Two things are drawing closer in my life.

Iffat's exams and my own Quran competition.

I say in my life, because Iffat's exams directly affects me. I think I know how she feels. I cannot imagine staying at home doing nothing after school, I might run mad, and I think that is exactly what is happening to Iffat.

She's like a pressure pot boiling violently, the hot liquid spilling out and scalding everyone. I really try to understand her, I really do, but she seems to be getting worse.

Last week, she scattered my entire cupboard because she thought she saw her jeans there, and called me a liar and a thief. She was so angry I didn't say anything, afraid she would hit me. She ended up finding the jeans under her bed, and didn't apologize. I should have told her to apologize, because it feels I have been lugging something heavy inside me, begging to come out and tell her what she's been doing is wrong.

There was also the issue of cooking. Iffat doesn't want to cook anymore. If Mummy forces her, especially when Daddy is not around, she would make nonsense. I once saw her toss rice without rinsing it inside boiling water, and even cook vegetables without rinsing. Again, I could not report her to Mummy even as we ate the rice, and I thought I was going to be sick afterwards.

And now, she locks the room because she says I distract her from reading. So before I go to school everyday, I make sure to take out my clothes that I would wear upon returning. I was only allowed inside the room to sleep. I tried to complain, but Iffat said I was selfish, and that since I was the only one passing, I didn't care if she did.

Of course I cared that she passed, so that was why I have no choice but to leave the room for her.

When I look away from my Quran I am practicing in class, I catch Nasir's eyes on me. He looks away fast, but not fast enough. He has been doing that since the time on the roof some days ago, and we haven't spoken since then.

I keep my eyes on him as he stylishly tries to look my way again. When he spots me looking, he quickly removes his eyes again. He leans forward and scribbles in a book, and when I am sure he won't look my way again, I return to my Quran.

"Hmm," I hear someone say. I raise my head again. Yusrah is wiggling her brows at me.

"What?" I ask her.

"Nothing oo," Yusrah sits at my desk. "Nothing at all. I just noticed someone looking at someone she said she doesn't like oo."

"I wasn't looking at anyone."

"Hmm, Nadeen!" Yusrah doesn't believe me. Aisha walks past, and she stops, her attention caught.

"What happened to Nadeen?" She asks Yusrah.

"She was romancing Nasir with her eyes and she's now denying it," Yusrah says.

"I was not..."

"Ah!" Aisha closes her mouth and giggles as she leans closer to Yusrah, her head shaking in my direction. I don't even know why Yusrah will tell such to Aishah, we aren't even close to begin with and she could easily believe it.

"Very soon now she'll now be running off with him to do what they do in all these Harlequin books," Yusrah giggles.

As the two of them laugh, heat bubbles in me. I stand from my seat and leave the classroom, and the only place I can think of heading to is the rooftop. I just need to be away from everyone. If only I could be, just far away, in those houses they show on, cabins- they call them. I want to stay in a cabin in a deep forest, and just stay there doing nothing. I don't know why, but I really want that lately.

Or if not that, I'd just like to go and eat stir fried spaghetti at Nasir's house, and watch TV afterwards. I don't want to say a word, I just want to sit there, and do nothing.

I push the iron door of the roof, thankful that it opened up. I step inside, and the minute the air hits me,  my body settles, as if my insides is resting in a cushion chair.

I go over to the spot I always find Nasir, and I stare up at the sky. The clouds are like cotton wools pulled slightly apart, and I find myself smiling. Forget a cabin in the forest, it must be nice to stay up in the clouds, just drifting, existing without any disturbance, without any headache.

I know I cannot stay there for long. Mr. Ambrose will come and teach at anytime, and I don't want to lie for an explanation. I stare at the sky for a little while, and I imagine Allah up there, watching me too. There are questions I want to ask him, things I want to tell him, but my mouth doesn't move, and there isn't so much time up here.

When my body remains relaxed, I go down the stairs, and immediately, I almost bump into Mrs. Tahir. She frowns at once, and all the relaxation I felt earlier evaporates.

