SILENT FLAMES

MALIK

I parked my car under a tree just outside my office. The sun was relentless, bouncing off the windshield and making me squint. My hand hovered over my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I stopped at Yusuf's name. It had been a while since we talked, and I figured he'd still be awake.

The video call connected, and Yusuf's sleepy face popped up on the screen. His hoodie was half off his head, and he looked like he'd been doing something important.

"Malik? It's—hold on, what time is it?—almost 2 a.m. here," Yusuf grumbled, leaning closer to the screen. "What's going on?"

"Still burning the midnight oil?" Malik asked with a smirk, ignoring his brother's obvious irritation.

"Malik, why do you look... weird? Like you have something to say but don't know how?" Yusuf squinted at the screen. "You didn't get anyone pregnant, did you?"

"Shut up, mr man. I'm just calling to check up in you. Can't I just check on my younger brother once in a while?"

"You?" Yusuf scoffed, rubbing his eyes. "The same Malik who can go weeks without picking my calls? Abeg, talk. What's up?"

Malik sighed, leaning back in his seat. "Okay, fine. I met someone."

The fatigue vanished from Yusuf's face as he straightened up. "Wait. Met someone? As in a woman? Malik, this better not be a prank."

"Would I call you at this hour to joke?"

"Yes," Yusuf said immediately. The grin on his face was unmistakable. "Okay, let's hear it. Who is she? What's her story?"

Malik smiled, the memory of Amina flashing in his mind. "Her name's Amina. I met her at Hauwa's wedding. She's... different. Reserved. Very beautiful."

Yusuf blinked, then sat back. "Wow. So, how does she feel about you?"

I hesitated, running a hand through my hair. "That's the thing—she's does not like me. It's like she's sizing me up, trying to figure out if I'm serious or just playing games. She doesn't even know i have marriage in mind."

For a moment, Yusuf just stared at the screen. Then he burst out laughing. "Malik? The guy who once said marriage was for 'later, much later'?"

"Yusuf, don't start," I said, shaking my head.

"Okay, okay," he said, wiping his eyes. "But wow. This is big. So, what's the plan? Are you going to tell her?"

"Not yet," I said. "I need to take my time. She's not someone who'll just take my word for it. I want to earn her trust first."

Yusuf's teasing expression softened. "Okay, I see why you called me. You need my advice on how to charm her."

"I don't want mess this up," I admitted.

"Then don't," Yusuf said simply. "Just be real with her. If she's the one, she'll see it."

I nodded, his words sinking in. "Thanks, man. How's everything over there? Still surviving the cold?"

"Barely," he said, making a dramatic shivering gesture. "And these assignments? I'm one all-nighter away from losing my mind."

I chuckled. "You'll survive. Just keep pushing."

"Only on one condition," he said, wagging a finger at the camera.

"Only on one condition," he said, wagging a finger at the camera.

"What?"

"Regular updates on Amina. I need to know how this plays out."

"Deal," I said, laughing. "But only if you don't freeze to death before the next call."

"I'll try. Listen i have to go now, i need to catch atleast 2 hours of sleep before fajr." He yawned.

I checked the time. It was 2:50. "Alright man, thank you," I said leaning forward. The line went off. I set my phone down, letting the silence of the car wrap around me.

I closed my eyes, leaning back against the headrest. Images of her flooded my thoughts: her flawless and beautiful face with the pinkest lips he's ever seen, her flat but cute nose, the way her abaya flowed as she moved, the flicker of vulnerability she tried to hide behind her guarded gaze, the way she seemed to resist my presence even as I caught her stealing glances.

I didn't just want her to see me—I wanted her to know me. The real me, beyond the polished exterior and charming words. I wanted to tell her that her quiet beauty wasn't just something I admired, but something I respected. I wanted her to know that I understood her walls, and I wasn't afraid to stand on the other side, waiting.

She deserved to be approached with care, with intention. And I wanted to be the man who did just that.

But there was a flicker of doubt, a voice in the back of my mind whispering if I was enough for someone like her. She wasn't a fleeting moment or a passing interest; she was someone I could see a future with. A wife. A partner. A prayer answered.

The thought sent a shiver through me, and for the first time in years, I felt a yearning that was more than desire—it was a need to be better, to be worthy of someone like her.

I started the car, the hum of the engine breaking the silence, but my thoughts were far from the Lagos streets. Amina had become more than a name or a person. She was a dream I hadn't even realized I had, and I was determined to turn it into a reality.

No matter how long it took, no matter how many walls I had to climb—I would earn her trust, her respect, and, if God willed it, her love.

AMINAH'S POV:

The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow as I walked into the mosque, greeted by the soft hum of familiar voices. Saturdays at the mosque were always busy with volunteer activities—packing food for the less privileged, organizing donations, and occasionally counseling women who came seeking advice. It was my way of giving back, a commitment that always left me feeling grateful.

I joined a group of sisters in the main hall. Together, we carefully arranged food packages into labeled boxes. A few familiar faces greeted me with warm smiles.

"Sister Amina, Assalamualaikum," Zaynab, a regular volunteer who I've come to grow fond of hugged me.

