The evening sun tinged the painted sky with a warm orange hue. And as it fell and faded behind the horizon, It casted long shadows behind the things of the world; soon, a blanket of darkness descended, studded with stars. A crescent moon shone through fluffs of drifting clouds.

Neither the stellar sight nor the bright lights of the neighbouring houses that reflected the starry sky seemed particularly captivating.

It was a sight she never failed to sit and relish after prayers and reading the Koran, but not tonight. Huma's thoughts were somewhere else.

She had eyes like his. Huma had been stupified by the epiphany and mesmerised at once--such a rarity. But they were lacklustre , cold, and rimmed with shadows beneath. Unlike his that kindled with the rays of the sun.

Is that why i'm attracted to you, Uche?

The girl had been affable despite the look of despair she had tried desperately to dissimulate with those cloying smiles, which never reached those irises. When someone gave a genuine smile, their eyes crinkled at the corners. Huma knew that.

Beautiful.

But something was off about her.

Her bed covers were tossed to a side. The image was etched in her memory like a wallpaper, and often, she would shut her eyes to conjure it vividly in the darkness, to give it colour, to fixate on the soft curves, hard planes the sun highlighted.

Light strokes and defining lines, the sound of the pencil scratching dryly and rubbing faintly on paper filled the room. Besides that, it was quiet-enough to hear the chirps and trills of crickets nearby.

Huma flicked her tongue testily over the swelling at the corner of her bottom lip. It was sore but it didn't hurt as much. A slight pain tugged at her cheek as she explored facial expressions, and she stopped.

A knock on her door brought Huma's head up. Her eyes were puffy and red.

"Huma," It was her father. Huma didn't respond but continued what she was doing. She sniffed.

"I know you're upset. But please, open the door. Let's talk."

A wisp of hair strayed to her face, tickling the tip of her nose and brushing sensitively against her lips. She blew at it while splaying her fingers over the paper to smoothen it on the wooden surface.

The door remained shut. "She didn't mean to. You know how your mother is when she's agitated. The things she said, I want you to know that she didn't mean any of it. You know that don't you? She's just really concerned."

It fluttered back, and Huma sighed as she clamped the pencil between her lips; with a flip, she gathered the glorious mane with her hands to deftly weave into two thick braids.

At her ankle, the little white board was split in two by a line that jagged across from one end to the other. The plastic that bordered its sides were cracked and broken off in places. It had held fond memories.

Another knock sounded. "It was an accident. That's all it was." Huma heard him sigh heavily. She erased a double line and blew on the paper, scattering the shavings. "I just want you to know that. Please, open up. At least let me see if you're alright."

Unfazed by his placating voice, Huma remained unyielding, singing in head while her work gradually came alive. She had been at it for days now and it was still far from completion.

"Huma?"

Few hours earlier......

By the time Huma arrived at the house with her father, her mind was resolute on what she needed to do next. Uche words echoed in her head like a lady who was singing into a well and the waters below rippled choruses. After a quick bath, some food, she thought to talk with her parents and hoped they would be receptive to the idea.

Unlike her deliberately oblivious mother, her father was aware of the toll the late nights and early rises were taking on her, so Huma decided it could be a potential solution. Since it was going to be a conversation, the portable whiteboard from her childhood days would be her medium.

It held memories---the kind she wanted to remember---and as she brought it out from the black box above the wardrobe, they flitted through, then drifted away like feathers. Catching them was an impossible task: she was beginning to forget. That was why the box was here-to remind her.

Along with the letter that entailed what she proposed, she grabbed a marker and went to the living room. Her father was comfortably seated while he watched the news with lukewarm interest. He turned down the volume a notch as she walked up to him.

"You should be resting." He told Huma when she dropped beside him. He grabbed an apple from a bowl of fruits placed on a stool in front of him.

Huma scribbled on her board while he bit into the crispy fruit and chewed. "I want to discuss something with you and mum."

"Okay," he drawled dubiously.

Huma deadpanned, unimpressed. "I'm not pregnant."

He released a breath, smiling sheepishly. Huma blinked. She noticed his lips moving as he averted his eyes and bit into the fruit again, but the words were lost in translation.

"So, what could it be?" he asked. Huma handed him the letter. While he unfolded and read, she waited with bated breath, apprehensive. She watched his face closely for signs of stress.

His brows creased, and Huma's heart dropped into her stomach. Then he shifted in his seat as if it were uncomfortable and snapped the paper, squinting like the words were unclear.

Pensive after absorbing its content, he took his time folding the paper before handing it over. Silently, he finished the apple and dusted off his palms, after which he looked at her and Huma's gaze lowered.