"What were you doing up there?" She asks me.

"I was...I was making sure it was locked. I saw some students playing on these stairs," the lie tumbles out of my mouth without a second thought.

"So you can't do that during break? Ehn? Don't you have class going on?"

"Mr. Ambrose didn't come..."

"Nadeen, that's no excuse. Follow the rules. Oya, back to class," she points in the direction of my classroom.

I move without saying anything else. When I enter the still rowdy class, I head straight to my desk without looking at anyone's side. The minute I sit down, Yusrah comes to my desk again.

"Na wa oo," she says. "Small play and you're already angry. Nadeen, it's like you want to take your father's anger oo."

"I wasn't angry," I argue. I hate that she brings up my father in this issue.

"You were. It's like walking on eggshells with you, who else does it remind you of?" Yusrah sighs, and adjusts her glasses. "Look, a joke is a joke. Aisha and I were even laughing because it was funny. That's all to it."

"I said I wasn't angry." I reiterated, my voice firm.

"Okay," Yusrah says. I can sense she isn't satisfied with my reply, so I try to shift the subject.

"Did your mother buy you that dress you told me about yesterday?" I ask.

Instantly, Yusrah lights up. "Yes oo, after begging her and begging her. She even bought shoes to match!  But she bought black shoes! She said black can match any cloth, but I was looking for pink..."

She continues to gist me about the clothes her father later got her, and she went on to speak about how he also got surprise gifts for her mother. I don't want to think about my own parents, but it's impossible not to compare them. I don't want to think about the clothes in my mother's cupboard, old and worn out. I don't want to think about the new shirts my father had gotten for himself, and how he was proud he could now afford the more expensive kind.

Yusrah stops talking when Mr. Ambrose finally walks into the class almost when the period is about to end. He begins to teach immediately, writing the topic on the board.

I take my Quran to return it to my bag, and I notice a piece of paper peeking out. I pull it out, and instantly recognize the writing. It is from Nasir. I figured he must have put it in there when I went upstairs.

Hello Nadeen,

I know I offended you, and I didn't mean to. Please forgive me and continue being my friend again?

And then, I notice two boxes at the down, one with a Yes in front of it, and another with a No. I look at his direction, and I catch his eyes again, and this time, he doesn't look away, but he looks so full of hope, like a baby, and I know I don't have it in me not to forgive him.

I take my pen, and jot behind the paper.

Hello Nasir,

Next time, ask people before you hold worms up to them, I didn't like it. I will forgive you if you...

I think about cabins in forest, a home in the clouds, laughter at the dining table, and I continue writing, suffocating the shame in me as I made my request.

...invite me over to your place again and let me eat your favorite food. Let me know when.

And at the front of the paper, I write another box, and in front of it, I put a maybe, and I tick that box.

-

-

-

After Madrasah the next day, Ustaz Sa'id's words flogged me like as if he used a cane on me. Husseinah and I recited for him, but he shook his head, dissatisfied.

"I've said there is no elongation on that fatiah, Nadeen," Uztaz Sa'id hit his cane on the table top several times. "Don't make me cane you. What's wrong with you two? The competition is very close and yet you're reciting as if you are beginners. Your tajweed has to be perfect! You are representing the entire Madrasah, and you're already failing before you even begin!"

Tears stung the back of my eyes, but I blinked them back. I am trying with the competition, and I really didn't want to do it in the first place. I was just picked, and now it felt like I was going to fail.

I tried to think back to my practice, wonder if there was any part I must have not taken into account. Uztaz had gone on to say that if we recited the same way the next day, he would have no choice but to flog us both.

"You make more mistakes than me Nadeen," Husseinah had said with a frown after Uztaz dismissed us.

But Husseinah made more mistakes than me, I wanted to tell her that, but the words didn't come out.

Instead, I said, "But Uztaz said it was the two of us."

"No, Uztaz was focusing on your recitation more because it had more mistakes," Husseinah insisted. "Please, practice well. My father is the owner of this Madrasah and I really have to win."

