Tears of Zubaida.

•••••TEARS OF ZUBAIDA••••• •••Chapter Thirty-Six•••

Zubaida walked casually to the kiosk that was a few feet away from the house, its been two weeks since she's regained her memories and is now a bit familiar with her new environment.

"Good evening," she greeted. "Give me mtn 500, center fresh 200 and sanitary pad." She whispered the last part.

"You seem unfamiliar."  Said a young man who was seated on a bench at the frontage of the shop.

She abruptly smiled, a creepy smile, then focused her gaze on the varieties of sweets displayed on a counter in the kiosk.

"You must be new here right?" The same man further asked.

"Yes. I came here recently to spend some time with my aunt."

"Oh okay, I also live around here, my house is in the next street after this."

"Here you go." The shopkeeper passed her goods.

She turned to leave when the same guy requested to accompany her home.

"No, thank you. The house isn't far from here, and I know my way." She politely rejected.

"Well, its a helping hand I offered." He said raising his hands in an abnegate manner.

"But I didn't asked for any help." Zubaida replied casually slowing her steps.

"Okay fine. But I'd love to see your place, just so I could come over to be saying hi from time time."

"I presume this is also a way of saying hi, you can just say the hi now and that's it."

"No," he objected. "Isn't it better I do it officially?" He smiled broadly at her, a few wrinkles etching his eyes.

Zubaida nodded her head and continued taking her steps, she was already approaching her destination.

"Well, thank you, you may leave now as I'm approaching my destination already." She faced the fair young bloke before her, he had a black shirt which has some white stripes with thin red ones by the edge of it, with a pair of khaki shorts.

"No, it won't be a proper thing to do." He said as he rubbed the stubbles on his chin, "I'm Idris Abdulkarim." He further introduced.

Zubaida perused his features properly, starting from his very black hair that is perfectly curled to its scalp, his sideburns the stopped just halfway, his full bushy brows that are almost joined, his pupils shining very brightly and full of brown color through the neither warm nor hot sun, his complexion that usually look bronze under the sunlight and pale when there isn't any perfectly suited his youthful body structure.

Not bad after all, he looks like a Fulani.

"I'm Zubaida." She replied curtly.

"Nice to meet you, Betty butter."

"It's Zubaida." She rolled her eyes.

"I'd go with Betty butter."

Zubaida shook her head and continued taking her steps, this time around, they were fast ones.

"Thank you for the walk, Idris." She turned to him.

"Is this the house?" He asked furrowing his brows in an inquisitive, tho suspicious manner.

"Yes."

"Oh okay." His voice dropped to a cold one, like he wasn't pleased with the gotten information, which he actually wasn't; at all!

"Uh- what's wrong?" She asked noticing how his mood suddenly changed.

"It's nothing," he feigned a smile, "I know this house."