He hissed and turned away from the gate, feeling more aroused with anger as she kept honking aggressively at the gate. Or in other words, at him. What was wrong with this girl? Didn't she know that if she were to spend the night honking at him, no one in the world will make him open the gate for her? Not even his employer, which was sadly her father.

This time, when she honked, he was sure it lasted for more than a minute. He hissed again and palmed his face out of exasperation, waiting for the worst. Because the worst had always come, and this time too, even before he exhaled, the door banged open.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Mujaheed?! What has gotten into your head?!” Those words were the first he heard, and as he always did, he didn't look up at her. It was a waste of time. Or rather, he wanted to suppress himself from smacking her.

She moved to the bench he was seated on and stood above his head, her hands akimbo while she glared at him. He didn't have to look up at her to know she was glaring at him. She had always glared at him, always hated him, and he made sure he annoyed her and made her angry as much as she did him every blessed day.

“What are you paid for?” she asked with an angry tone, and he fixed his eyes on the small cup he was taking his night tea from. She hissed and looked away, huffing out an angry breath. “Do you take me as a nuisance? How could I be speaking to you, and you're ignoring me? I've been honking at you for over five minutes!”

It had come to the place he always wanted, where she would point out the kind of person she was and every day, unless it got to that point, he never budged. And right now, she pointed it out as he took his eyes off from his cup. “There you are, a nuisance. I thought you've long realized that no matter what you do, I won't ever open the gate for you the moment it’s past

“What do you mean?” she clamored. “Do you perhaps take yourself as my father or what? To be this bossy whenever I want to go out?! That's none of your business, Mujaheed! Look, just go, and open the gate for me. That's your job, a freaking gateman, and you have no right to be questioning me like this! I've heard enough!”

He softly hissed and poured himself more of his black tea. She glared at the pot and prayed for the day she could break it, along with all his tea things as she called them. “What's the time now?” he asked, casually sipping his tea as though he wasn't doing a thing that went against his job.

She hated herself the moment she lifted up her wrist and checked the time; it was past

“It's past

She hissed and glared at him even though she was sure it was only but a waste of effort. He didn't notice, and even if he did, he wouldn't mind. “Mujaheed, for the last time, open the gate for me,” she said through gritted teeth, hoping for the day she would successfully get some bandits to deal with his arrogance.

How could a voice sound as sultry as hers did? And when she was infuriated, a minute away from shouting her lungs out? Mujaheed wondered and hissed; this girl, lady, or woman, because he wasn't sure how he should address her, irritated the veins in him. He hissed again and when he looked up, his eyes fell into her bloodshot eyes. The anger was evident.

“You have two legs and hands, don't you? Open the gate yourself or stop shouting at me. Please, just go away. I wouldn't want someone to walk by and think we're having a simple conversation, which would be embarrassing if you ask me.”

He didn't have to look up at her to know that he had hit a nerve because Mujaheed could say this had been their routine almost every day. Or maybe on days her father wasn't around. She laughed humorlessly, the kind of laughter that revealed her bewilderment.

She clapped her hands and looked at him with an awe-struck expression, “Did you hear yourself right? Ya ilahi! This man is seriously—” She was cut off by her phone.

“Hey, babe.” She called out, smiling even though she was burning within.

“Come on, babe, we've been waiting for you for long, is your Dad around? Do I need to come before you can sneak out?” The voice from the other end spoke, and she glared at the nonchalant figure of Mujaheed before she spoke back.

“I'm so sorry, babe. I've been held up by something, but I'll be there in a bit, sorry.” She apologized silently with a faint smile on her lips, and she could imagine the annoyed expression on his face.

“Okay, babe. Please come over soon. I'll hang up now.” And after the call ended, she glared at Mujaheed before she furiously walked back into the house. She opened the gate herself and went back to the car. She flung her bag to the back seat and aggressively drove out of the house.

She slowed down when she was sure that if she spoke, he would hear her, “If you won't open the gate for me, you can close it. Unless you want to guard an open house.” She hissed loudly and rolled her window up before she drove off.

Mujaheed stared at the specks of dust her tires left behind. But let's wait and see who'll unlock the house for you when you're back, he mused to himself and angrily stood to close the gate. Something caught his eyes on the floor, something sparkling.

He closed the gate before he bent down and took it into his palms, scrutinizing it before he understood what it was. It was a bracelet. Wait, he didn't quite understand. It looked like a bracelet or an anklet. It was hers, without doubt. He hissed softly and slid it into his breast pocket. He had no intention of giving it back to her, but he didn't know why he didn't throw it away.