She moved away before I could argue, and since everyone else had already left prior to when we started our recitation practice, I walked home myself.

When I reach the junction where Iya Abbey's Buka stood, loud, boisterous men were arguing about politics, their voices muffled with the food they stuffed in their mouth. I look down the road leading to Zainab's house, and I look back the road I came from. Maybe it wasn't too late to pay Abu Hurairah a visit. With everything going on, I've been so busy and practice for the Quran competition has been taking up my time, so I really miss him, and Ummu Abdullah.

I might have to find an excuse to visit him tomorrow. I have a lot to say to him. I know I want to tell him about Nasir, and about Iffat, but I'd let tomorrow come first.

When I get home, I go to greet Mummy in the kitchen. She barely looks at my side, rushing from one side of the kitchen to another, checking the time on her phone as she stirs the Amala in the pot. She is late to cook, and if Daddy should come home and not meet food, there might be trouble.

"Did you come home late?" I ask her.

"Yes, I had a good customer today I couldn't leave. She bought a lot of stuff, and wanted to know if I...wo, Nadeen, I'll tell you later. Your father's food is on fire." She used the cooking broom to break apart the ewedu in the pot.

"I haven't eaten, Mummy," I tell her.

"Let your father eat first. His own food is more important now. Look, check if there is eja kika in that stew. It's what you and your sister will eat with Eba. I bought the Amala and beef for your father."

"Okay," I say. "I'm coming."

I need my other note to do my assignment, and that meant going into the room that Iffat had locked. I knock at the door gently at first, and when Iffat doesn't respond, I knock even harder.

"Iffat, I need to take something," I tell her. I knock even harder, and I hear the door unlock, before it swings open.

"What?" Iffat barks at me.

"I need my note..."

"What did I tell you about not disturbing me?"

"But...but it's my room too. I want to take something."

"You're so selfish. When you too want to write JAMB, you'll see how I'll disturb you," Iffat promises. "Please don't disturb me during my reading session again."

She makes to close the door, but I stop her.

"I need my book, I need to do my assignment..."

Iffat attempts to push the door, but I push back. She puts all her strength into it, but I don't relent. I'm tired of not being allowed into my room anymore, and whether I need my notebook or not, it's my room as well.

"Get away!" Iffat screeches into my face. She uses her hand to shove me away, and I stumble, training all the heat of my body in my glower at her.

"I'm warning you, Nadeen," she says to me as she holds the door.

"Olodo oshi," I insult her as she closes the door on my face. I didn't think she would hear it, but she did, because the door opens back up, and her eyes are narrowed in disbelief.

"What did you just say to me?" She asks me.

I don't answer. Instead, I stomp off in the direction of the kitchen.

Iffat grabs me by the back of my cloth, halting me. "What did you just say to me?!" She yells.

I yank myself out of her grasp. "Leave me alone!"

"Did you just call me a dullard?"

The breath coming out of my nose feels hot, but I don't say anything.

"You called me a dullard?!" Iffat's lips do that wobbly thing again, a sign she is very angry. "Nadeen, how dare you?! Wallahi I will beat you if you don't take those words back!"

"What's with the noise?!" Mummy yells as she approaches us in the passage. "Do you know your father hates it when you shout?! Iffat, what's the noise about?"

"Why are you asking me what the noise is about?" Iffat yells at Mummy. "Why don't you ask Nadeen that called me an Olodo?"

Mummy whips her head at me. "Is that true, Nadeen?"

"She didn't let me in the room! And she's never reading! She's always on her phone!" I say in protest.

"I was not on my phone! I swear I was reading! And she just came and called me an Olodo! Just because I failed my JAMB exams!" Tears are streaming down Iffat's cheeks now, and those familiar invisible hands tighten around my heart, squeezing it so it beat even faster, my heart imprisoned in its hold.

"Nadeen...," Mummy calls.

