The Girl Who Wanted Him First
Zaynab's POV
---
I woke to birds. Not the noisy ones I was used to back in Ilorin…the kind that argued on zinc roofs before sunrise, but soft, well-behaved ones. Like they had been trained not to disturb rich people.
The guest room was glowing. Not from the sun, but the curtain-filtered light that made everything inside seem warmer than it was.
For a moment, I forgot where I was.
Then I heard the house stir. Slippers scuffing on marble. Distant clinks of teacups. And Mariam's voice down the hall.
Everything came rushing back.
The gate. The dinner.
Faruq.
And that voice note from Asiya.
I pulled the covers over my head and stayed there longer than necessary.
---
By noon, I was seated under a shaded gazebo in the inner courtyard. A tray of fresh dates and cardamom tea sat untouched beside me. Mariam had gone to pick up Asiya from the estate entrance. I could hear her laughter echoing faintly from somewhere near the driveway.
The silence didn't last.
"Asalamu 'alaykum, Zayy!!"
The nickname hit me before the person did.
Asiya spun around the hedge like she'd just stepped off a runway. Flowing kaftan in burnt orange, scarf pinned in a messy but perfect way, and sunglasses perched on her head like a crown.
I stood, smiling despite myself.
"Wa 'alaykum salam," I said, hugging her lightly.
She smelled like French vanilla and mango body mist, loud, unapologetic, and exactly as I remembered.
"Look at you, Miss Final Year!" she said, holding me at arm's length. "Still as innocent and annoyingly beautiful as ever."
I laughed softly. "And you still talk too much."
Mariam rolled her eyes. "Wait till she starts her Faruq monologue."
Asiya turned dramatically. "Please. That man hasn't aged. I saw him in the hallway just now and nearly made fall on the spot if you know what I mean."
I blinked.
Mariam gave her a warning glance, but Asiya was already too far gone.
"I swear, Zaynab, if you don't fall in love with him by the end of this trip, I will. Again."
She flopped beside me on the cushion, toes painted gold, confidence glowing like perfume.
"But this time," she whispered with a grin, "I won't be subtle about it."
I tried to smile, but something cold settled behind my ribs.
---
Asiya had always been loud about things I kept quiet. She joked where I hesitated. Reached where I stood back.
And she had always liked Faruq.
She used to call him "Uncle Ice." Said she'd marry him one day just to melt him.
Back then, it was funny. A harmless crush. A childhood fantasy wrapped in fancy abayas and schoolyard banter.
Now?
Now we were grown.
And Faruq wasn't a fantasy anymore.
He was here.
Real. Watching.
And I wasn't sure what I felt.
---
Later that afternoon, the three of us sat by the indoor pool. Mariam had ordered drinks, and Asiya was already talking about a charity fashion show she wanted to host on campus.
"I want elegance," she was saying. "Nothing tight. Just flowy, regal modesty. Hijabi couture. You know what I mean?"
Mariam nodded absentmindedly. I sipped slowly, only half-listening, until I heard his name again.
"I think I'll ask Faruq to sponsor," Asiya said casually, "or at least show up. His presence alone would make people take it seriously."
She glanced at me. "Don't you think, Zayy?"
I paused. Then nodded, slow. "I think… you've already made up your mind."
She laughed, pleased.
But I caught the way Mariam shifted slightly. Like a muscle tensed. Just for a second.
It passed. But it stayed with me.
Later, when Asiya left to check her hair in the mirror for the fifth time, Mariam leaned closer.
"She talks a lot," she said softly.
I didn't respond.
"She's… attached to the idea of him. Always has been."
"I know," I murmured.
Mariam hesitated. "But just so you kno, Faruq doesn't entertain things like that. Not seriously. He's…complicated."
I turned to her, brows raised. "Why are you telling me that?"
She looked away.
"No reason."
---
That night, long after the house went quiet, I lay awake in my room, listening to nothing. Thinking too loudly.
Asiya liked him.
Mariam knew it.
And me?
I didn't want to like anyone.
Not my professor. Not a billionaire. Not anyone.
I came here to breathe.