“Here's your dinner, Ya Mujaheed!” A lady walked over to him, smiling widely, and it looked as if she had run or jogged.

“Oh, that's so nice of you, Nana. But you know...” She cut him off before he finished his sentence.

She placed the tray by the entrance. She looked up with a cheeky grin, “She asked me to make it the way you like it, rice and okro soup, right? That's what I did.”

He suppressed his angry expression and smiled appreciatively at her, “That's so nice, Nana. Thank you so much. But didn't I tell you to tell her that she should stop doing this?” He moved to where Nana stood, staring at him with her innocent eyes.

She pouted her lips a bit, “I told her, and she nearly killed me that day. I have no choice but to do what she asks me. You know how it is.” She smiled, and he nodded his head.

“I know; thank you, Nana. I'll tell her myself when next I see her, okay? You should go to bed. You have school tomorrow, don't you?” He asked and chuckled when she stifled a yawn.

“You know I hate going to school, Ya Mujaheed. Dahlia makes sure everyone in that school hates me; it's never fun.” He liked Nana since the first day she was brought to this house from Sardauna, the village which she had told him tons and tons of stories about. He liked her.

She was an innocent 14-year-old girl whose father died. The grandmother that took care of her died too, which was Alhaji's Aunt, and he brought her home after the condolences. It was evident that the people in the house treated her as though she were a maid, and she found peace only with him. She was funny and carefree, and she spoke a lot. The first time she called him Ya Mujaheed he told her to stop, but then she said that she once had a brother and he died. He couldn't deny her that.

“You know how Dahlia is, Nana. Don't worry about her, okay? Just focus on your studies. You should really go and sleep unless you want them to be shouting at you in the morning for being late.” She smiled and innocence dripped from her eyes.

“I will, thank you, Ya Mujaheed. Goodnight. Enjoy your weird meal as well.” Because who ate white rice with okro soup? No one but him.

He smiled; she was the only person he smiled at for a very long time now. It felt as if he had forgotten how it felt like to smile, to feel the urge to laugh. “It's the sweetest combo ever. You should try it one day.” They spoke for a few minutes before she walked back into the mansion. Alhaji Kamal Sardauna's mansion. A name that rang and echoed around the four walls of Taraba State.

He sat down and looked up at the sky. He had always loved it at night. With the stars and the utter darkness that had engulfed the world, Mujaheed felt so much at ease. He loved being alone, and he had always hated it whenever someone intruded his thoughts. He began to eat his dinner, sadly smiling as some random thoughts crossed his mind. He could only be himself at night, not every day, but on days he chose to be himself, it had always been at night when no one could see him or notice. He hated to notice it himself.

✥

It was still dawn when he came out of his room and took a look around the parking lot of the house, surprised when he still hadn’t seen her car. He thought he had been sleeping when she came back, which was why he left the key to the door where he used to hide it for her. Well, maybe not for her, but on days she went out so late at night, he had always kept the key for her. And somehow, she knew where he kept it, which was surprising. Because they had never spoken about it or even showed that they were aware of what had happened.

After he had prayed his Subh prayer in the mosque adjoined with the house, Mujaheed sat down and began to brew his tea like he had always did, and when the driver came to take them to school, they exchanged a brisk pleasantry.

“Good morning, Mujaheed, how have you been?” he greeted first, and Mujaheed looked up at him wearing the expression he had always worn. The nonchalant and cold look that often pushed people away from him, which he would forever be indebted to.

“Morning, Jibril, how have you been as well?” That was it, and even after Jibril had replied him, he only nodded his head and looked away.

The girls began to come out. There were only two of them: Dahlia, which was Alhaji’s third, and last daughter, then Nana. Dahlia barely threw him a glance when she hopped into the car and shouted at Nana that ran to greet him.

“Good morning, Ya Mujaheed! I hope you slept well?” she asked with a small smile and he nodded his head.

“I did, how was your night, Nana?” He questioned, and she nodded her head as she ran off, waving at him, and he waved back at her.

He wondered why Jibril didn’t come back early even though he didn’t give a damn. And after an hour or more, he watched as the car drove to the house and that was when he realized the reason he stayed so long. He had taken Alhaji from the airport. Mujaheed rushed to the gate and yanked it open, his face holding its usual expression. He didn’t mind who it was. He would always give you this expression no matter who you were.

