P for Perfect

Chapter 4- Jibril

Small beginnings are the best- Khalil

The table is long and filled up with so much food, the sight of it kills my appetite. It's 7 in the evening and I should probably be doing my math and algebra assignment, or playing Free Fire with Umar and Alex, or doing something that normal teens my age do. But no, I'm sitting on this table with my mum and dad and their friend's entire family, directly across the girl, who last month, I was told would be my wife after I graduate from University.

Shitty. I know.

Who still does that in this age and time?

My parents apparently.

"Did you prepare all this yourself?" Aunt Farah asks my mother after dad finishes praying, the delight evident on her face. Mum nods excitedly and proceeds to dish out her plate even though it's supposed to be a serve yourself meal. Like my dad, Uncle Khalil and Aunt Farah migrated from Saudi Arabia a couple of years back because of the businesses they'd built in Nigeria. Unlike my dad, Uncle Khalil stuck to his Arabian queen. Not that I'm against dad marrying my mum, I'm we'll aware that that was not the original plan.

I guess it all worked out well though.

"Jibril, won't you serve yourself?" Dad asks me, snapping me out of my thoughts. Although he is the one talking to me, my eyes immediately jump to Salma's, my future bride. Gosh it's weird to even think about it.

"I will," I murmur but make no move to serve myself until mum's done taking hers. Salma serves herself last, and the food she allows herself to eat is so...small. My gaze travels from her tiny portion of the pounded yam to her face. Her eyes are like Aunt Farah's, slim but impressive. And you wouldn't think that her light brown pupils would draw so much of your attention. Her hijab is loose so I can see some of her dark brown hair, again just like Aunt Farah's. Her eyes hold very little emotion except respect for the adults and gratitude. She dutifully avoids my gaze but if I'm smart enough, I'd say she's just as confused as I am.

"Salma, is that all you'll eat?" Mum asks, the wonder evident in her face.

"It's enough for me," she assures mum but mum shakes her head adamantly. Unlike with me, she's cool with them. Because they've all been around each other for a long time, mum knows Salma like the back of her hand. But I've never really spent time with her. I've only met her once, and I was with Yamíl so I didn't stay with them for long before going upstairs.

"I made egusi just because of you o, better take plenty now, abi you want my food to waste?" Mum jokes but it's enough to cajole Salma into adding more soup. Nobody wants food to be wasted o, especially when it's not your house.

"I'm happy we could finally have this dinner, I was beginning to think it wouldn't happen," Uncle Khalil says with a smile on his face.

"Ah why not, in fact the next one will be at your house," dad so carelessly promises. Which next one? These people should give me a break abeg.

"I just hope their schools won't affect the dinner, they seem to always have something they're doing," Aunt Farah laments, giving both me and Salma sad looks. Like she didn't have the worst experience with school, being a doctor and all.

"Do you have any project coming up?" Mummy asks me immediately, startling me into silence. Do I? The term just started.

"No, not yet," I amend.

"What about you Salma?" She asks Salma, who shakes her head.

"We can have dinner on Friday then, we'll even pray together," Uncle Khalil offers, his hands clasping together in finality. I want to squeeze those hands until they break.

"That's lovely!" Mummy smiles, soon enough they're all smiling. Everyone but me and I don't need her to remove her mask to know that Salma is not smiling as well.

••••

Uncle Khalil and Dad walk ahead of us to his Jeep. Mum and Aunty Farah walk behind us. This is obviously a set up but hasn't this entire night been a set up? Our compound is large so the walk to the garage is not so short, and it feels longer with Salma. She's either just as angry as I am about this, or she's timid and shy, waiting for me to talk to her.

I don't want to. I'd rather just observe. Her hair is black and shiny, I know because mum says so, I've never seen it. Her choice of dressing is also classy, just like her mum's. But this could be just that, her mum's and not her choice of dressing. She has her hand holding the tip of her hijab so tight like it could fall of at any moment. I don't think it will though.

"How old are you?" She finally speaks. For a moment I'm to stunned to reply. Is she bothered by my age?

"I'm 19," I reply. There's another moment of silence and I find myself staring at her side profile, because she's staring straight ahead.

"Already? Or you're just turning 19?" She asks again.

"Already. My birthday is in March. How about you? How old are you?"

"I'm 17."

"Really?" I don't know why I'm so surprised.

"Born in May." We walk in silence, the conversation dead.

"So you really don't have any work at school?" She raises her left brow. Her presence is beginning to overwhelm me.

"Nothing that'll stop me from...this."

"You don't want it either," she observes.

"I don't have a choice."

"Neither do I," she finally raises her head to look at me. I search for anger in her face but all I see is passive aggression. It's not enough.

We walk in silence again until we finally get to the garage. The adults hug themselves tightly like they won't be seeing themselves next week. When it's out turn Salma makes it easy for both of us by nodding a curt goodbye.

I stand next to my parents and watch them drive out, the image of her green eyes stuck in my head.

Jibril: They just left
Yamíl: how'd it go?
Jibril: I don't even know.
Yamíl: is she pretty?
typing...
Yamíl: ehn?
Jibril: yes.

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Phew! 5 chapters down! This chapter is dedicated to my favorite reader thedariachronicles for voting and commenting on every chapter!! Good news is that I'll be doing double updates until further notice ^^ I hope you enjoy them!

QOTD:
What would you do if you were betrothed?