UNCOUTHLY ATTACHED

UNCOUTHLY ATTACHED: 79.

Kano State, Nigeria.
2018.

People die but memories don't. The memories are like black canvas of sky full with stars, so beautiful yet unreachable. We can gaze up at them everyday and smile but couldn't complete the urge of reaching out for them, to get closer and bask in their warmth. Maybe that is that is the power memories have, to have your heart yearning and craving for the old days spent together. The yearn to be back in that person's arms knowing they are gone forever.

The day bleeds into night and Falak could think about nothing but her father. It's been long since she last thought about him that deeply apart from when she is saying a prayer for him in each of her sujud. She missed her father so much at that moment and could only sit down to recall the memories they shared. The bittersweet ones that gets ruined when her stepmother will come and ruin it for them. Though it's a village of Fulani people and they are known for their shy nature so they are not really too bond up but the father and daughter relationship can't be denied. He's loved her like his life.

She's changed into her silky knee length trouser and button up shirt pajamas and settle herself on her side of the bed. She placed her head on her knees and start to think about all the things he's done for her, the ones he sacrificed just for her own happiness. Even though he made the mistake of not taking her to her mother, she understands what he was feeling at that moment and will not hold it against him.

He felt like he has no one in the world except her and if he'd let her go, he would be all alone and that village is not a home to some no matter how long you've stayed. She would stay with him for a long time if it is said again and won't change anything from their lives to come for luxury. She hardly gets something enough to eat but his love is enough to placate her grumbling stomach and not think about his endless advises. He is always full of advises which she missed. He would've become a great motivational speaker in her village as people come for advises most of the times.

If he was still alive, she would've been rained with advises that she won't dare do anything wrong again in her life. Even now when she wants to do something, his words will halt her from doing so. She don't want to disappoint her dead father and disrespect his words. He is the best person out there and she is terribly missing him. Her father was her joy and role model, it's a disaster that she don't even have his picture with her.

Or she should go to the village and demand that Adama should give her one if she has, she could only hope she does. Or maybe she can have some artist to draw it for her since she can describe her father's face even after waking up from sleep but the first option is better than the last so hopefully, she will be going to Matan Fada very soon.

"Why are you crying?" Came Shaddad's voice as he trudged into the room after finishing his work back in the living room.

"Nothing." She sniffed, not knowing when the tears gushed down her cheeks and she could feel it's stickiness on her neck which means she's cried so much.

She heard his sigh then saw him sitting down on the bed next to her already dressed in his favorite pair of slate sweats. He is also ready to sleep so she sniffed one last time and hastily clean her tears not to leave any trace. She could swear he has never seen her cry after the little incidence some years back when she vowed to move on from him in the dining table right in front of everyone. Since then she's never cried except the ones she shed when Bilal betrayed and that was it.

"What is it?" He asked again, this time his voice more quite but the quite decree of authority and concern is interweaved in and she can't help pouring her heart out.

"I was only thinking about my father." She cried yet again as though she didn't finish clearing the tears from her face and neck, now it made it's way to the valley of her breasts.