2

The Slim Finest

Hamdah’s pov 

It was already 2:00 p.m. when I stepped out of the house, the sun softening into its afternoon mood. I walked slowly, as always not because I was tired, but because walking calmed my mind. The gentle rhythm of my steps gave me space to think, to breathe, to disappear quietly into myself.

Shiroro was a strange kind of place. Quiet in the way that made your thoughts louder. Peaceful, but not harmless. People here noticed everything the color of your slippers, who dropped you off, how long you stayed outside. One mistake, and the entire estate would find a way to chew it up and pass it around. Still, it was fancy. Gated roads. Clean compounds. And light constant electricity, twenty-four hours every day. That part, I loved.

As I neared the restaurant, I adjusted the strap of my bag and wiped the sweat from my upper lip with the back of my hand. The walk wasn't far. I actually liked it. Gave me a reason to exist quietly without having to explain anything to anyone.

I pushed the restaurant door open, the familiar jingle from the bell above chiming as I entered. The smell of fried rice and peppered chicken drifted out from the kitchen, wrapping itself around the soft hum of Afrobeats playing in the background.

I headed straight to the small closet near the staff room to drop my bag. As I bent to unzip it, a thought hit me — I forgot my water bottle at the gym. My brows twitched slightly. That bottle had been with me for years. Somehow, it felt strange that it was gone.

Yes, girls were now allowed in the Shiroro gym. Imagine that. Progress, slowly finding its way into this conservative estate. I smiled faintly.

I changed into the grey T-shirt we were given as staff uniform with a logo written NSP and walked out, adjusting the hem as I went.

"Oh Slim, you're here," Maryam beamed from behind the counter, her hand wiping down a tray with a cloth.

"Hi," I said softly, my eyes avoiding hers.

I walked past her, but paused when I saw it—my water bottle sitting neatly on the table like it belonged there. I blinked.

"What is my bottle doing here?" I asked, almost to myself, eyebrows creasing in surprise.

"Oh, someone brought it," Maryam replied, chewing gum. "Said you forgot it at the gym. He dropped it not long ago."

I blinked again. "Someone?" The question hovered at the edge of my lips. I wanted to ask who. Desperately. But I swallowed the words. No need to start talking too much, I told myself. I just nodded and picked it up quietly.

I slipped into work mode, wiping tables, restocking serviette holders, arranging plates without fuss. I didn't need to be told what to do. That was one thing people liked about me, I worked like a shadow. No noise. No complaints.

Hours passed.

The Adhan for Isha floated in the air, and I went to pray in the back room. The small corner with a mat and curtain was barely big enough to stretch, but it was my little place of stillness. I prayed slowly, soaking in the quiet peace.

When I stepped back into the restaurant, the place had picked up. Laughter drifted from one corner. Then I saw them.

A table of five. All guys. I recognized Naziru and Abbas from secondary school noisy, dramatic boys. But it was him who pulled my breath from me.

Shuraim.

He was sitting closest to the wall, one hand on the table, the other scrolling through his phone. Calm. Distant. Like the noise around him wasn't enough to distract him. I could feel my heart slow... then speed up again. I looked away before he noticed me.

I focused my eyes on the menu board, pretending to read. Maryam and Shamsiya were chatting beside me about something I wasn't really listening to. But my ears had tuned into that table. Every laugh, every cough, every scrape of fork against plate. Still, I didn't let my eyes wander. Don't look. Don't look again.

Their order arrived, and Maryam nudged me. "Help me carry these jollof plates, abeg."

I nodded and followed her with two trays. As we reached the table, Naziru grinned. "Hamdah! Long time!"

I smiled. Not too much. Just enough to be polite.

"Hi," I said softly, placing the tray down.

Abbas waved. "Slim Finest, abi? You never change."

I gave a shy nod, then turned back to the counter. I didn't look at Shuraim. Not once. But my mind stayed with him like a shadow.

From the corner of my eye, I saw that his eyes never left his phone. Focused. Unbothered. The only time he put it down was when he started eating. He held his spoon with his right hand and kept his head slightly bowed. I watched him for a second longer than I should have, then shook the thoughts away.

I distracted myself with folding tissue paper into fans, aligning cutlery, anything to make me forget he was still here.

Then came his voice.

"I'm here to make a payment."

I looked up.

He was standing right in front of me.

Shuraim.

His voice was low. Smooth. Gentle. Like warm honey sliding into tea.

I nodded, wordless, and reached for the POS machine. I collected his card, My hands trembled slightly, but I didn't let it show. I handed it to him without a word, and he seemed to understand. He put in his PIN and continued typing on his phone with the other hand.

The POS blinked. Declined.

I turn the pos to him without saying a word. 

He looked up, and for the first time, our eyes met fully. His skin was a soft shade of light brown, his eyes deep and a little mischievous. He looked like the kind of boy who grew up in a house where the generator never made noise.

"Hamdah, don't you talk?" he asked, one eyebrow raised playfully.

My lips parted, but I said nothing. Inside, I was screaming. He knows my name.

He knows my name.

I dropped my gaze quickly. My heart was dancing, but my face remained calm unreadable. No smile. No frown. Just my usual quiet.

He chuckled lightly, almost to himself. "Try the card again."

I did, hands steady, though my chest betrayed me. I handed the POS back, and he looked at me before pressing in his PIN again.

The screen froze. 

He stopped typing on his phone and glanced at me. "Has it declined again?"

I shook my head and tilted the POS to show him. "Still processing," I whispered.

He placed one hand on his hip, the other sliding into his pocket. He looked like he wanted to say something, then changed his mind.

"So... what should we do now?" he asked.

I stayed silent, my fingers tapping lightly on the side of the counter. He glanced at me, smirked slightly, and returned to scrolling.

"We should wait a few minutes," I said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

His head snapped toward me like he wasn't expecting me to speak.

"God! See sweet voice," he said, smiling. His teeth were perfect.

Maryam, standing nearby, burst into laughter. "Abi na! That's why she doesn't like to talk. She's hiding her fine voice." he said. 

"That's how she is," Maryam added.

"I knew she was quiet," Shuraim said, eyes still on me. "But I didn't know she talk."

My throat tightened. So he knows I'm quiet? He's noticed? I was exploding inside, but I stood still, nodding faintly. The transaction finally went through.

He collected the receipt, gave a soft "thank you," and left with a small wave.

It was almost 10 p.m. when we finally closed. Maryam and Shamsiya lived far off, in Zumber, outside the estate. Sometimes they took bikes. I usually walked.

When I reached home, daddy and Mama were seated in the living room, watching a Hausa film with the sound turned up too loud.

"Hamdah baby," Baba called playfully. "You won't stop this work, abi? What do you need it for?"

"I'm tired of sitting in my room all day," I replied softly, walking past them into my room.

It had been just three weeks since I started working at the restaurant, but today felt like the first real page of something. I took my bath, ate dinner quietly, and lay down on my bed.

My heart was still smiling.

Shuraim.

He said my name.

He noticed I was quiet.

He smiled at me.

It felt like a dream I didn't want to wake up from.