The things he didn’t say
#
There are some people whose presence changes the atmosphere of a room without them doing anything to deserve the attention.
Ridhwan was one of them.
I didn't understand why.
Perhaps it was because he rarely spoke unless he had something to say. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself—quietly, without the need to announce where he had been or what he was doing.
Or perhaps it was simply because I had known him before I understood him.
I watched him greet Hauwa.
“Ya Ridhwan,” she said.
“Hauwa.”
She smiled.
“Long time.”
“Very.”
“You've changed.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“How?”
“You look older.”
He laughed.
“That's because I am older.”
“Not that much.”
He shook his head.
Hauwa laughed.
I looked away.
There was something almost strange about seeing him in this house again.
The last time I had been there, everything had felt different.
I had been younger.
The house had seemed enormous.
Ridhwan had been little more than a familiar face I occasionally saw disappearing behind a bedroom door.
Now, standing there in front of me, he seemed more composed than I remembered.
Older.
More deliberate.
And considerably harder to read.
---
Mummy insisted that we stay for lunch.
Of course, "lunch" at Mummy's house never meant a simple meal.
By the time we sat down, there were enough dishes on the table to feed twice the number of people present.
Rice.
Chicken.
Salad.
Miyan taushe.
Fried plantain.
And a bowl of pepper sauce that Hanan kept reaching for despite everyone repeatedly warning her.
“Don't touch it,” Jalal said.
“Why?”
“You'll cry.”
“I won't.”
“You will.”
“I won't!”
Mummy looked up.
“Hanan.”
She immediately withdrew her hand.
“Yes, Mummy.”
Everyone laughed.
I sat beside Amrah.
Ridhwan was opposite us.
For most of the meal, he barely spoke.
He answered questions when addressed.
Smiled occasionally.
Listened more than he talked.
Then Amrah leaned toward me.
“Se’ad.”
“Hm?”
She whispered,
“You've become quiet.”
I looked at her.
“I am always quiet.”
“Not like this.”
“What do you mean?”
She glanced toward Ridhwan.
Then back at me.
“Nothing.”
I narrowed my eyes.
She smiled innocently.
I ignored her.
But the comment remained somewhere in the back of my mind.
---
After lunch, Mummy sent us to the sitting room while she remained in the kitchen.
Amrah immediately began telling us some university gossip.
Hauwa joined in.
I listened.
Ridhwan sat at the far end of the room with his phone in his hand.
Every now and then, his expression changed.
A slight frown.
A smile.
A brief pause.
Nothing significant.
Yet I found myself wondering what he was reading.
Then he stood.
“I'll be back.”
“Where are you going?” Amrah asked.
“Outside.”
“Why?”
He looked at her.
“Because I want to.”
She laughed.
“See this boy.”
He shook his head and walked away.
I watched him disappear through the door.
Amrah noticed.
She didn't say anything.
Neither did I.
---
I found Mummy later in the kitchen.
She was supervising the preparation of dinner.
“You're cooking again?”
She laughed.
“Do you think this family survives on air?”
I smiled.
“No.”
“Come and help me.”
I joined her.
For the next twenty minutes, we spoke about school.
Then she asked casually,
“Are you settling into Gombe?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like your department?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She paused.
Then added,
“Ridhwan said you've been talking.”
I looked at her.
“He told you?”
“Yes.”
I smiled.
“Just sometimes.”
“Good.”
There was no suspicion in her voice.
No hidden meaning.
Just a mother's casual observation.
Still, I found myself asking,
“What did he say?”
Mummy looked at me.
“That you are doing well.”
“Oh.”
She returned to what she was doing.
Then, after a moment, she said,
“He doesn't talk much about people.”
I looked at her again.
“What do you mean?”
“He is very private.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
Mummy smiled.
“You don't know him that well.”
I laughed.
“That's true.”
She continued stirring the pot.
“Just don't let his quietness fool you.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
She smiled mysteriously.
