Friday felt different

Friday mornings always felt different.

There was something about waking up without the fear of an alarm or the dread of an eight o'clock lecture that made the whole world seem softer. Even the air felt different.

I opened my eyes just before the adhan for Fajr echoed across the neighbourhood. For a few seconds, I simply lay there, staring at the ceiling.

Quiet.

No Maryam banging on my door. No frantic search for lecture notes. No running because I had overslept. Just peace.

A smile tugged at my lips. Alhamdulillah.

I climbed out of bed, folded my blanket neatly and made my way to the bathroom for wudu.

The water was cold enough to chase away the last traces of sleep.

By the time I spread my prayer mat, the call to prayer had already begun.

"Allahu Akbar... Allahu Akbar..."

I prayed slowly. There was nowhere to rush to.

No lecture waiting. No attendance sheet. Just me and my Lord.

After the tasleem, I remained seated on my prayer mat. The Qur'an rested on the wooden rehal beside me. I reached for it almost automatically. Some mornings I read a page.

Some mornings two. On Fridays...

I always found myself reading more. The pages turned beneath my fingers until my eyes settled on one of the verses that had quietly become my favourite.

"...Indeed, with hardship comes ease. Indeed, with hardship comes ease." I smiled.

Not because life was particularly difficult.

But because those words always reminded me that Allah never mentioned hardship without also mentioning relief. Twice.

As though He wanted us to never forget.

University had a way of making problems feel permanent.Projects. Assignments. Deadlines. Presentations. Exams. Sometimes everything arrived at once.

Yet somehow... Life always moved. Every difficult semester ended. Every stressful week passed. Every tear eventually became a story.

Maybe that was why I loved those verses so much.

They made tomorrow feel lighter.

I closed the Qur'an gently before placing it back on the rehal. Then I reached for my phone.

6:08 a.m. I smiled.

Papa would definitely be awake.

Instead of waiting for him to call, I pressed his number. It barely rang once.

"Assalamu alaikum, Papa."

"Wa alaikumus salam!"

"My Sunshine."

I laughed immediately.

"Good morning."

"It is now."

"Oh?"

"I was wondering why my daughter had forgotten her old father."

"I called before you."

"So?"

"So I didn't forget you."

"Hm."

I could already imagine him smiling.

"Have you prayed?"

"I just finished."

"And Qur'an?"

"Done."

"Alhamdulillah."

There was a pause. Then...

"So..." i knew that tone.

"What happened?"

"What makes you think something happened?"

"Because you only start conversations with 'so' when you want gist."

He laughed loudly."You know me too well."

"I learned from the best." He chuckled again before lowering his voice dramatically.

"Do you remember your cousin Khadijah?"

"The one in Kaduna?"

"Yes."

"What about her?"

"...She's getting married next month."

"Masha Allah."

Papa went on to tell me everything he knew about the wedding-from the groom, to the preparations already underway, to my aunt's excitement that had apparently spread to the entire family. I listened, laughing every now and then as he exaggerated one story after another, making even the smallest family update sound like breaking news.

Halfway through his latest tale, I heard another voice in the background.

"Who are you talking to?"

Mama.

"Our daughter."

"Give me the phone."

"You've been talking since."

"It's barely been twenty minutes."

"Exactly. Give me."

I smiled to myself as I listened to them bicker over the phone, the way they always did. It wasn't an argument. It never was. Just another ordinary morning in my family.

A moment later, Mama won.

We exchanged salams before she immediately slipped into what she did best-making sure I was eating properly, praying on time and taking care of myself. Before I could defend myself, she had already reminded me not to skip breakfast, asked about my project, warned me not to overwork myself, and somehow found a way to ask if I'd washed my hijabs recently.

Some things never changed.

Not long after, the phone found its way into my brothers' hands.

One after another, they greeted me, fought over who got to keep the phone longest, argued about whose turn it was, and spent the next several minutes filling me in on everything I'd missed back home. One cousin was getting married, another had finally gained admission into university after writing UTME again, an uncle had somehow injured himself trying to prove he was still young enough to play football, and somewhere in between all of that, they collectively accused me of abandoning Lagos for Kano.

I denied every accusation.

