RUWAIDA ✔️

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

Was it a dream? Perhaps a nightmare? She couldn't tell, but what had happened blew her away, in the most shocking means possible. Her hands again moved to feel the softness of the rug, the blue fluff hairy rug that she laid on since after Turaad's flareup and she was till unable to move from there.

Just because she supported Zarah and wanted to make him understand reasons why he shouldn't have done what he did, Muhammad became irritated and refused to give her a listening ear, rather, he seized his black coat from her and walked angrily out of the living room. There was an initial temptation to rush behind him, but Ruwaida declined to let it wolf her down. And there she was, wallowing in self pity as she laid on the rug in her room.

It was wonderful living in hardship and testing times while knowing there was hope. Ruwaida was very certain of her find. Muhammad was her hope. It took her much time to admit it- but it never decreased the pleasant euphoria of knowing the heavy truth behind it. He was giving her a thousand reasons to hope for longer and healthier life.

She turned and laid on her back, placing both hands atop her gut. Could he stay angry with her? She mused lifting up her soar legs. All through their marriage, it had never been her making attempts to keep things afloat but now, it seemed as if Turaad was tired and she, yet to discover how to sail the boat.

By now, her peace of mind had left her. And she began pondering over what she should do. Of course! He was angry and in regards to her thoughts, he would probably be alright when he returned from the hospital.

Such perception gave her a new feeling and she stood up from where she laid, took her drugs and headed for the kitchen. The helper Mama had gotten for her, did a great job when it came to cleaning the house. She ensured every piece seemed sparkling, and Ruwaida would be lying if she claimed not to have noticed.

"Ina kwana Aunty (good morning)," Ruwaida refused to answer her and only gave her a playful glare, reaching for the washed pot from the kitchen rack. Zainura must be her age even if not older, and why should she refer to her as aunt?. She heard Zainura giggle, and she too rebuffed to do as Ruwaida asked her. No matter what, she wouldn't refer to Ruwaida by her name. "What would you like me to help you with,"

Ruwaida smiled in gratitude. She could actually use some help. Her situation does not permit her to carry out most of the chores, but satisfaction it was, thinking about all the possibilities with Zainura by her side. "Oh! I want to make his favorite dishes, could you help me?,"

Zainura posed from arranging the plates to smile at her. "Yes yes, what do you need," she dried her wet hands over her purple wrapper walking to stand close to Waida whom now was bringing out frozen vegetables from the freezer.

And soon enough, the two were preparing chicken pepper soup with Jollof rice, and a chilled pineapple juice. Muhammad's always favorite.

"Aunty should I add the chopped onions now?," Ruwaida swerved her head from checking the steaming pot of boiling rice to where Zainura stood, a tray of onions cramped in her hands and she gave her a dismissing nod. Her attention was fully focused on making the best of what she'd known.

As she arranged the dishes on the dining table, she heard the sound of his car zoom into their compound and she almost, almost jumped in anticipation, which Zainura saw when she walked in too, placing close to the coolers an array of plates and she couldn't resist giving Ruwaida a teasing smile to which she acted oblivious.

But when Muhammad walked in and only gave a cut reply to her greetings, to all intents and purposes all her merriness ceased to exist. She made an attempt to talk but his phone rang, he picked and walked away from her to his room not sparing her or the dishes, a proper glance.