“You'll find out.”
I laughed.
“Mummy!”
She refused to explain.
---
That evening, the atmosphere changed.
It happened so subtly that I almost missed it.
Abdul Jalal had been playing around in the corridor when his father called.
“Jalal.”
The boy immediately stopped.
“Yes, Baba.”
“Come here.”
He walked over.
A few minutes later, Alhaji Usman Turaki entered the sitting room.
His presence was different from his wife's.
Mummy filled rooms with energy.
Alhaji Usman filled them with silence.
He was a tall, broad-shouldered man whose age showed more in the greying hair at his temples than in his posture. His military bearing remained unmistakable even outside uniform. There was a disciplined sharpness in the way he carried himself, although his expression softened considerably whenever his children approached him.
I stood.
“Assalamu alaikum,”
“Wa alaikumussalam.”
He smiled.
“Se’ad.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“You have grown.”
I smiled.
“So has everyone.”
He laughed.
“Hauwa.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“How is school?”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
His gaze moved toward Ridhwan.
“You're leaving tomorrow?”
Ridhwan looked up.
“Yes.”
“For Gombe?”
“Yes.”
Alhaji nodded.
“Good.”
Nothing else was said.
But there was something about the exchange that caught my attention.
It seemed ordinary.
Yet Ridhwan's expression had changed.
Only slightly.
Enough for me to notice.
I wondered why.
Then Hanan ran into the room and climbed onto her father's lap.
The moment was forgotten.
---
Later that night, Hauwa and I were preparing to leave.
Mummy hugged us both.
“Come again soon.”
“Insha Allah.”
“Don't wait for months.”
“We won't.”
As we walked toward the gate, I noticed Ridhwan standing beside one of the cars.
A black Mercedes-Benz GLE.
He was speaking quietly with Alhaji Usman.
I couldn't hear what they were saying.
Then Alhaji placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
Ridhwan nodded.
His father said something else.
This time, Ridhwan's expression hardened.
Not angry.
Just…closed.
The conversation ended.
Alhaji entered the house.
Ridhwan remained beside the car.
Hauwa called my name.
I turned.
“Coming.”
I took a few steps.
Then looked back.
Ridhwan was watching me.
Our eyes met.
He smiled faintly.
I smiled back.
Neither of us spoke.
I got into the car.
---
On the drive back to the hostel, Hauwa was unusually quiet.
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Saying nothing when something is obviously wrong.”
She sighed.
“I'm thinking.”
“About?”
She looked out the window.
“Ridhwan.”
My heart gave a strange little jump.
“What about him?”
She was silent for several seconds.
Then she shrugged.
“Nothing.”
I stared at her.
“Hauwa.”
She laughed.
“Relax.”
“Tell me.”
“I said nothing.”
I turned back toward the window.
But now I was thinking about him too.
About the conversation with his father.
About the sudden change in his expression.
About Mummy's strange warning.
About why someone as private as Ridhwan had bothered to contact me after almost a year.
And, most importantly—
about what exactly he had chosen not to tell me.
---
That night, just before I slept, my phone vibrated.
A message.
From Ridhwan.
You got back safely?
I smiled.
Yes.
A few seconds passed.
Then:
Good.
I expected the conversation to end there.
It didn't.
Another message appeared.
You were quiet today.
I stared at the screen.
I typed:
I wasn't.
His reply came almost immediately.
You were.
I smiled.
Maybe I was tired.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then:
Maybe.
I waited.
Nothing.
I put my phone down.
Then picked it up again.
There was another message.
Goodnight, Se’ad.
I smiled.
Goodnight, Ya Ridhwan.
I locked my phone.
But sleep didn't come immediately.
Because for the first time since he had returned to my life, I found myself wondering something I had never bothered to wonder before.
What kind of person was Ridhwan Turaki when nobody was watching?
And why did I have the feeling that there was much more to him than the quiet man everyone seemed to know?