None of them believed me.

By the time Papa finally rescued his phone from my brothers and ended the call, nearly two hours had passed without any of us noticing.

Only my family could turn a simple Friday morning greeting into an entire morning of laughter.

I laughed to myself as I placed my phone on the bedside table.

Only my family could turn a simple Friday morning greeting into nearly two hours of conversation.

The apartment fell quiet again. Outside, the neighbourhood was beginning to wake up.

I reached for my phone again. Just after eight.

Normally, I'd already be getting ready for lectures by now, mentally preparing myself for another long day of classes, assignments and project discussions.

Today...

There was no timetable waiting for me.

Just Friday.

A smile tugged at my lips as I pulled the blanket over myself once more.

"Alhamdulillah."

Within minutes, I drifted back to sleep.

...

The next time I opened my eyes, sunlight had completely taken over my room. I frowned.

That wasn't right. I reached for my phone.

10:07 a.m. "Subhanallah."

I hadn't meant to sleep that long. Stretching lazily, I climbed out of bed and tied my scarf properly before opening the windows. Cool air drifted into the room, carrying the familiar sounds of Kano outside.

My eyes wandered around my room. It wasn't dirty. But it definitely wasn't clean either.

A pair of jeans lay carelessly across the chair. Two novels sat open on my table exactly where I'd abandoned them two nights ago. My prayer dress had somehow found its way onto the edge of the bed, while a small pile of folded clothes waited patiently to be returned to the wardrobe.

I folded my arms.

"I can't live like this."

For the next hour, I cleaned. I folded every piece of clothing, arranged my books according to size, dusted the table, swept the tiled floor and wiped the window ledge before spraying a little perfume around the room.

I stepped back to admire my work.

Much better.

"This..."

I nodded to myself.

"...is somebody's daughter."

Around noon, I picked up my towel and headed for the bathroom. The cold shower washed away the last traces of sleep. When I returned to my room, I slipped into a nice atampa gown, wrapped a matching hijab around my head and glanced at myself in the mirror.

Good enough.

Almost immediately, my stomach growled. I froze. "...Really?" It growled again. I laughed.

"I heard you." Only then did I realise I hadn't eaten anything since the previous evening.

No wonder I felt like I could eat an entire pot of rice. Without wasting another minute, I grabbed my phone and keys before making my way downstairs.

The familiar aroma of spices reached me before I even knocked on Nafisa's door. "Shigo!" she called from inside.

I pushed the door open dramatically, one hand pressed against my stomach.

"Nafisa..."

She looked up from the small gas cooker.

"What?"

"I'm starving." She blinked once. "...That's your greeting?" "I'm too hungry for greetings." She burst into laughter.

"Subhanallah."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Still laughing, she shook her head. "You've not eaten?"

"I forgot."

"You forgot to eat?"

"I slept."

"You woke up and still forgot?"

"I cleaned my room."

She stared at me for a moment before sighing dramatically. "You're actually unbelievable."

"I know."

"You'll kill yourself with this behaviour one day."

"I won't."

"You say that now."

My eyes wandered towards the pot sitting on the cooker.

"What are you cooking?"

"Noodles."

My face lit up immediately.

"I love you." She pointed a wooden spoon at me.

"No, you love food."

"...Same difference."

She laughed so hard she had to lean against the kitchen counter. "You are impossible."

"I've been told." She reached for a plate, scooped out a generous portion and handed it to me.

"Eat before you faint."

"I wasn't going to faint."

"You were already acting like an abandoned child." I accepted the plate gratefully. "Allah ya saka da alkhairi."

"Ameen." The first mouthful disappeared almost embarrassingly fast. She folded her arms. "You were actually hungry."

"I told you."

"You weren't joking."

"I never joke about food."

Chuckling, she picked up her towel and rested it over one shoulder. "I'm going to take my bath."

"Take your time."

"I don't trust that smile."

"You shouldn't."

"If I come back and the pot is empty..."

"I'll deny everything."

"I knew it."

The bathroom door closed behind her.

I laughed quietly to myself as I reached for another forkful.

Friday had only just begun.

By the time Nafisa stepped out of the bathroom, the plate in front of me was empty. Not almost empty. Completely empty. She stopped in the middle of the room, one hand still drying her hair with a towel.