"It is true that our moving here hasn't made it easy for you," Nadeem agreed, "And, of course, we are open to ways the situation can be helped. The distance was an oversight. I'm sorry for that, truly." He dropped his head and placed a hand on his chest to show her he was. He floundered. "But you don't know this girl. She's a total stranger."

"Students move in with students. It's normal. They don't have to know each other. Besides, she's nice. We talked and she seems okay."

"Being normal is not written on people's foreheads. Take Nicholas, for example. Nobody had thought that quiet, peace loving man capable of such heinous deeds."

Mr Nicholas Fredman had been a reputable trader going back to Huma's childhood days when the man had lived in the same compound. His wife had absconded with their child along and things of value one cold, squally night after a violent brawl the day before.

Huma had been ten when the squalls of their baby son had roused her from sleep; she had peered into the darkness to see the frantic woman rocking the child while crooning softly to smother the growing cries as she fled with a bag.

Nicholas had been out, and since then, he had lived alone and only grew quieter, but the neighbours found him pleasant because he was a jolly good fellow who smiled and laughed a lot.

And so it had been surprising when the police had accosted them with questions pertaining to Mr Nicholas and his habits. Handcuffed and escorted away into the police car as everyone watched in utter shock, sniped and rebuked him, Nicholas had shown no remorse.

Huma remembered his drab, glazed eyes that were without consciousness, and she had cowered behind her father for fear of the malevolence hidden in them.

Apparently, he had slaughtered four people and deposited their mutilated bodies in his sewage tank---people he had borrowed money from and murdered because he couldn't pay back the agreed sum. Nobody had suspected a single thing. It had been done with such care and in utmost secrecy.

Huma shook her head at the repugnant memory.

"She's not like that."

"And how do you know that?"

Huma slouched. She lowered her gaze to the board and began to scour it clean with a palm.

"Your problem is that you trust people too easily. And in the world we live in today, that can be fatal." He poked her head so she would look at him. "You should know that?"

Did he have to remind her?

Huma bristled, staring back indignantly. "I don't trust her."

Nadeem frowned, bewildered. "Then why do you want to move in with her? Listen, you're on scholarship, so accommodation is paid for. We can arrange a situation where your classmates---"

"It's still going to be with the same strangers!" Huma interjected before her father could offer his suggestion.

"But they aren't. You are familiar with them."

"Nobody relates with me, except Kazeem, which I know is out of pity. Sometimes, it's like am even there. I don't mind, but I don't want to be forced to endure them more than I have to."

"It seems this upsets you, but people's attitude towards you can't be helped." Nadeem reached out a hand to console her, but she leaned away. When Huma looked at him, tears brimmed in her eyes.

As she wiped the board and wrote furiously, tears pelted the white surface and precipitated ink. "I know that. I face it every day, and I know mum would be happy if I gave up and accepted their version: I will be useless forever."

"It's not my fault, daddy. I didn't do this to myself. Why then should I feel and deserve less? Allah knows why this happened to me.

"But I hate it that even when I try, they still think I'll never measure up. Even my own mother thinks that as well."

"You asked me why her? It's because she doesn't see me that way. She doesn't think am a thief or a terrorist because some religious fanatics commit atrocities in the name of Islam, even though Islam doesn't preach violence.

"She is the only one who can understand me, because my parents don't. I'd rather trust her than both of you."

The girl hadn't told her directly, but Huma had gleaned a lot from the few moments they had spent together: Uche had been craftily evasive and she was sure there was something deeper at play, but one thing was certain, the girl hadn't been repulsed. There had been no pity or contempt in those eyes.

She wasn't usually this outspoken and it came with mild surprise. The anger roiled inside her, simmering, and had been so for a long time. It was resentment coursing through her. And Huma felt the subtle fume escaping her disciplined restraint, she was soon ashamed for lashing out on her father who had been nothing but supportive till now.

At her father's astonished look, Huma turned away in her seat, chagrinned. A stray tear slid down her left cheek and she quickly wiped it with the back of her hand as scuffing footsteps preceded Zainab into the room, a tray of food in her hand.

The tension in the air was palpable. And as Zainab displaced the bowl of fruits and set down the light dinner, her eyes flitted between Huma, who was turned away with her arms crossed; and Nadeem's disgruntled demeanour---then her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"What is it?" Zainab demanded. There was threat in her tone of voice.

Nadeem drew in a tired breath and proffered the letter, which Zainab eyed with furrowed brows before snatching and reading. The glasses rested farther down on her nose bridge, and Zainab pushed it up with a finger.

