SA'ADATU'S POV.

KANO, NIGERIA.

May 25th 2024. That was the day they agreed upon.

My wedding day. The day I would become Adnan Bayero's wife. The day that will make the eighteen-year-old me scream, and kick her feet in excitement and yet, the twenty-four-year-old me did not fail in that aspect in the slightest, fully living the dream of the teenage me.

A month from now—that is how long it will take for the day to come. I have marked it on my phone calendar, and even on the physical one, highlighting the importance of the day. I had expected it to take place in say two, or three months but they unanimously agreed for it to be a month—and I cannot say I am not exactly glad with the decision if I am being honest. A month is good enough for me. It is perfect even.

Meaning, I have a month to start getting ready for the wedding preparations and all. But, to be honest, what I failed to realize is, Anty and Yaya Maryam have already been on it. The moment the date was announced, they started making calls for everything that would be necessary—from buying stuff for the house, to my outfits, and everything really.

Anty even managed to get a mai gyaran jiki that will arrive within the week all the way from Maiduguri—and will start the vigorous process the very next day she arrives as well. I cannot explain it—I felt as though everything was happening so fast right in front of my eyes, there was barely any time for me to process it entirely and let it sink in.

It also did not help that I have not seen the man entirely since the day he brought me back home—and it has been over a week since then. I will not lie—I miss my man. We talk on the phone daily, and message each other everyday as well, but it does not last long—not when he has too much work ongoing and I am once again reminded of how strenuous his work is.

He makes time to send me messages and call, but our calls are almost always interrupted by someone from his other end—a patient, a doctor, or something similar. And though I understand, believe me, I truly do, it does not change the fact that I miss his presence though. I wanted to rant to him, about how everything feels like to me—and how I am about to get a whiplash with the way everything is happening at once. Not to mention, we have other things to discuss regarding the wedding and everything as well.

He did say he will come over during the weekend because that is when he does not have work, but an opportunity presented itself on a beautiful Tuesday morning. I do not think I have ever been excited in my life to see a class being fixed, especially not in the morning as how I was when our class rep sent the message for the lectures Monday night.

I was just laying in bed, casually scrolling through wedding pages in search of an inspiration for my wedding outfits—something Faiza is helping me with but I still have not come to a decision—I was hoping he would help me pick the ones that stand out. That was when I saw the message that came through in our WhatsApp group, and the moment I saw we had his class the next day at 10:00AM, I did not know when I got on my feet and stood on the bed, my face breaking into a face splitting grin as I clutched the phone—excitement coursing through my veins.

Truth be told, I have been anticipating the day we would have his lectures—something I did not think was remotely possible a few weeks back. But given his busy schedule, apparently the class rep could not find a suitable time to fix the class. Until now.

I threw my phone on the bed, and hastily made a beeline towards the closet, already thinking of what to wear to school tomorrow. Rummaging through my closet entirely, nothing came to be right truly. From the atampha, to the laces, and abayas. I could not find anything that settled right with me. I find a fault in every single article of clothing which I bring out.

A while later, I found myself settled on the floor with slumped shoulders, staring at the drawer filled with clothes and still unable to find a single one for the day. I do not know how long I sat there for, but I know it has been long. Until my gaze fell on a box in the corner of the closet—a familiar paper bag I had seem to forgotten all about.

My eyes perked up as I reached out for the bag, pulling it open to reveal the two new abayas from Faiza—him—which I am yet to wear because I could not find a single chance where it just fits the occasion. I initially had no intentions of wearing it after finding out it was from him, and now, I decided to save it for a special occasion.

Does a 10AM class in university count as a special occasion?

Screw it—it does to me.

My smile was wide when I pulled out one of the two abayas—the brown one for it seems to be the one that blends in and fits the situation more. I placed the paper bag back in the closet, then picked up the chosen abaya and keeping it aside, before rushing over to pick out the right shoes that will match it.    I fought against my initial thought of pairing it with a heel—knowing I would regret it later on and simply picked something simpler.

I slept early that night, all in anticipation of the next day, hoping it would come sooner. When I woke up the next day, I did not go back to sleep after praying subh. I checked my phone, expecting to his usual messages that comes in every single morning, but there was not one. My lips curled into a slight frown, checking our last message. I remember we exchanged a few messages before I fell asleep—and he said he had just gotten off work then. It was pretty late that for a second, I wondered just how long the man works in a day.