"You finished everything?"

I looked down at the plate innocently. "...Maybe."

She narrowed her eyes. "Amira."

"What?"

"I left for barely fifteen minutes."

"I was hungry."

"I can see that."

She laughed, shaking her head before she said

"At least wash your plate."

"I was planning to."

"You weren't."

"I was."

"You weren't."

"I was thinking about planning to."

She burst into laughter. "I can't with you."

A few minutes later she emerged fully dressed.

A deep olive-green abaya flowed loosely to her ankles, matched with a neatly wrapped black hijab that framed her face beautifully. I looked her up and down dramatically.

"Masha Allah."

She spun once.

"You like it?"

"I like it."

She smiled.

"I almost wore the blue one."

"No."

"No?"

"This one suits you more."

She looked at herself in the mirror again.

"I think so too." I stood up."Wait." She frowned.

"What?"

"We haven't taken today's pictures." Her eyes widened. "You're right!"

One thing about us...

If we dressed nicely, pictures had to be taken.

It was practically a rule. Within minutes we were outside the apartment building.

The afternoon sun wasn't harsh anymore, leaving just enough light to make everything look softer.

I leaned against the cream-painted wall while Nafisa adjusted my hijab.

"Stand properly."

"I am standing properly."

"No, you look stiff."

"I don't know how to pose."

"You've been saying that for four years."

"Because it's true."

She rolled her eyes.

"Smile."

"I am smiling."

"That is not a smile."

"It is."

"It looks like you're being forced."

I laughed.

We ended up taking far more pictures than we intended. Some serious. Most ridiculous. Half of them were ruined because one of us started laughing before the camera clicked.

By the time we finished, both of us were wiping tears from our eyes.

"I swear..." Nafisa said between laughs, "...one day we'll actually take normal pictures."

"I doubt it."

"So do I."

Still smiling, we started walking toward the mosque for Jumu'ah.

The roads were noticeably busier than they had been that morning.

Men in flowing kaftans walked in small groups. same withe the ladies so.e in abaya some material some atampa walking toward nearby mosques.

Shop owners stepped outside their stores. Children ran past us carrying little Qur'ans beneath their arms.

By the time the khutbah began, we were already seated quietly.

The prayer ended just after two.

As soon as we stepped outside, Nafisa pulled out her phone. She opened our group chat.

Nafisa: We're coming.

Maryam: Finally.

Asma'u: Don't come dressed like aunties.

I laughed.

"She's talking as if she won't wear black."

Nafisa typed immediately.

Nafisa: Be ready. We are dragging both of you out today.

Almost instantly-

Maryam: Already dressed.

Asma'u: Liar.

The four of us never needed much convincing.

If someone suggested going out...

The answer was usually yes.

We slipped our phones back into our bags and continued toward Maryam's hostel.

For a while we walked in comfortable silence.

Then...

Nafisa sighed. A long one. I glanced sideways.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"That wasn't a 'nothing' sigh."

She smiled weakly. "It's Ibrahim." Of course. "Another fight?"

"We didn't exactly fight." I waited. She continued. "We just..." She searched for the right word. "...got annoyed."

"About?" She kicked a small stone off the pavement. "The usual." I looked at her. "The usual?" She nodded. "Long-distance."

I stayed quiet. She laughed softly. "Do you know what the worst part about long-distance relationships is?" I shook my head. "When you're angry..." She looked ahead.

"...all you have is your phone." I thought about that. "I've never looked at it that way."

She smiled. "If we're in the same place, we argue today..."

"...tomorrow we settle it."

"But when someone is hundreds of kilometres away..."

She shrugged.

"...small misunderstandings become big ones."

I nodded slowly.

"Sometimes he's busy."

"Sometimes I'm busy."

"Sometimes neither of us has the energy to talk."

"And somehow..."

"...we still expect the other person to understand."

I smiled gently.

"Give him a break."

She looked at me.

"I always give him a break."

"No."

"You always defend him."

"Because someone has to."

She laughed.

"You won't understand."

"Why?"

"You've never been in a long-distance relationship."

