A taste to remember

Chapter four

Munnira pov

It's been weeks since we parted ways, and I can't help but miss him. His humorous jokes and captivating stories linger in my mind. A part of me feels melancholic. I even considered visiting Dr. Tahir at the hospital to obtain his contact information, but that would be unprofessional.

What's wrong with me? Why can't I shake off thoughts of him?

On a Thursday morning, after a long day of classes, I was supposed to meet Salim at Pepsi Garden to get help with a specific course. I wasn't in the best mood, having gone without breakfast and suffering from ulcer pains. As I arrived at the restaurant to eat before meeting Salim, I accidentally bumped into someone - Ahmad. My mood suddenly shifted. We exchanged numbers, and he told me about his sister's offer, which I eventually accepted without expecting anything in return. I considered it a charitable act. Ahmad is a friend, and I don't mind checking up on him every weekend.

We occasionally chat and talk on the phone, picking up where we left off. One day, while in my room, I received a call from an unknown number. It was Ahmad's friend Aliyu, informing me that Ahmad was having an asthma attack and didn't know what to do. I instructed him to use the inhaler and text me their address. When I arrived, Ahmad was weak and sweating, so we took him to the hospital.

Before leaving, I decided to cook a meal for Ahmad to eat when he wakes up, as I discovered he hadn't eaten since morning. As I was stirring the vegetables, I sensed someone behind me. Ahmad was sleeping, so who could this be, I thought. I turned and realized it was his friend Aliyu. I smiled when I saw him. "What are you cooking?" he asked, opening the pots. "I'm just making some stew for Ahmad. I noticed he's weak and won't be able to cook for himself. The rice is in the food flakes, in case he wakes up," I explained. He was watching my mouth as I spoke, which was quite weird. "Are you okay?" I asked. "No, I mean yeah," he paused, scratching his head. "I'm just wondering how Ahmad is blessed with such an amazing, beautiful, and sexy nurse," he said, playing his fingers on my hands.

I quickly retrieved my hands and warned him, "Watch your words, I don't like that." I tried to move away, but he was moving closer, placing both his hands on my waist. Without realizing it, I gave him a hot slap on the face, turning his yellow cheek pink. I pushed him away and ran out, leaving some of my belongings behind.

The next day, I was in my neighbor's room when my phone buzzed. It was Ahmad. Initially, I considered ignoring his call, but then I thought better of it, recognizing that the recent incident wasn't his fault. "Hello?" I answered.

"Hey, are you at home?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

I wasn't expecting that question. "Yes, is everything okay? I'm outside, can we meet?" he asked, his tone gentle.

When I emerged, I saw him sitting on a bench in front of the gate, dressed in a black body hug, a white and black jacket, and a pick cap. "Ahmad, what brings you here?" I asked, sitting beside him.

With remorse-filled eyes, he apologized profusely. "I'm so sorry about what happened. I wish I could have been there to protect you. I'm consumed by regret and self-blame." He handed me my belongings, his expression akin to a troubled child.

We sat in silence for a while before he broke the silence. "Would you like to take a walk with me?" he asked, his smile and nod conveying genuine interest. "Thank you for the food; it was delicious. I truly enjoyed it." He added, "Yusuf is a fortunate guy."

His mention of Yusuf made me turn away, and I changed the subject. "Look, he's wearing a purple hat," I said, pointing randomly.

" Munira," he said, his eyes gazing deep into mine. I adore how he pronounces my name with his soft, calming voice.

"We parted ways," I said, continuing to walk and leaving him behind. He caught up with me, asking what happened. "Life happened," I replied, and we shifted the conversation, continuing our leisurely stroll.

Ahmad shared stories about his childhood, his mother, and her delectable meals. The way he spoke made me realize how much he misses her. I imagined how he felt, and I couldn't fathom going a day without hearing my mom's voice. The story of his mom's passing touched my heart, and I felt a deep sense of sadness.

That morning, she prepared him for school, kissed his forehead, and gave him a tight hug, just like she always did. But on that day, it felt different. They became quiet emotionally, and he didn't want to go to school, but she insisted. He paused, removing his hands from his pockets to rub his face, then continued. His sister picked him up from school that day, and she didn't say a word throughout the drive, which was unlike her. When they got home, the house was full, and that was when he received the news of his mom's passing from a car accident. He was 16 then.

Ahmad became emotional after sharing his story, and I tried to comfort him with my words, cracking jokes to lighten the mood. He laughed and teased me, saying it was "cunny." Later, he escorted me back and asked if I would still come to check up on him. I smiled and nodded, reassured by his genuine concern.

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I had planned to visit him one last time, and that would be the end of it. As the saying goes, "prevention is better than cure." I arrived at their hostel and went straight to check his temperature and blood pressure, reminding him to take his medication. Then, he offered to escort me out, as he usually did. On our way out, someone suddenly pulled me aside, and I almost lost my balance. Looking up, I was shocked to see my elder brother, Ya Salim. I had no idea he was in town.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, taken aback. "I saw you coming out of his room," he replied, his tone stern. "Munira, is this what you do in school?" he asked, his voice laced with disapproval. I was both shocked and speechless.

Ahmad intervened, pushing Ya Salim away. "Hey, what's wrong with you? That's not how to talk to a lady," he said, defending me. Ya Salim retorted, "And who are you to teach me how to talk to my sister?" I spoke up, "He's my brother."

Before I could finish, Ya Salim dragged me out, took me to his car, and we drove off. When we arrived at my hostel, he parked and remained silent for a while, his expressions conveying frustration. "You better start talking, Munira. This silence won't do you any good," he finally spoke.

"It's not what it looks like, Ya Salim," I explained, tears streaming down my face. "Today was supposed to be the last day, I swear. I just wanted to check up on him and leave. It doesn't even take 20 minutes. I just wanted to help."

Ya Salim took a deep breath, turned to me, and raised an eyebrow. "Give me your phone," he demanded. I handed it over, my body shaking. "I believe you because I know you're not like those girls, but I'll confirm your story. If I hear otherwise, trust me, it won't be funny. You'll get your phone back when I return."

After evening prayers, I received a knock on my door. It was the gate man. "Your brother is downstairs," he said and left. I quickly went down, and Ya Salim handed me my phone. "Your story checks out. I don't want to see you at that place or hear about you visiting any male hostels again. I have eyes everywhere. I know you're a good girl, so don't disappoint me. I'll be making surprise visits from now on."

He handed me 5,000 naira and left. I immediately called Ahmad. "Hello, I'm sorry about what happened today. My brother can be overprotective. Did he go back to your place?" I asked.

"No problem, I should be the one apologizing. Yeah, he did," Ahmad replied. I sensed something was off, but I went along with it. "No need to apologize, Ahmad. I won't be able to check up on you again. It's best you go to the hospital for checkups. Sorry about that."

"Yeah, of course, no problem. I understand. Thank you so much for everything. I'm really grateful, thank you," Ahmad said. We ended the call, and I felt a mix of relief and concern.