I pushed the thoughts aside, and focused on the fact that I would see him in a couple of hours. As the morning came, I headed to the kitchen to make breakfast for everyone—since I am in a really good mood. By the time I was done eating, I rushed back to my room to shower and get dressed, and before you know it, I was done and it was already nine in the morning.

So, I quickly picked up my bag and phone, before dropping by Anty's room to greet her and what happened? My good morning was stained by the news that I have to let Muazu take me to school. Anty has become more protective since the wedding was set, but I did not think she would take it as far as this. I pleaded with her—anything but entangle me with Muazu this blessed morning but she turned a deaf ear.

That was how I begrudgingly made my way out, lucky enough to find out the man has not even arrived. Did I mention it was nearing 9:30? Someone that is expected to be at work by eight has not arrived by nine thirty.

Wato ba, lokacin da ake raba mutunci, I am sure Muazu was not in the line.

I called the man, and he said he was about to arrive. And he did, fifteen minutes later—said the man that said he was even in the area. By the time he did in fact drive into the house on his motorcycle, grinning like a goat, I was fuming and fighting the urge to pray the motorcycle will get out of control so he would fall face flat and that stupid grin would be wiped off his face. He parked the bike, and made his way over, that stupid grin never wavering as he got into the car then spent the next seven minutes' drive to the university gisting me about his new wife—the third one he had recently married.

Believe me, if I had known the woman, I would have advised her to not marry him. She must have been blind to marry Muazu of all people really. Qaddara ma dai.

The moment he parked the car outside the lectures hall, I wasted no second to step—ignoring his words about how he will be waiting for my call when he is done. As if. Ai gwara na hau keke napep and suffer Anty's scolding later on than call this man again. Nonsense.

It was nearing time for the lectures, about ten minutes to class when I stepped into the hall. Today, I was anticipating sitting in the front seat, for obvious reasons but since I am late, the front row and the second was all occupied. Luckily though, I spotted a few empty seats in the third row, so I made a beeline to it, deciding it was good enough for me.

By the time I had settled down on the seat, my earlier excitement has returned and I was bouncing on my feet, my eyes flickering from the time on my phone to the front door as the other students piled in. My anticipation grew even more as ten neared, and the moment the time switched to ten on the dot, I found myself staring at the entrance again—just in time he walked in.

My grin returned, my heart swelling with happiness as I watched him casually stroll into the class, in all his story. I had to fold my lips in to hold back the grin—in case someone sees me and think I am nuts. I already have a reputation in this class considering my previous stunt that I pulled.

He came to stand behind the podium, and the class quietened down. He did not come with a bag or something—just an IPad which he dropped on the podium, then lifted his head up to fixate his gaze on the class. His eyes, behind those beautiful bifocals did a quick survey of the class, and I held my breath when his gaze swept in our direction.

Then, our eyes met, and I could have sworn the corner of his lips tilted up slightly—I could only fold in my lips to stop me from grinning like the Cheshire cat. His disappeared as soon as it came through—and in its stead, the classic Adnan Bayero look took over.  

"Well..." He breathed out, his voice resonating the now quiet hall without much effort. "...it appears everyone is here. Can we start now?"

From words of approval to nods of affirmation, he took them all his cue to begin the class. I watched as he seamlessly transitioned into the image befitting of a Professor indeed. Now, I have only ever been in his class once, and we all know how that turned out to be so I would like to think I missed out on the experience of it all. Seeing him at this moment though, it felt as though I was seeing an entirely different person.

For the first time ever, I was actually seeing the Professor in him, and all I can say is, Masha Allah. I will be frankly honest with you, although I am normally a serious student, I did not go to that class with the intention of listening. I never listen in class—no matter how attentive I want to be—I end up losing interest and sleeping the entire class away.

However, today, I found myself particularly sit in the front seat just so I could watch him. Somehow, I ended up listening and actually paying attention—but only for a short while. Now, the thing is, the class is interesting—or maybe it is just the sight of him that makes it interesting—the point is, I was enjoying the class. So, I do not know how, and when I fell asleep.

It just happened. One minute I was trying to be a serious student, and the next, I felt someone nudging me. Because my mind was already wired with the knowledge of being in class, the nudge served its effect well, because I found myself flicking my eyes open—only for my gaze to fall on the lady beside me.

I frowned, throwing her a questioning look. Instead of answering, she simply gestured ahead. Believe me, I knew right then that I am screwed—so screwed really. I closed my eyes shut, preparing myself for what I would before I hesitantly lifted my head off the table, noticing how most of the people in the class had their eyes already on me—and I had to hold back the urge to glare at them.

