Madina’s POV
Another week passes, a soft, quiet slide of days that taste like a secret I’m not ready to name yet.
Abubakar has settled into his new routine. I’ve watched him move between two houses with a care I didn’t think he was capable of. He never lingers too long when he’s with me but when he’s here, he’s present. He listens when I talk about new suppliers, about the order I shipped to Abuja, about the influencer in Kano who wants to do a paid review. He smiles at me, touches my hand in passing, tells me “Allah ya sa a sa’a.” May Allah bring you success.
And Samira, sweet, careful Samira, hasn’t overstepped. She still comes by sometimes, knocking with her soft hands, carrying bowls of jollof rice or sweet fried masa, saying “Let’s eat together, please.” She sits with me, talks abo
