A little boy came running, saying someone was calling Amira.
Amira was lying on the mat, pressing her phone buttons as if she didn’t even hear him.
Her mother stepped out of her room, looked at the boy, and said, “Go and tell him she’s coming.”
Amira quickly turned and asked the boy, “Who is greeting me?”
Her mother shot her a sharp glare. “Oh, so you heard him? You kept quiet because you don’t understand the importance of someone greeting you, right?”
Amira stood up, rubbing her eyes. “Umma, I didn’t hear him. This game distracted me.”
Her mother stared at her with disbelief and said, “May Allah guide you.”
She returned to the kitchen to check the soup Amira had put on the fire.
The boy came back again. “It’s Alhaji Saminu.”
Amira hissed quietly and told him, “Tell him I’m coming.”
She grabbed her scarf, tied it, and walked toward the entrance of the house. A strong fragrance welcomed her before she even saw him.
He stood there, dressed elegantly as always.
This time he wore a striking blue shadda—soft, shiny, and eye-catching—paired with a matching cap.
His handsome face carried a gentle smile.
Even today, his youthful charm was clear; wealth sat comfortably on him.
“Amira Gimbiya… Amira, the future queen of women,” he said playfully like song lyrics.
They both laughed—his humor had a way of comforting her.
She adjusted her posture and widened her bright eyes slightly.
He stared at her without blinking. Everything about her seemed to startle him as he returned her greeting.
She noticed his intense gaze and swallowed hard, lowering her eyes.
He stepped two paces closer.
“The moment someone sees my car, they’ll know I’m here. That’s not respectful in the eyes of people. Agree with me that we should find a private place to meet. You’re educated—you should understand that this hiding and greeting at home is old-fashioned… for poor people. There are beautiful places all over the country. Choose anywhere—let’s go and talk. Amira, if you truly love me, none of this should be difficult.”
As he spoke, her head heated up. She truly had strong feelings for Alhaji Saminu, but these “modern” ideas of his irritated her deeply.
She became angry, exhaled heavily, lifted her eyes, and stared at him for two full seconds.
He couldn’t look away; his gaze encouraged her to accept his plan.
“Alhaji, I don’t think this is the most important thing between us. So you shouldn’t call it lack of love,” she said.
He widened his eyes.
“How can you say spending time together is not important? That’s how people understand each other. Amira, be serious.”
She locked her fingers together tightly.
“There is nothing we cannot say right here. We won’t waste our time going somewhere our religion and culture do not approve of.”
Just then, someone entered the corridor and greeted them.
They both answered.
Alhaji Saminu greeted the girl since she kept looking at him.
She replied, then walked past them.
“Is she your sister?” he asked.
Amira shook her head. “She’s my father’s brother’s daughter.”
“Good,” he replied.
Then, straightening up, he continued:
“You can’t understand me because you don’t love me. You’re only pushing me away. But you should see the big difference between standing here and having a private place to talk. I’ll give you time to think. But from today, if you don’t change your mind, I won’t come here again. This old-fashioned way you’re talking about has long passed. Times have changed. Think it over. I’m leaving. Whatever decision you make, tell me on the phone.”
She watched him walk out without looking back.
She also turned and headed inside.
To her, this was the end.
She believed this was truly the day they would part forever, because she would never accept what he wanted.
Inside the house, she found Aunty Ummee and her mother sitting on a mat, chatting and laughing loudly.
This surprised her.
Aunty Ummee usually came to their home with frowns and irritation—not laughter.
Before she recovered from her shock, Aunty Ummee called her:
“Come here, lucky girl! So it’s Alhaji Saminu that comes to visit you? You’re truly blessed!”
She bent over her handbag and began looking through the gifts:
two sets of high-quality super atamfa wrappers,
two lace wrappers with matching scarves,
two pairs of shoes with their handbags,
and twenty thousand naira.
Another box contained creams, hair products, and perfumes arranged neatly.
Aunty Ummee looked at Amira’s mother and asked,
“This is the engagement gift—so what next?”