The particular pair of eyes I was hoping to avoid though, I looked at last. And just as I had expected, he had his stern gaze on me, and I could only hold back my breath, knowing I am caught once again in the action.

Why am I always sleeping in class please? I should honestly stop attending this class.

And if that was not enough, his voice came. "Is my class so boring, Miss?" It was the way he said it—you would swear this man and I do not know each other, and that I am merely a student sleeping in his class—which I am but can he not let me off the hook this once?

I swallowed down a lump, then forced a sheepish smile. "Missus, actually," I corrected, intending to say it to myself and yet somehow, it came out loud for everyone to hear, making the hall erupt with chuckles of amusement. He heard as well.

And, what did he do? He arched a brow, as if to silently ask, 'Really? Of all the things you could have said, you chose that'. Once again, my smile could only widen because what else am I supposed to do really? I was hoping the smile would get through to him and get me off the hook. It should, right? If I do not give him butterflies, I might as well give him a high blood pressure.

The man put me in the spot, and this is the second time I make becoming the center of attention in his class. He should cut me some slacks to be honest.

He simply shook his head, and I took that as him letting me off the hook indeed. Tapping his fingers on the podium, he turned around to face the class. "And that is it for today's class. Any questions?" Wait, the class is over already? Damn, how long was I asleep for?

A few hands were raised in the air, but before he could even pick one, a voice came from a lady in the front seat. "Professor, can I please ask first?" She inquired, her tone eager and laced with excitement.

He slanted his gaze in her direction, his expression tinged with a bit of surprise due action, but nodded nonetheless. "Sure." He encouraged, making the others drop their hands down.

My gaze moved in her direction, noticing the face splitting grin on her face and the glint in her eyes fixated on him. "Sir, I just wanted to ask..." Her grin widened. "...are you single?"

I frowned, my eyes narrowed as annoyance instantly sparked in me. But, it appears I am the only one with that emotion because the class instead erupted with howls and laughter due to her words, now seemingly engrossed in knowing the answer as well. Did I mention the ladies seemed particularly interested as well?

What is wrong with the people in this class?

I shifted my glare in his direction, just in time our gazes clashed, and he suddenly chuckled. My frown deepened, eyes narrowed. What is he smiling for now? What is funny here fisabillah? And since when was he the one to just smile anyhow? Took years for this man to start smiling at me, and yet, here he is, showcasing his thirty-two. What is this? Ma haza?

He slanted his gaze in her direction, his chuckle dying down as the smile remained, but it was more of a ghost smile. "I have a wife," He announced, much to my relief. "And, I am in a happy relationship with her."

My shoulders slumped in relief as my glare softened slightly. But, only for a split second before the lady's voice came again.

"Do you need a second wife though?" She inquired, her smile never disappearing. Her tone was suggestive when she added. "Double the happiness."

Excuse me, double the what? She did not just say that to my man, did she? Eh lallai abun ba sauqi.

A slight scoff escaped my lips as I found myself leaning back on my seat, watching wonders unfold right before my eyes. Crossing my arms, I could only watch the back of the lady's while she is totally unaware of my glare.

I did not look in his direction again, for God knows just how furious I would be if I see him sporting another smile because this is not funny. Since when did people become this shameless? And since when was he this nice? Did he not reject me without thinking twice before? Why can he not do the same now?

His voice came yet again, except instead of the amusement I was anticipating, his tone serious—holding the same old classic Adnan Bayero edge. "I am more than happy with my wife alone. I do not need anyone else." I admit, that melted my heart a tad bit. "Besides," He breathed out. "I want to stay alive, and so should you. So..." From the corner of my eyes, I watched as he turned around to face the entire class. "...since it appears you do not have any question related to the class, we will call it a day here. If you do have academic questions, send them to my email and I will reply when I get the chance. Have a good day."

As he left the class and everyone began to get up, my gaze remained fixated on the lady from earlier who turned around to look at the lady beside her, whom I could only assume to be her friend. I heard her saying something to her friend about how she will not give up even if he has a wife. In her words, 'Ina ruwana da matarsa?'.

A hiss escaped my lips as I picked up my bag, and dumped the jotter I had brought out earlier before getting on my feet. Without another look spared in the direction, I descended the little staircase in the hall, then made my way towards the exit just in time my phone pinged.

I brought it up, my gaze falling on the message that came in.

MALAM: Come to the parking lot.