Misfortunate (Completed)

Chapter Nine: Sinasir

If you have no idea what Sinasir is, there's a picture of it that UmmiAbdull made in may. She's on Instagram @khair_treats_ to order amazing snacks on her menu.

If I remembered today was the wedding, I might not have stepped a foot outside the house then. But then, I could not have taken delivery of the sinasir and soup I sent for.

"So, how are you faring?" I sigh and lean against the fire escape railing, electricity went out earlier so the elevator isn't working.I could have avoided questions like this from my one-floor-up neighbor.

"I'm fine. I need to pay the delivery person, so please excuse me." I turn and climb the stairs to the last floor, taking the back into the door room lobby.

"Hello." I greet the delivery person. "Ma, good afternoon, oh my goodness. It's you." I smile at the young lady who doesn't look older than my twenty four years.

"Yes, it's me." I smile wider at her and flap the hem of my floor length hijab. "This is your food. The restaurant said it's courtesy of the house. Thank you so much for ordering." I sigh, collecting the food, knowing that nothing I say or do will change their mind.

"What's their Instagram handle?" She passes me a piece of paper no doubt they packaged from the shop. "It's also on the packaging bag." I nod at her and waved her off, standing there in the lobby till she drives off on her bike.

Back upstairs, once I open the food, the scent of the soup envelopes the entire room, I took my food into my room. Most of the bride's things were brought to this house, put in the room we called spare bedroom. And according to Abdul, she'll share his room till he can get a new apartment for her.

I'd cried my eyes out yesterday until I called Rabiah who warned me to stop crying and get ready to start locking my door and start enjoying my own company. This is me, listening to that advice.

After taking professional photos of the food, strategically placed under a nice ring light, I finally take it back to get microwaved. Right there in the kitchen, my phone rings.

"Where are you?" I look at the number again before putting the phone back to my ear. It's Rabiah  "At home." She hums and asks if I want to go out to have a pedicure and spa day. And for me who loves being pampered, I jump at the opportunity and say yes. Immediately wolfing down my food the moment the microwave dings.

I rush to my en suite bathroom and thank God I had the sense to choose this room, I wouldn't have to share bathrooms with Abdul and his new wife, however short her stay here is. Once done, I wipe down my body and apply a body butter I got as thank you for advertisement.

While pulling up my dress, I order a cab, when told the cab arrives in five minutes, I quickly tie my scarf, pining it with a pearl encrusted pin I bought in Lagos last year. As I turn off appliances due to the expected change in light source, the driver sends a message that he has arrived.

Three minutes later, I'm in the cab, on my way to the city centre, all my troubles totally forgotten.

*****

Sa'ad

"Why did you do all that rubbish, allowing your wife to put it on social media?" I shake my head at Muslim who doesn't believe in love and wants to make the rest of the world like him. He is referring to Adnan whose wife is a social media influencer and said 'I love you' in what I've decided is a beautiful way.  

"Rubbish? It was just me letting my wife love me and me loving her back." Muslim hisses and takes a gulp of his apricot juice, motioning for the waiter to fill his cup.