Her mother smiled and thanked Allah in her heart, grateful that her daughter finally had something the world could praise.
Malam Bashir entered with a greeting.
He had thought they were arguing again.
He glanced at the gifts briefly, then sat on his usual small bench.
Amira’s mother went to the kitchen to give them space.
Amira also went into her room.
Aunty Ummee greeted Malam Bashir and delivered the message from his relatives about attending a funeral in their ancestral village in Kura the next morning.
Then she left.
Malam Bashir was the third of six children—Halima, Alhaji Musa, then him, followed by the younger ones.
Though not wealthy, he lived comfortably and owned his own house.
He worked in Kurmi market selling groceries.
Allah blessed him with eight children through his wife Amina—Amira being the eldest.
Their home was founded on Islamic discipline and humility.
Amina cared for her husband and children well, earning respect from the family, even though some of Malam Bashir’s relatives disliked how much he relied on her opinions.
Amina’s calmness was the reason he cherished her.
That night, after everyone slept, Amira couldn’t.
Her heart ached.
Yes, she deeply loved Alhaji Saminu and even dreamed of marrying him.
But today she realized his intentions were not honourable.
He wanted modern, risky intimacy—not a proper Islamic relationship.
He wanted romance with no responsibility, pleasure with no commitment.
She wiped tears from her eyes as she remembered how happy her mother was earlier—how Aunty Ummee praised his wealth and good manners.
But for Amira, all that now meant nothing.
She saw today as their final day together.
She also felt pain thinking of how people mocked her mother recently—saying Amira didn’t finish secondary school yet had no suitors, unlike their other daughters.
This pressure made her abandon her plans for further education.
Not because she lacked admirers, but because of the burden of fulfilling expectations.
Her mother knew how much she wanted to study deeply since childhood, but always warned her:
“Education is good, but don’t let it make you ignore marriage. Marriage doesn’t stop learning.”
Those words echoed in her heart as she cried quietly into the night.
Description
Amira Is Summoned
A little boy came running, saying someone was calling Amira.
Amira was lying on the mat, pressing her phone buttons as if she didn’t even hear him.
Her mother stepped out of her room, looked at the boy, and said, “Go and tell him she’s coming.”
Amira quickly turned and asked the boy, “Who is greeting me?”
Her mother shot her a sharp glare. “Oh, so you heard him? You kept quiet because you don’t understand the importance of someone greeting you, right?”
Amira stood up, rubbing her eyes. “Umma, I didn’t hear him. This game distracted me.”
Her mother stared at her with disbelief and said, “May Allah guide you.”
She returned to the kitchen to check the soup Amira had put on the fire.
The boy came back again. “It’s Alhaji Saminu.”
Amira hissed quietly and told him, “Tell him I’m coming.”
She grabbed her scarf, tied it, and walked toward the entrance of the house. A strong fragrance welcomed her before she even saw him.
He stood there, dressed elegantly as always.
This time he wore a striking blue shadda—soft, shiny, and eye-catching—paired with a matching cap.
His handsome face carried a gentle smile.
Even today, his youthful charm was clear; wealth sat comfortably on him.
“Amira Gimbiya… Amira, the future queen of women,” he said playfully like song lyrics.
They both laughed—his humor had a way of comforting her.
She adjusted her posture and widened her bright eyes slightly.
He stared at her without blinking. Everything about her seemed to startle him as he returned her greeting.
She noticed his intense gaze and swallowed hard, lowering her eyes.
He stepped two paces closer.
“The moment someone sees my car, they’ll know I’m here. That’s not respectful in the eyes of people. Agree with me that we should find a private place to meet. You’re educated—you should understand that this hiding and greeting at home is old-fashioned… for poor people. There are beautiful places all over the country. Choose anywhere—let’s go and talk. Amira, if you truly love me, none of this should be difficult.”
As he spoke, her head heated up. She truly had strong feelings for Alhaji Saminu, but these “modern” ideas of his irritated her deeply.