“Good morning, Alhaji. How was your trip?” he greeted, ducking his head down a bit to show his respect.

Alhaji Kamal looked up at him with a warm smile; he had always liked Mujaheed. “Good morning to you too, Mujaheed. It was fine, thank you. I hope there wasn’t a problem while I was away?” he questioned, and Mujaheed shook his head at him while he walked back to the door to sip his tea again.

At first, when Alhaji asked, he wanted to tell him about her, that she hadn’t come back home, but then he thought maybe she was back without her car or something, and he would rather not. Jibril came out with the car shortly after that. Alhaji had sent for him again, and he sat there in utter silence, watching as the sun began to rise to the sky and sometimes, it blinded his view. But he loved the sensation of the burning sun on his skin. It was much better at times than what he was used to feeling.

“Mujaheed!” Alhaji called out at him while rushing towards the gate. He immediately stood up and walked into the house, wondering what had gone wrong for Alhaji to come out calling his name in such a distraught voice.

“What is it, Alhaji?” he asked, looking at his forlorn face.

“I got a call! Fareeda! She’s in the hospital!” he said in a raspy breath and held his head.

“Should I call Jibril to take you there?” Even though he wondered what happened to her last night, he wasn’t fazed. But he totally understood that he was this frightened. Maybe she got into it with some thugs and disrespected them like she was used to? He prayed it was like that. Let them teach her a lesson at least.

“No, Jibril is far away from home. Can you take me there, please? You know how to drive, right?” Alhaji asked, and Mujaheed could only nod his head. He walked to the parking lot and brought one of the parked cars out, and they drove directly to the said hospital.

On arriving, Alhaji turned to him from the corner he sat in. “I pray she didn’t do something bad this time, Ya Allah.” He silently prayed, and without answering, Mujaheed walked out of the car and opened the door for him.

They walked to the reception together, with Alhaji trying all he could to compose himself so none of the people watching over them could tell that he was in pain or, rather, frightened. They went directly to the doctor’s office, and when Mujaheed tried to go out and give them some privacy, Alhaji asked him not to. Mujaheed understood that he was hypertensive. Maybe he was afraid of an attack or something? He couldn’t directly pinpoint his reason.

“What’s wrong with her, Doctor? I mean, when was she brought here?” How could he tell him that he knew his daughter hadn’t slept at home? And she was later found in a hospital without him knowing? Away on a business trip?

“She was brought here around 3am by a man named Adam. I don’t know, maybe he’s her husband, but he hasn’t come back, and when we asked her for her guardian’s number, she gave us yours, Alhaji.” Alhaji gulped down a lump in his throat and closed his eyes. This was what he had been afraid of happening. He knew it; Fareeda hadn’t stopped dating this Adam guy. What the hell was wrong with her? Did he have to nearly kill her before she could get what he was trying to say, for Allah’s sake?

“And what’s wrong with her, Doctor?” he asked again, trying so hard to keep his anger in check. Fareeda will have a taste of it today, for sure. He would have to make sure that she couldn’t move a limb from her body.

“He told us that she fell down the stairs, and she isn’t deeply wounded. But sadly, we couldn’t save her baby. She had a miscarriage.”

Alhaji felt as if there was thunder strongly striking the walls of his ears, his head, and his heart. Yet, it felt eerily silent everywhere. Did he hear him right? Fareeda had a what?! But he had to act. He wouldn’t have to show this man that his daughter wasn’t married like they all thought, lest he wanted the news to circulate around the streets of Taraba state that Alhaji Kamal Sardauna’s daughter had an illegitimate child that was miscarried.

He immediately stood up. “Can we see her, please?”

The doctor called a nurse and asked her to take them to the room Fareeda was kept in. Alhaji wanted nothing but to lay his eyes on her; until then, he didn’t know how to treat her. What kind of punishment did she deserve, and what he would say to her? She had never had his heart stricken with grief, shame, and confusion until today.

The nurse showed them the room, smiled, and walked off to her duties. He needn’t turn back to know that Mujaheed was following him, and when he tried to turn the doorknob to enter, Mujaheed spoke, “I’ll wait in the car, Alhaji.”

He softly shook his head. He didn’t want to be tagged as a father that killed his daughter. He needed someone that can save Fareeda from his hands in this room. What was left? He had heard it: Fareeda had had a miscarriage, and she had never been married. Brought to the hospital by a random guy named Adam at 3am at night. He softly turned to look at him, “No, let’s go inside together.”