." I want to sit but Ummi stops me.

"Go and change and take a bath first. Then bring your salad with you." I scowl at Ummi and leave.

12-05-2023
Edited

Jumu'ah Mubarak. May Allah forgive our shortcomings.

How was the chapter? Who wants to go on a date with Abdallah? 😂

Okay. Bye!