The salam we didn't see

The library had a strange way of making time disappear. One minute I was opening my laptop, promising myself I'd only stay for an hour, and the next, sunlight had shifted across the windows, students had quietly come and gone, and my neck ached from staring at journal articles that all seemed determined to confuse me.

Final year wasn't for the weak.

Every article I opened led to another reference. Every reference led to another book. Somewhere between literary criticism and research methodology, I had completely forgotten there was a world outside the library.

My phone vibrated against the table.

I glanced at the screen and smiled before I even unlocked it.

Ahmad.

Ahmad: Where are you?

I adjusted my glasses before replying.

Me: The library.

His response came almost immediately, asking if I was already on campus. I told him, unfortunately, I was. He teased me, wondering if four hundred level was really that bad, and I replied that final year didn't seem to believe in happiness.

A few seconds passed before another message appeared.

He said he refused to believe anyone who started a sentence with "unfortunately" before ten in the morning had eaten breakfast.

A quiet laugh escaped me.

Me: I actually ate.

Ahmad: I'm shocked.

Me: Why?

Ahmad: You sound like someone surviving purely on determination and Lipton.

I covered my mouth to stop myself from laughing out loud.

A girl seated across from me looked up briefly before returning to her book.

Me: You're disturbing my research.

His reply came almost immediately.

Ahmad: Should I leave you alone then?

I stared at the message for a moment before typing.

Me: No.

Then, after another second-

Me: I needed the distraction anyway.

There was a small pause before the typing indicator appeared again.

Ahmad: What's your favourite childhood memory?

The question caught me off guard.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling instead of my phone. Favourite memory? That was harder than it sounded. After almost a minute, I finally typed.

Me: I don't think I have one.

He replied with a confused emoji.

I smiled.

Me: Every memory with my father is my favourite.

For a moment, I forgot about the library.

remembered sitting beside Papa after Maghrib while he corrected my Qur'an recitation with endless patience. I remembered riding in front of him on his old motorcycle when I was little, convinced no place in the world was safer. I remembered the way he laughed so freely that everyone around him ended up laughing too, even when they didn't know the joke.

Choosing one memory felt impossible.

He answered with a simple line.

Ahmad: You must really love your father.

I smiled.

Me: Very much.

Another message followed.

Ahmad: What course did you actually want to study?

I laughed softly before typing.

Me: Law.

His reply came so quickly it made me wonder if he'd been waiting.

Ahmad: Really?

Me: Really.

Ahmad: Then why English?

I shook my head, already smiling before I answered.

Me: Because my mother is convinced lawyers are professional liars.

This time, his reply didn't come immediately.

Instead-

😂😂😂

Then another message.

Ahmad: She actually said that?

Me: Word for word.

Ahmad: I'm sorry... I'm trying to respect your mother but that's the funniest thing I've heard today.

I bit my lip to stop another laugh.

Me: She says court teaches people how to lie convincingly, so she'd rather I stay away from it.

Ahmad: And your father?

Me: He said if Mama had already decided, then Allah must have written something else for me.

Another short silence. Then-

Ahmad: Your parents sound completely different.

They were. Papa loved with laughter. Mama loved with reminders. Different words. Same love. My phone buzzed again before I could reply. This time it was Maryam.

Maryam: Still hiding in the library?

I smiled.

Me: Unfortunately.

Her reply came instantly.

Maryam: Come outside when you're done. I'll meet you at the entrance and we'll go home together.

Me: Give me five minutes.

I packed my books into my bag, returned the journals to the shelves and signed out at the circulation desk before stepping outside.

The afternoon sun was warm without being harsh. Students crossed the courtyard in every direction. Some hurried toward lectures while others gathered beneath the neem trees, laughing loudly enough to be heard from halfway across campus.

Maryam was already waiting near the library entrance.

She folded her arms dramatically.

"I was beginning to think you'd moved into the library permanently." "I've considered it."

She laughed. "Project has finally finished you."

"It started with my peace of mind."

"It'll end with your sleep."

"I haven't slept properly in weeks." She linked her arm through mine as we began walking toward the university gate.

Around us, conversations floated through the air in Hausa, yoruba English and other languages.

Someone called after a friend. A lecturer hurried past with a stack of scripts. Two girls argued over whose supervisor was stricter. Just another ordinary afternoon. As we reached the Faculty of Arts walkway, a male voice greeted politely.

"Assalamu alaikum."

"Wa alaikumus salam," Maryam and I answered automatically. Neither of us slowed down.

Neither of us looked up. Greeting people on campus was as ordinary as breathing.

After a few more steps, I glanced sideways.

"Kin san shi?" I asked. Maryam looked confused.

"Waye?"

"The guy that greeted us."

She laughed."A'a." I smiled to myself.

"He probably just saw two fine girls and decided he couldn't pass without greeting." Maryam burst into laughter.

"Wallahi, these boys."

"They'll greet anything that smiles."

"Not just smile ohh anythingthat wears skirt"

We laughed together all the way to the university gate. Outside, the usual line of kekes waited beneath the trees.

Maryam's hostel was in the opposite direction from mine, so we hugged briefly before climbing into different tricycles. As mine pulled away from the gate, my phone vibrated once.

I didn't need to check the name.

Somehow... I already knew.

Ahmad.

I smiled to myself but resisted the temptation to open the message immediately. Let him wait a little.

By the time I reached my apartment and changed into something more comfortable, the afternoon had softened into evening.

Only then did I unlock my phone..

Ahmad: I saw you on campus today.

A small frown crossed my face.

Me: You did?

His reply came almost instantly. He described exactly where I had been standing outside the library, the colour of my hijab, Mary's black abaya, and the conversation we'd seemed to be enjoying as we walked away.

I stared at the screen. Then typed-

Me: Why didn't you say anything?

His answer appeared almost immediately.

Ahmad: I did.

I frowned harder.

Me: No, you didn't.

Another message.

Ahmad: I greeted you.

Realisation hit me all at once. I laughed so loudly I had to cover my mouth.

Me: That was you?

Ahmad: It was.

I shook my head, still smiling.

Me: How have we been talking for weeks and I still don't know what you look like, while you know exactly what I look like? That isn't fair.

There was no reply. One minute passed.

Eventually I placed my phone beside my pillow, convinced he'd gone offline.Just as I was about to switch off the light, the screen lit up one last time.

Ahmad: Is that your way of asking to see me?

I stared at the words for several seconds before a smile spread across my face.

Shaking my head, I typed my reply.

Me: Don't flatter yourself.

The smile stayed on my lips long after the phone screen went dark.