Architect and Mrs Dantata

09: AMAL

Zayd Sa'ed Dantata made me flowers.

He didn't buy them or pay someone else to do them. He got the origami paper, took them to his house or his office and made each one of the blue and white flowers that are perfect arranged in the bouquet I'm holding. No man has ever done this for me. Is this what I've been missing? Being important enough to get gifts like this?

"Do you like it, Amal?"

Zayd is nervous and it tugs at my heart. He made these for me. A man who has every right to say he's too busy for anything else spent hours of his time making these for me. If I cry now, would anyone think I'm being too dramatic?

"Amal?"

I raise my head to look at him. How is a man so perfect? "I love them, Zayd." I don't miss the relief on his face and there's another tug in my chest. "I really love them. Thank you."

He smiles and it's a straight arrow. "You're welcome. I make little ones from time to time with Zafeenah. When we were talking over the phone on Monday evening and I told you I was distracted, it was because I found one of those little ones in my car."

I connect the dots. "That's why you asked for my favourite colour."

He nods, still smiling. "Exactly. I wanted to mix it up with other colours but I thought white was the best bet. I didn't want to add a colour you didn't like and ruin everything."

Intentionality. Zayd Dantata is an intentional man. How on earth did I get so lucky? But really, was every woman came his way blind? How you have a man like this and not stay with him?

I turn back to the bouquet in my hands. It's large and I really don't know if I can do the maths of how many sheets of origami paper went into this. The hours he spent too. Hours he could have spent doing anything else.

I feel the sudden urge to protect the bouquet from every person in the vicinity. I can't take it into Chicken Capitol. I'll stain it. I can be messy with Shawarma on days when I don't feel the need to be prim and proper. Do I even still want to eat Shawarma?

I raise my head. "Where do you want to take me, Zayd?"

He frowns. "We're supposed to get Shawarma first."

"Can we change plans? I really don't want to ruin these. I don't want anyone to stare at them too."

He stares at me for a moment before he laughs and the beauty of it brings a smile to my face and warmth to my cheeks. He takes the bouquet from me. "I'll put them in the car, Amal. You've been craving Shawarma so let's get it. There's no rush."

I don't mean to pout but I can't help it. I want to keep holding the bouquet and I can get Shawarma any other day. He smiles at me. "How about this? We'll get Shawarma to go and then go to a park or something to eat? When we finish, I'll take you to the restaurant. Since it's a private table, you can take the bouquet with you and you don't have to worry about ruining it."

I grin. "Perfect!" This man is so smart. "That's perfect. Lead the way, Architect Dantata."

He puts the bouquet in the car and we walk in. It's still my best Shawarma spot in town even though there are new spots gaining popularity. Maybe when I return to Nigeria again with more time on my hands, I'll try out the others and decide if I'll still remain faithful to Chicken Capitol.

Having Zayd beside me feels nice. It's crazy how I tell myself that this is something I can get used to. Halima said he's single and I am choosing to believe that is very true. Now, the problem is whether or not he has an ideal woman. If he does, am I even close?

The woman taking orders recognizes Zayd and she's overly nice which I shouldn't hate but I do. I'm more than happy that we're not eating here. Zayd and I have the same order: large chicken shawarmas, extra spicy with garlic sauce and then drinks – a Fanta for me and Sprite for him. When it time to pay, I get my card out of habit.