"But this is rubbish," Zainab remarked callously, crumpling the paper in her hands and scowling. Then she pitched the ball. Huma flinched as it hit her on the forehead and bounced to the floor. Glaring at her daughter, whose eyes were wide with fright, she gritted out, pointing a finger. "You are not leaving this house, do you understand me? What did you think was going to happen? That this would somehow work in your favour? Don't be stupid!"

"There is no need to get unnecessarily angry over this," Nadeem admonished, rising to his feet as Huma shrank out of Zainab's reach when the woman stepped forward and made a rough grasp for her. Gently, he pulled Zainab's arm, tugging her back, and stood between them, shrouding Huma completely from sight. "She calmly suggested this and we will calmly consider it."

"I've always known it," Zainab cried bitterly and yanked her arm from his grip. She staggered, but quickly regained her balance, averting her gaze and placing her hands on her hip, fuming in silence.

"Known what?" Nadeem asked with a nod at her, his tone daring. "Go on, say it. You have always known what?"

Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Zainab seemed hesitant, but when Nadeem pestered, she snapped. "That you will support her no matter what, and sooner or later, I would be portrayed as the villain when all I do is in her best interest!. Both of you don't see it." She shook her head to herself. "You never have."

Nadeem pinched his nose bridge and shut his eyes briefly. "When are you going to realize that she's an adult now and can make her own decisions? You can't keep her confined in this house forever."

Zainab gave Nadeem an incredulous look, her brows rising. Brushing him aside, she eyed Huma and raised a belittling hand. "Look at her. Just take a good, long look." And Nadeem did, watching Huma watch them, her owlish, frightened eyes flickering between them while her face crumpled as tears began to stream down her cheeks.

He saw his daughter-a small, frightened, fragile girl. Nadeem placed a fist to his mouth as he wrestled with his own emotions, and looked away.

"She is nothing but a child, and this is a rebellious act." With a mirthless laugh, Zainab shook her head in disbelief. "It started with that boy," she began querulously, ranting and counting off her fingers. "He started this by filling her head with unrealistic expectations. I never approved of their friendship from the start, because I knew nothing good would come out of it. Everything took a turn for the worst. Then he died, and I thought "oh, it will end with him, surely' but, no, she continued from just where he left her. Even though, she cried each night because of those insensitive children."

"And, now she wants to leave this house that we are fortunate to have? Are you that ungrateful? Do you know how many starving, homeless kids would love to be in your shoes? Wallah, your plans will not work. If the distance bothers you so much, then quit! Just go ahead and defy me. Let me see you try,"

"Need I remind you that your mother said something similar and we got married anyway? It didn't stop us." Nadeem retorted. At his wife's words, he was struck by how very much like the terror of a mother-in-law she sounded.

"No, it didn't." Zainab faced her husband and smiled wistfully. "Now, look at us, where we are. Don't you regret it?"

"Don't go there," Nadeem warned sternly, his face taut.

Undeterred, she continued, "for love. And then I discover you want to remarry. Mother was right, after all"-she gestured about the room with her hands---"Despite our good fortune: this house, the money, the car..... We aren't happy. These things can't fix anything. You can't even look at me anymore."

"Is that any fault of mine?! Tell me!" Nadeem thundered, suddenly furious.

Seeing the hurt in her mother's eyes made Huma's insides knot painfully. She could feel the buried remains of the past being exhumed and the stench of its putrefying corpse pervading the air, percolating through their skins.

Huma fidgeted. The couch she was sitting on suddenly felt hot and uncomfortable. A spat here, a squabble there, had been it---until now. It had never been something this heated, and it rattled that she had unwittingly broached a sensitive matter.

Averting her gaze to somewhere in the room, Zainab blinked back the onslaught of tears. "She's my daughter as well," she croaked when comported enough to speak. " I...I also get a say---

"Of course you do. But you don't get to decide."

"Why don't you ever listen----"

"Because, Zainab, you have done enough."

"There," she said in a choked whisper, then smiled dolorously at him. "It's finally out in the open. Why don't tell me how you really feel? Go on; blame me like you always have."

Tired and guilty, Nadeem sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes.

I can't watch anymore Crestfallen, Huma mustered the courage to stand up, wiping her tearstained face with the heels of her hands. As she made to move past, Zainab turned on her with teary, embittered eyes.

"Are you satisfied? This is what you wanted, right?"

Stepping in front of Huma who was shaking her head frightfully, Zainab gave a hard shove, and she flopped back into the chair with a gasp. "No. You don't get to leave."

