AMMARAH'S POV

In the middle of the night- Elley Duhé

I walked into the house with such a huge smile it felt illegal to have this much joy when everything else seems to be falling apart. In my hand was the canvas we started painting with Rayyan.

He insisted on me finishing the last touch of the painting even when I tried to convince him otherwise. So far, the painting is a masterpiece and I don't want to ruin it. Rayyan manages to incorporate such intense emotions in his paintings, one thing I seem to lack. Having a connection with something.

I didn't even have a connection with my dad until weeks before he died then found out he's my foster father. See, no connection at all.

I was at the foot of the stairs struggling between my bag strapped across my chest and the canvas in my hands when I heard foot steps. I looked up and saw my mom.

"Ammarah" She said tightly ascending the stairs "Where are you from?

I kept quiet and looked at her knowing she knows I was not from school.

"I'm asking you a question Ammarah"

"I was out" I replied stiffly

She raised a brow "Out? Out to where?

I mirrored our eyes and uttered "The market"

My mom looked taken aback by either my guts to speak to her face or my gut to go to the market after she forbade it.

She continued descending the stairs until we were three stairs apart and then she said "I thought you were not to go to the market"

I shrugged "Well I did"

"To do what? She asked

Maybe it was the fact that she isn't my mother, that she is refusing to say anything or I'm tired of everything. Perhaps it is even the taste I have of freedom whenever I'm with Rayyan that made me say what I said, held high unabashed

"To meet someone"

This time she opened her mouth and gasped "Someone? What sort of someone Ammarah?

"Someone who made this life a little bit tolerable when you were making it unbearable mum" I spatted watching her face fall.

"You love someone from the market? She asked again aghast

I sighed "If only loving was that easy. You should know the difficulty of it better"

I knew it was harsh and I wasn't supposed to, yet I gave her one look and dragged my canvas up the stairs. When I reached my room, I kept the canvas by my side and thought back to our conversations just minute back.

"You love someone from the market?

She asked as if it was a crime. Who told her I loved him and even if I do what's there to loose?

I walked further into the room and stared hard at the rug. A minute passed, maybe two and then the corner of my mouth was lifting up. I raised my head and stared at the mirror. A reflection of myself stared back and then after seconds we started smiling again, slowly, gently, cheeks tugging until our smile was wide and we were letting out laughter in between.

I looked at the eyes that stared back at me, at the beautiful glint in her eyes. I placed a hand on my chest almost physically feeling my heart widen, accommodating powerful and intense feelings.

I looked back at the canvas near the door and smiled again.

Two minutes later, I've changed into a loose shirt and trousers, brought out the paint brushes and oil paint.

I looked at the painting we started, squatted before it and with a gentle squeeze within the walls of my heart, I swiped the brush.

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Rayyan's POV

I am painting her again!

The brush moved swiftly with a conscience of its own as it alternated between the canvas and the palette.

My legs glided on air as we move in a constant circle of passion and fire together with my canvas.

The sharp arranged array of her brows curved right above the double skin lid of her eyes. Lashes formed an umbrella cascading gently to the fro of the eyes. I dipped into the brown color again to highlight her cheek bone and gradually,
shade after shade, dip after dip, her painted face was almost as perfect as her real face.

Making sure I got everything right, I sat back and stared at the painting as a warm feeling tingled from my thumb to my chest. For the first time in my life, I was grateful for painting. My art has never evoke such strong, intense and massive feeling from me before.

Looking at Ammarah's painting is like moulding me in warm butter over and over again. She looked perfect, she was perfect.

I stood and glanced at the painting once again, feeling yet another warm tingling feeling in my body. I looked up to the roof of the room and dropped my head sighing.

Oh well! The inevitable had happened.

Soft footsteps broke me from my trance and I looked back to see my niece who walked into the room with a huge candy in her hand.

She noticed the painting first and walked to gingerly touch it before turning back to me "Is this the nice lady? She asked licking her candy

I nodded "it is"

She turned to the painting "she asked you to paint her?

I shook my head "I just did"

She cocked her head to one side "because she's nice?

