BENEATH THE LILAC SKY

It was the kind of evening that made everything feel slower. The sun hadn’t quite set, but the sky had already started to fade into that soft lilac colour that Aisha secretly loved, though she never really told anyone. She just sat by the window with her chin resting in her palm, her school uniform still on, her hijab slightly loosened from the day, and her mind completely elsewhere. The call to Maghrib echoed in the distance, carried by the dusty wind that made the curtains sway gently. Sokoto was warm, as always, but that evening felt different. Quiet, yes — but also heavy. Like something was waiting to happen, and the air already knew it. Aisha didn’t know what she was thinking about exactly. School was almost over for the term, and revision for mock exams had taken over her life. But still, her thoughts kept returning to one person — and that irritated her more than she wanted to admit. Zayd Ibrahim. He wasn’t like the other boys at school. No noise. No jokes about teachers. No silly grins. Just calm eyes, books in hand, and that quiet way of being present without demanding attention. He had transferred from Kaduna barely two months ago, and yet everyone already knew he wasn’t the kind of boy who played around. He sat three desks behind her in Biology. They had never spoken — not properly, anyway. Except that one time when she forgot her pen during a class test and he slid one toward her without a word. Aisha hadn’t thanked him out loud, but she had looked at him — really looked — and for a moment, she had felt something odd. Something still. Something... annoying. Since then, she had avoided his eyes in class. But sometimes, she caught him watching her. Not in a creepy way. Not even in a romantic way. Just watching — like he was trying to understand something he couldn’t explain. And when their eyes met, he didn’t look away quickly like most boys did. He held the gaze softly, respectfully, as if to say, “I see you, but I won’t disturb your peace.” She hated how often she thought about that look. --- A knock came at the door. Not loud. Just a tap-tap-tap. Then the door creaked open. “Aisha,” whispered Basheerah, peeking her head in like she was sneaking into a crime scene. Aisha frowned. “What are you doing?” Basheerah tiptoed inside and shut the door behind her. “Guess what?” “No guessing. Just say it.” She grinned. “You got a letter.” Aisha’s heart did an odd flip. “What kind of letter?” Basheerah pulled a folded paper from her skirt pocket, careful as if it were glass. “This kind.” She dropped it on Aisha’s lap. Written on the front in careful, straight handwriting were three words: > For Aisha. Please read in private. Aisha stared. “Where did you get this?” “Fatima got it from Maimuna. Maimuna got it from Ummulkhair. Ummulkhair said someone passed it through Zayd’s cousin.” Aisha didn’t say anything. Her chest felt tight. “Are you going to open it?” Basheerah asked, excitement lighting her eyes like a torch. “No,” Aisha said too quickly. “Yes. I don’t know. Just—leave me.” “Fine,” she teased. “But I’ll be outside in case you faint.” The moment she left, Aisha unfolded the paper with shaky fingers. Her eyes scanned the first few words. --- 💌 The Letter: > Assalamu Alaikum Aisha, Please forgive me if this is wrong or makes you uncomfortable. I’ve struggled with this for weeks. I never meant to disturb your peace or your focus. But I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I admire you. Not in the silly way boys do when they joke around and chase attention. But in the quiet way someone notices a tree that always stands firm even when no one claps for it. I see how you walk, how you listen, how you don’t rush to speak. And I respect you deeply. I’m not asking you to respond. I’m not trying to flirt or distract you. I just wanted to be honest, for once. That’s all. May Allah bless and guide you always. — Zayd Ibrahim --- Aisha folded the paper back slowly, her heart pounding. Not in a happy or romantic way — just in a shaken way. She couldn’t believe he actually wrote that. She sat still for what felt like an hour, just breathing. The sky outside had darkened to a deeper purple. The lilac was gone. The call to prayer had long ended. But the echo of the letter was still ringing in her chest. She didn’t know what she was feeling. This wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t some classboy trying to impress her. It was calm. Sincere. It felt... dangerous. Not because it was wrong. But because it felt like something that could become something if she wasn’t careful. --- That night, after praying and eating quietly with her parents, Aisha sat on her bed with her journal open. She stared at the blank page. Then she wrote: > "I got a letter today. From Zayd. I don’t know what this means. I’m not in love. I’m not even sure I like him like that. But I do know this: I felt seen. I felt respected. And somehow… that scares me more than anything." She closed the journal and slid it under her pillow. In the quiet of the night, she stared at the ceiling fan spinning slowly. For the first time in months, her heart was not just beating — it was thinking. ---