I thought about it for a moment. She wasn't wrong. I hadn't.

In my mind...

It sounded simple. If two people genuinely cared about each other... Shouldn't communication be enough? Maybe I was being naive. Or maybe I simply didn't know enough to have an opinion.

Either way...

Long-distance wasn't something I'd ever imagined for myself. "I still think you'll settle it."

She smiled.

"In shaa Allah."

The conversation drifted naturally after that.

By the time Maryam's hostel came into view, we had already moved on to discussing outfits, shopping, and whether Asma'u would somehow convince us to spend more money than we planned.

Nafisa laughed.

"She's definitely buying shoes."

"Again?"

"Again."

I shook my head.

"That girl has a problem."

"We all do."

And with that...

We climbed the stairs toward Maryam's apartment. 

We didn't stay at Maryam's apartment for long.

Just enough time for Maryam to grab her handbag, Asma'u to change into a different hijab after deciding the first one "didn't feel right," and for all four of us to argue over who had taken the longest to get ready.

The answer, unsurprisingly, was Asma'u.

"It was five minutes."

"It was twenty," Maryam corrected.

"It wasn't twenty."

"It was."

"I changed my mind twice."

"I like having options."

"You like delaying people."

"I like fashion."

The argument continued all the way downstairs until we finally hailed a ride into town.

The driver barely pulled away before Maryam leaned forward.

"Nobody is allowed to mention school today."

"Agreed," Nafisa said immediately.

"As if you'll keep quiet," I teased.

"I will."

"You said that yesterday."

"Today is different."

"It never is."

She rolled her eyes while the rest of us laughed.

For the next twenty minutes, the car was filled with nothing but laughter.

Someone remembered an embarrassing moment from first year.

Someone else reminded us of the lecturer who once walked into the wrong classroom and taught for almost thirty minutes before realizing none of the students were his.

By the time we reached Ado Bayero Mall, my cheeks already hurt from smiling.

The afternoon disappeared surprisingly quickly.

We wandered from one clothing store to another.

Maryam bought a handbag she insisted was "an investment."

Nafisa spent almost fifteen minutes deciding between two identical hijabs.

Asma'u bought another pair of shoes despite everyone reminding her she already had too many.

And me...

I bought two oversized sweaters. Nafisa held one up. "Another baggy sweater?"

"It's comfortable."

"You own six."

"I own five."

"That's not better."

"It is."

She sighed dramatically. "I've accepted that you refuse to dress like the rest of humanity."

"I dress perfectly fine."

"You dress like you're permanently preparing for harmattan."

"I like being warm."

We stopped for lunch not long after. No one could agree on what to eat. So everyone ordered something different.

By the time the food arrived, we'd all begun stealing from each other's plates anyway.

Typical. After lunch came ice cream.

Then a movie.

By the time we walked out of the cinema, the sky had already begun changing colour.

Orange melted into pink.

Pink slowly faded into blue.

I checked the time.

"Maghrib."

Nafisa looked up immediately.

"We should head back."

No one complained.

The ride home was much quieter than the ride into town.

Everyone was tired.

Maryam rested her head against the window.

Asma'u scrolled through the hundreds of pictures we'd taken throughout the day.

Nafisa was already replying to Ibrahim's messages.

I simply watched Kano pass outside my window.

Sometimes...

A break was exactly what the heart needed.

By the time the car stopped outside our apartments, the sky had already surrendered to evening.

The orange glow that had followed us home was slowly fading into deep shades of blue, and one by one the streetlights flickered to life.

Maryam stretched dramatically as soon as she stepped out.

"Same time next month?" Asma'u asked hopefully.

"If our projects allow us," I replied.

"They won't."

"They definitely won't," Maryam agreed.

"Let's pretend they will."

"In shaa Allah," Nafisa said, smiling.

We hugged each other goodbye before the driver drove Maryam and Asma'u to their own hostel.

Nafisa and I walked toward our hostel building 

"I'm tired," she sighed.

"So am i"

"I'll probably sleep immediately after Isha."

"I believe you."

"You shouldn't."

"I don't." 

She laughed. "You know me too well."

"I do."

At the foot of the staircase, we stopped. She lived downstairs. I lived upstairs. Our routine never changed.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

"Sleep well."