I laughed and squatted to her height "Yes, because she's nice"

She nodded, as if completely understanding my point and grabbed my hand

"Come on. Mama was calling you"

We walked out of the room and down the stairs to an overly excited Binta. She clapped her hands together and looked nothing like the wailing woman she usually is. Beside her stood Bashir as his eyes also gleamed with excitement.

"What's going on? I asked when I was steps away from them

Binta looked at me and grinned "We have good news"

I stared at Bashir "what good news"

They glanced at each other and Binta stepped forward placing a hand on my shoulder "Bashir will tell you"

I nodded and watched her hopeful eyes. Eyes that desperately wishes things will change. I ignored the look and followed Bashir and together we walked out of the house.

After settling in the car, with Bashir driving us to only he knows I broke the silence

"So what happened?

He turned to me and smiled "I think I found your girl's parent"

I ignored the referral he made to Ammarah as my girl or the way my heart tingled after that "You did?

He nodded "It did take spending so much on people to extract information but it was worth it right" He turned to look at me briefly

I nodded "Every bit of it. So who are they?

He cleared his throat dramatically "I believe her father's name is Mr Sufyan Khan and her mother is Yusrah Yusuf Saif. A rich couple who had twins but lost the girl to a kidnapping that led to a fatal accident"

"How sure are we they're the one? I asked

"Mr Khan are business partners with Alhaji Kabeer, Mrs Hidaya wasn't also in good terms with Mrs Yusrah but they settled it right before Mrs Yusrah's wedding"

He reached for his phone and while darting his eyes between the road and his phone, he scrolled and handed me the phone

"Wow" I whispered looking at the picture of the three people that have so much facial similarities with Ammarah

"Exactly. We'll make contact with them later today. Hopefully they're in Nigeria"

I turned to him "They don't stay here?

Bashi shook his head "After their daughter's supposed death, they moved back to Egypt.

"So they'll come back if we tell them their daughter isn't dead and is really looking for them?

He nodded "They'll. They're are her family"

I agreed and leaned back into my seat imagining how Ammarah will feel when she finally reunites with her family and find herself at home, at peace. The thought placed a soft smile on my lips.

Basheer turned to me briefly and said "I am taking you for the session by the way"

I didn't argue or dread facing my therapist again. Instead I leaned further, relaxed my shoulders and gently closed my eyes with the image of Ammarah.

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"You look good today" My therapist said as I settled down

I looked at her crocheted and comfy looking shirt and pointed at it "I love your shirt"

She touched it briefly "Thank you"

I nodded and we watch each other for some time and then she said

"Something changed"

Not as a question but rather a statement. A confirmation for her observation

I smiled "What did you see"

"Your shoulders are relaxed, you noticed my shirt when you don't usually know the theme of my office. Your eyes are bright and you have a constant smile since you walked in.

I laughed lightly "Right. I don't know what you're talking about"

She tilted her head to one side "Ammarah"

I watched her eyes for a few seconds then shrugged

"How do you feel about her?

I noticed the painting that stood on the far end of the office. It was an abstract painting that hides the details of a man with a cow by his side. It was beautiful, passionate and art. I looked back to my therapist

"I like her"

She doesn't look surprised and instead smiled "I knew something changed. How do you feel with her around?

Again, I looked at the painting "I feel connected to life, creativity and genuine and immense happiness"

I turned to my therapist "How is it fair? That when I didn't need it, she comes walking through the market like a ball of burning gases. How dare she carry the sun on her shoulder and walk around like every imprint she leaves on the ground isn't a flower growing in her wake. How dare she look at me like that, like i'm supposed to take her hands and join her on this effortless journey of just being and living. How dare she let me float in her gaze and let me burn under the sun she carries.

I sighed and sat upright "Now wasn't supposed to be the time. She wasn't supposed to fight these voices or decisions let alone declare a kingdom and threaten to rule. She is redefining everything I stood for and I'm letting her because a definition of anything I had before her isn't a definition anymore.

My therapist looked at me with a knowing smile and hopeful eyes then said

"You are turning poetic. Which means you have fallen deeply my darling, beyond repair"

I slumped back into my chair and ran a hand down my face

"That's very scary!

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