But suddenly, the air felt thinner than before.
The next morning, the house woke earlier than I did.
By the time I joined them in the family lounge, Asiya was already talking at full volume, cross-legged on the velvet couch, a plate of dates in her lap. Mariam sat beside her, scrolling through something on her phone, barely listening.
And Faruq…
He was there too.
Sitting opposite them. Dressed in dark grey. Neat, as always. One arm resting across the back of the couch, ankle crossed casually over his knee.
He wasn't smiling.
But he was listening.
And that, somehow, made the room quieter than it should've been.
I paused at the entrance, half-hidden behind the pillar. I told myself it was unintentional. That I wasn't… observing anything.
But my eyes betrayed me.
They found Asiya's face, bright, animated, alive. She was telling a story. Something about their old school days, a prank she'd pulled. Her voice rose and fell with the kind of confidence that pulled people in.
Then my gaze shifted to Faruq.
He wasn't laughing. But the edge of his mouth had curved,just slightly. And he was watching her with a look I couldn't quite name.
Attentive? Amused? Indulgent?
Something… soft.
I didn't like that it made my stomach twist.
I stepped into the room quietly, and the second I did, Faruq's eyes flicked up to mine.
That softness disappeared.
"Asalamualykum warahmotullah wabarakatuh," I said not looking at anyone specifically
"Zaynab!" Asiya chirped. "Come, come. I was just telling your future brother-in-law how terrible I was in Home Economics."
Faruq gave her a calm look. "That is… not an inaccurate summary."
We all laughed, except me. Mine was a short exhale, and only because it was expected.
I sat beside Mariam and reached for a glass of water, willing my face to stay still.
---
The morning drifted by. Small talk. News headlines. A delivery of pastries no one ordered but everyone picked at.
At some point, Asiya excused herself to take a video call with her older sister. Mariam followed her out, mumbling something about checking on the laundry.
And I was left here with him. Even though there are maids around.
But, still. It feels alone. With him.
Faruq didn't speak. Neither did I.
He was now flipping through a newspaper, his movements slow, deliberate. The only sound in the room was the whisper of the paper turning.
I cleared my throat gently. "You're always quiet."
He looked up. His gaze wasn't sharp…but it wasn't soft either.
"I speak when there's something to say."
I nodded slowly. "I'm just not used to that. Most people fill silence."
"Silence," he said, folding the paper neatly, "is rarely empty."
There it was again.
That feeling. Like the room had narrowed. Like my pulse was betraying me.
I stood. "I should go review my NYSC redeployment paperwork."
He didn't stop me. Just nodded once.
But as I turned, I heard him say softly behind me…
"He texts you a lot."
I froze.
"Excuse me?"
Faruq didn't look at me. "The professor. Hassan."
I turned back slowly. "How did you know?"
His eyes met mine again. Calm. Unapologetic.
"You always check your phone after dinner. Smile faintly. Then flip it over and pretend nothing's changed."
I said nothing.
Because what was there to say?
He wasn't wrong.
And yet, he had no right to be right.
"I didn't realize you were observing me," I said quietly.
"I wasn't," he replied. "You're just… not hard to read."
That stung more than it should have.
"I should go," I repeated.
This time, I didn't wait for a reply.
---
Back in the guest room, I locked the door, pulled off my scarf, and sat in front of the mirror.
I didn't recognize the face staring back.
Not because anything had changed.
But because everything had.
---
That night, Asiya came into my room with a bowl of sliced mango and a head full of plans.
"I'm going to tell him," she said out of nowhere, dropping onto my bed.
I looked up from my notebook. "Tell who what?"
She blinked, as if the answer was obvious.
"Faruq. I'm going to tell him I like him. Finally."
The air between us grew dense.
I stared at the mango slices, unsure if I could swallow anything now.
"I mean," she continued, not noticing my silence, "he's older, yes. But I've always felt something. And Mariam said he respects strong women. I'm going to be honest. For once."
She smiled. Bright. Hopeful.
"I think he might actually say yes."
I nodded, not because I agreed.
But because I didn't trust my voice enough to say anything else.