"You too."

"In shaa Allah."

"In shaa Allah."

I climbed the stairs slowly, my shopping bags swinging gently against my leg. The corridor was unusually quiet.

Most students were either still out or inside preparing for Maghrib. I unlocked my door and stepped inside. Silence greeted me.I always liked that about my room.

After spending an entire day surrounded by people, the quiet somehow felt welcoming.

I placed the shopping bags beside my wardrobe before making wudu.

A few minutes later, I stood on my prayer mat once again. Maghrib.

Then later, after spending some time arranging the clothes I'd bought, I prayed Isha. Only when I finished did I finally allow myself to relax.

I untied my hijab and folded it neatly onto the chair before changing into my favourite clothes.

A soft fitted cream top.

A patterned wrapper tied comfortably around my waist. The kind of outfit that immediately told my body the day was over.

I climbed onto my bed with a small sigh of satisfaction.

"My feet..."

They were officially protesting. I reached for my phone and tyrn my data on. 

The screen lit up. One notification. Snapchat. I didn't use my phone much today cause I was with the girls.

Ahmad.

I opened the chat.

The first thing I noticed wasn't his message.

It was mine. Sent hours earlier.

Jumu'ah Mubarak. 🌿

A small smile touched my lips.

It had felt strange not waking up to his usual message that morning.

For weeks now, he'd somehow managed to beat me to it almost every day.

When he didn't...

I had noticed. More than I cared to admit.

Below my message sat his reply, time-stamped 4:07 p.m.

-Jumu'ah Mubarak. Sorry, today was hectic. We had lectures almost back-to-back, and there were some issues in my department we had to sort out. I just got a chance to breathe.

I frowned slightly. Poor guy.Without thinking too much about it, I typed back.

-Oh. Allah sarki. Hope everything was sorted out?

I barely had time to place the phone down before it vibrated again. I blinked. That was fast.

-Alhamdulillah. We managed to fix it.

I smiled. So he was online. Another message appeared almost immediately.

-How was your day?

I rested against my pillow.

-Good actually. My friends kidnapped me.

His reply came within seconds.

-😂 Kidnapped?

-Shopping. Food. Movie. Ice cream.

-Sounds fun.

-It was.

-Worth it?

I looked toward the shopping bags leaning against my wardrobe.A laugh escaped me.

-Very.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. For some reason...My heart beat a little faster. Then his next message came through.

-Actually... i and the others are downstairs. Bash came to see Nafisa.

I read it once. Then again. Another message followed.

-Would it be okay if I came upstairs and finally said hello properly?

I stared at my screen. For several long seconds...

I did absolutely nothing. Then my eyes slowly drifted away from the phone. Around my room.

Then...

Down at myself.

The oversized T-shirt I'd changed into after praying.

The wrapper tied around my waist.

I made a face.

"...Absolutely not."

Before I could even think twice, I jumped off the bed and hurried toward my wardrobe.

"What exactly are you doing?" I muttered to myself, pulling the doors open.

"He's not coming inside."

That was true. He wasn't. He'd only be upstairs.

Outside.

Still...

I couldn't exactly walk out looking as though I'd been ready for bed.

My eyes scanned the hanging clothes before settling on my favourite pair of soft, baggy blue jeans. Perfect.

Next came a loose white long-sleeved sweater.

The night air had become chilly anyway. It made sense.

At least...

That's what I told myself.

A few minutes later, i wore a nice scarve around my head before looking up at the mirror.

I paused. Then laughed quietly.

"Amira..."

I shook my head at my own reflection.

"He's just coming upstairs."

Not to propose. Not to ask for your hand.

Just...

To say hello.

Why was I behaving like this?My phone vibrated again.

-Only if you're comfortable. No pressure.

The smile returned before I could stop it.

I picked up my phone. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second. Then I typed. 

-Give me five minutes.

I pressed send.

Waited out the 5 mint 

Locked my room.

Stepped into the cool evening air of the upstairs corridor...

...and waited.

.............

Author's Note 🤍

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. 😊

Don't forget to vote, comment, and let me know your favourite moment. See you in the next chapter, In shaa Allah. 🌙