" Wa alaikum salam warahmatullah wabarakatuh sis, it's been a while o," I beamed, hugging her back. She's one of the people who has managed to get a little close to me. In all honesty, she's one of the most beautiful woman i know, plus her kindness. She literally spends most of her time in the mosque, tending to people who lives in the mosque and organizing Islamic events. Even this particular outreach was organized by her. Therefore, I'm naturally drawn to her.

"How's business?" She asked, holding my hands.

"It's going well," I replied, adjusting my scarf.

"Allahumma barik," she said, nodding. You're one of the most talented people I know. Keep it up sis."

I smiled, appreciating her encouragement. The mosque always felt like a second home—calm, grounding, and filled with people who cared. As we worked, the rhythmic buzz of conversation and smell of new clothes and nylon filled the air.

I was busy with the tasks at hand when my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from Maryam.

"I know you're at the mosque, but you better not forget our baking session o."

I couldn't help but smile. Maryam is like a twin sister I never had. Infact, her parent regard me as thier second daughter.

———————–—————————––

By the time I arrived at her house, the sky had already turned a deep indigo, and the stars blinked faintly and the evening Maghrib call to prayer was sounding.

As I stepped into the house, I was greeted by the faint baking bread wafting from the kitchen. I could hear Maryam's father's voice car from the living room, where he seemed engrossed in a political program.

Maryam met me at the door with her signature grin and warm hug. "My friendddd! Perfect timing. Come, let's pray first. Then we can catch up."

After refreshing my ablution, I joined Maryam for prayer. The quiet rhythm of recitation and the act of bowing in unison reminded me of the peace that faith always brought, even in the midst of life's uncertainties.

Once the prayer concluded, I sat back on my heels for a moment, quietly making du'a for peace and direction. I couldn't help but think of how blessed I was to have Maryam's family in my life. It wasn't just about their generosity; they treated me as one of their own, always making sure I felt at home.

Removing her jilbab and stretching on the bed, Maryam said: "So... what's new? How's my baby Aisha and Yusuf?"

I smiled, leaning against the edge of her desk. "Aisha is fine. You kuku know her, always up to mischief. She even wants to learn fashion designing. And Yusuf has finally started his suya business. He managed to convince my dad. I hope he doesn't prove my mum right."

Maryam's laughed. "That your eyes een, Na fuji house of commotion. But I feel Aisha should actually learn fashion designing o. It's one of the best handwork to learn. As for oga Yusuf, it depends on how serious he is. Where is he planning to set up his stand?"

"He's thinking of setting up inside University of Lagos but he's complaining that the cost is expensive. I'm sure he'll find his way."

"Okayy. So how's mum and dad too?"

"They're fine jare, thank you. Any fine boy yet? I asked wiggling my eyebrows at Maryam.

"Fine boy kini? Abeg o."

Shifting slightly with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she said: "By the way, you won't believe who my dad bumped into at a wedding last week."

I tilted my head. "Who?"

"Malik," she said casually, watching my reaction.

My heart thudded. "Oh. What about him?"

Maryam shrugged. "Nothing much. My dad said he seemed to be a great person. I think they exchanged contacts."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, feigning indifference.

Maryam smirked. "No reason. I just thought it was interesting."

I shook my head, refusing to give her the reaction she wanted. Instead, I changed the subject. "So, are we going to bake today? Or is this just a catch-up session?"

Later, in the kitchen, Maryam's mom joined us, her energy filling the room. She chatted about her plans for her upcoming birthday, her voice excited as she described the dress she wanted to sew. The woman likes party een.

"You girls should start planning your own celebrations soon," she teased, giving us both a knowing look.

Maryam rolled her eyes. "Mum, please. Can we focus on baking?"

Raising her finger, Maryam's mum said: "You better get used to me talking to you about marriage. Even you Amina!" She added, turning to me.

"Yes ma," we mumbled, bowing our head.

"Good. I'll be back." She said and left the kitchen.

Immediately she left, we burst into laughter. "That was unexpected," I breathed.

Placing her hand together she said: "Me, I'm not surprised sha. That's how they ambush me almost everytime. Abeg, Let's continue. "

As we kneaded dough and prepared cookies, Maryam's phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced at it and grinned. "Malik has accepted my friend request!"

My head snapped up. " You sent him a friend request?"

"Yes now. How else will I be able to stalk him if he has any skeleton? Look at this picture." She held up her phone, showing a photo of Malik at a wedding dressed in an all black suit, gazing directly at the camera with his signature confident smile. Handsome idiot. Sensing Maryam's gaze on me, I looked away, focusing on the dough.

Maryam chuckled. "Hmm Don't pretend you were not checking him out."

I gave her a warning look. "Let's bake."

Her laughter filled the kitchen, but thankfully, her mom came back and then entertained us with more stories about her childhood, sparing me from further interrogation.

As I left Maryam's house that evening, I couldn't keep his picture out of my mind. It felt like I was seeing him again after a very long time. I missed him. Walai, i can't believe I'm saying this. Someone I supposedly detest is taking up all my mind. Is this normal?

Once I got home, I placed the cookies we'd baked on the dining table for my families to enjoy. Then, as I prepared for Isha prayer, I couldn't help but wonder what it was about Malik that kept surfacing in my life, uninvited and yet somehow inevitable.