"Take it easy." Nadeem said placatively, holding out his hands to calm her down.

After a moment of silence, Zainab drew in a long sniff, mellowing down. She stared at no one in particular as she began in a deceptively calm voice. "Being a virgin is the only prerequisite for the marriage, and I won't let your naivety ruin it. You have to remain here where I can keep my eyes on you. This girl is igbo by tribe. I know their people: they lust after money and will do anything to get it. It's in their blood; they can't help it. "

"That's not true," Nadeem disagreed with a shake of his head. "You can't judge the lot just because of the bad few that crossed your path."

"Always opposing everything I say these days." Zainab snorted. "I'm not surprised. You must really be tired of me." Closing the gap between them, she reached up a hand to stroke his guzzled cheek, and let it drop to her side with a rueful smile when he flinched in distaste. "There was a time when you valued everything about me, and now, just a mere touch disgusts you. I left everything, went against my parents, so that I could be with you when there were men far richer, far more handsome."

"The only reason my mother comes here is because of her-" she pointed a finger at Huma, her eyes never wavering from his "---and I'm not ready to lose that. If anything happens to her, Allah knows I can't give you another. Maybe it's my punishment. Nothing will hold you back then, because that is when my worth expires, because now there's money to do whatever pleases you."

"So, hear me, Nadeem Adelakun," Zainab began, a tremour in her voice. The tears overflowed as she blinked. "I was with you when you had nothing. If you take another wife, I'll kill you and then kill myself. Our daughter that you love so much will become an orphan."

The vile words were said with such animosity that Huma gasped, clamping a hand over her gaping mouth, eyes widening in shock. How could her mother say such a thing? Her father had usually high tolerance for people, probably hardened by the derision he had endured in his younger days.

And now, the man just regarded his wife with an inscrutable visage, hands clasped behind his back.

"Please, stop."

She stomped her feet to get their attention, holding the white board up, but it went unheard. They were so focused on each other, and with the challenge in her mother's eyes, Huma wasn't sure what would happen next---she had to stop the situation from escalating---so she got up and warily, slowly padded to them, the board still raised.

Her mother's eyes had a bellicose glint. Her father was impossible to read. And Huma's heart thudded with apprehension, her lips trembling. She whimpered.

"How many times have I told you to stop making that noise?" Zainab berated suddenly, her eyes flashing as she flung an arm in annoyance, smacking Huma in the face with the back of her hand. Uttering a yelp as she was hurled to a side by the hit, the white board fell from Huma's hand and clattered to the floor.

In two steps, Nadeem was in between them yet again. "What is wrong with you?!" He cast a worried look over a shoulder at his daughter who was staring, wide eyed, a hand on her jaw. "Are you out of your mind?!"

Shocked speechless, Zainab's eyes darted between them. She held the hand in front of her, watching it tremble, then clutched it to her chest. "i... I...didn't...mean," she stuttered. There was a grating crack and Zainab looked down to see her trampling foot on the white board, splitting it, coloured pieces breaking off the sides. She withdrew instantly.

Behind her father, Huma clutched at his jalabiya while she hyperventilated and soothed the pain in her cheek. Tears glistened in her eyes. Vigilantly watching Zainab, Nadeem reached for his dauughter's hand and gave it a brief reassuring squeeze when he felt her grip tighten.

"Oga! Madam!"

Mr Effiong came charging into the room, rolling up his sleeves and tugging at the cap on his head. His eyes were wide as he searched for anything out of place that warranted the commotion he had heard from his duty post.

"Is anything wrong, sir? I heard shouting. Wetin dey happen? What's happening?" he asked, mopping the sweat from his brows with a cloth. His uniform was drenched in places with sweat from the sweltering heat.

Waving flippantly, Nadeem gruffed, "Everything is okay. Go back to your station." But Mr Effiong tarried at the door, clasping his hands on his chest in wonder and watching with overt curiosity.

As he pulled his daughter close, Zainab scurried out of the room, a hand over her mouth, muffling her cries. The riveted gateman jolted to attention when the distressed woman suddenly came hurtling towards him and briskly merged his lanky body with the wall in order to avoid being hustled out of the way in her haste.

"Are you alright?" Nadeem asked. He drew back to cup Huma's face and inspect the cut on her lip that soon blossomed into a red bump. But she shrank away like his touch burned and brushed past him.

Sniffing into a hand, Huma bent to retrieve the broken pieces of her board and before she could walk out, Nadeem grabbed her by the wrist.

"She didn't mean it."

Huma gave him a reproachful look and twisted her hand free. Dejected and dazed, she toddled off to her room.