She became angry, exhaled heavily, lifted her eyes, and stared at him for two full seconds.
He couldn’t look away; his gaze encouraged her to accept his plan.
“Alhaji, I don’t think this is the most important thing between us. So you shouldn’t call it lack of love,” she said.
He widened his eyes.
“How can you say spending time together is not important? That’s how people understand each other. Amira, be serious.”
She locked her fingers together tightly.
“There is nothing we cannot say right here. We won’t waste our time going somewhere our religion and culture do not approve of.”
Just then, someone entered the corridor and greeted them.
They both answered.
Alhaji Saminu greeted the girl since she kept looking at him.
She replied, then walked past them.
“Is she your sister?” he asked.
Amira shook her head. “She’s my father’s brother’s daughter.”
“Good,” he replied.
Then, straightening up, he continued:
“You can’t understand me because you don’t love me. You’re only pushing me away. But you should see the big difference between standing here and having a private place to talk. I’ll give you time to think. But from today, if you don’t change your mind, I won’t come here again. This old-fashioned way you’re talking about has long passed. Times have changed. Think it over. I’m leaving. Whatever decision you make, tell me on the phone.”
She watched him walk out without looking back.
She also turned and headed inside.
To her, this was the end.
She believed this was truly the day they would part forever, because she would never accept what he wanted.
Inside the house, she found Aunty Ummee and her mother sitting on a mat, chatting and laughing loudly.
This surprised her.
Aunty Ummee usually came to their home with frowns and irritation—not laughter.
Before she recovered from her shock, Aunty Ummee called her:
“Come here, lucky girl! So it’s Alhaji Saminu that comes to visit you? You’re truly blessed!”
She bent over her handbag and began looking through the gifts:
two sets of high-quality super atamfa wrappers,
two lace wrappers with matching scarves,
two pairs of shoes with their handbags,
and twenty thousand naira.
Another box contained creams, hair products, and perfumes arranged neatly.
Aunty Ummee looked at Amira’s mother and asked,
“This is the engagement gift—so what next?”
Her mother smiled and thanked Allah in her heart, grateful that her daughter finally had something the world could praise.
Malam Bashir entered with a greeting.
He had thought they were arguing again.
He glanced at the gifts briefly, then sat on his usual small bench.
Amira’s mother went to the kitchen to give them space.
Amira also went into her room.
Aunty Ummee greeted Malam Bashir and delivered the message from his relatives about attending a funeral in their ancestral village in Kura the next morning.
Then she left.
Malam Bashir was the third of six children—Halima, Alhaji Musa, then him, followed by the younger ones.
Though not wealthy, he lived comfortably and owned his own house.
He worked in Kurmi market selling groceries.
Allah blessed him with eight children through his wife Amina—Amira being the eldest.
Their home was founded on Islamic discipline and humility.
Amina cared for her husband and children well, earning respect from the family, even though some of Malam Bashir’s relatives disliked how much he relied on her opinions.
Amina’s calmness was the reason he cherished her.
That night, after everyone slept, Amira couldn’t.
Her heart ached.
Yes, she deeply loved Alhaji Saminu and even dreamed of marrying him.
But today she realized his intentions were not honourable.
He wanted modern, risky intimacy—not a proper Islamic relationship.
He wanted romance with no responsibility, pleasure with no commitment.
She wiped tears from her eyes as she remembered how happy her mother was earlier—how Aunty Ummee praised his wealth and good manners.
But for Amira, all that now meant nothing.
She saw today as their final day together.
She also felt pain thinking of how people mocked her mother recently—saying Amira didn’t finish secondary school yet had no suitors, unlike their other daughters.
This pressure made her abandon her plans for further education.
Not because she lacked admirers, but because of the burden of fulfilling expectations.
Her mother knew how much she wanted to study deeply since childhood, but always warned her:
“Education is good, but don’t let it make you ignore marriage. Marriage doesn’t stop learning.”
Those words echoed in her heart as she cried quietly into the night.