"I've been dealing with fear and doubts through all of my reading," Iffat continues. "I have been trying my best, praying and reading, reading and praying, and my own sister has the guts to say I am a dullard."

A heavy sniffle follows that statement, but I don't look at Iffat's face anymore. She returns to the room, slamming it so loud the invisible hands around my chest squeeze so hard I skip a beat. I know Mummy is looking at me, even though I don't look at her too.

"So you think you're better than your sister because you're passing now, abi?" Mummy asks.

"I didn't mean it..."

"You didn't mean what? You were very arrogant right now, and you know Allah hates those that are arrogant. Just pray Iffat doesn't report you to your father or else...," Mummy sighs heavily and walks away from me, leaving me in a deep well of fear and panic.

If Daddy hears I said such, he would beat me for being disrespectful. He doesn't tolerate disrespect, especially from a younger person to an older one. He always said it when watching news, pointing at youths protesting to the government.

"You see? You see the kind of generation we have? Calling people old enough to be their grandfather by name! Insulting them! And these same people want to be heard?"

But I really didn't mean it. It just burst out when my body was very hurt. I feel my body sink in itself, deep into a dark hole. I imagine the world staring down at me, the earth having eyes, and nothing but shame emanates from them.

Daddy comes home much later, Alhamdulilah, and when he sits in the living room to watch the news, Mummy is fast to serve his meal.

"Amala again today?" Daddy stares at the food in irritation. "Don't you even have creativity when it comes to food? And you call yourself a woman."

He hisses, and begins to eat, cutting the mold of the Amala and scooping the stew. Mummy's shoulders sag with weariness and relief as she walks away, and she goes to eat her food.

"Nadeen, when is that your Quran competition?" Daddy asks me after a loud belch.

"In two weeks time." I tell him.

"Good, you must get first. I know you will get first. Is it not you?" Daddy says as he eats some more. "I know you have my brain, and my brain never disappoints."

The hands do not reach around my heart this time. Something brushes against my leg, like the purr of a cat, and ties my nerves upwards in a way that I am invisibly chained on the chair. Sweat pools around my neck, and I had to excuse myself to the toilet.

Immediately I get in, I punch my fists at my chest, my legs, everywhere, just to free myself from the hold of this invisible creature. I want to tear myself apart and find it, and kill it in the most merciless of manners for what it has done to me for so long. But it climbs my body and tightens me. It is painful and I find myself crying silent tears.

I crouch in the bathroom, and it tortures me, and I allow it, crying from the pain, crying from wounds I cannot see. It has a voice, and it tells me I am a bad person, over and over again, and I nod my head, agreeing with it, hoping it will leave me alone when I do. But then, it doesn't seem to be finished. It tells me that I am the one that's an Olodo, that's why I did what I did to Nasir, and that's why God hates me, detests me because I am bad.

I agree. I agree. I agree.

It worked, because I feel my body release slowly. I slump against a wall of the toilet, and I treasure every normal breath I take. It isn't long before there is a knock on the door, and it brings me fully back to the present.

I open the door. Daddy doesn't look happy.

"What were you doing in the toilet for so long? Are you giving birth to twins?" Daddy steps inside and I step out of the way. "Thank God it's not smelling. I thought I would have to use the air freshener."

I walk back to the living room, and sit. Mummy calls me to eat, but I shake my head.

"Why won't you eat?" She asks me.

"I'm not hungry."

"I hope you know this Eba cannot waste? If you don't eat it today, you'll eat it tomorrow when you come back from school."

I nod at that. She returns to the kitchen. Daddy comes of the toilet and says he is retiring to bed. Mummy cleans up, and tells me to wash the dishes as she leaves too.

I don't stand up, and as time ticks away, I push my body to the couch and take in a deep breath of air, and the soft hands of sleep caresses me together with the stings of mosquito bites. As I drift off, I think of the cabin in the forest, and how if those invisible hands find me, I wouldn't have to lock myself in bathrooms for it to pass.

As my eyes close, I think about hugs and stir fried spaghetti.