I reached our room still thinking about Amira’s words. Truly, everything she said was right. I know my biology, and I know I am in my adolescent stage. But am I really attracted to Ibrahim? It’s not as if we are in love or anything—but do I even know what love is? Am I ready for this?
I lay down, counting my thoughts. A relationship with Ibrahim is not something easy. It is a very long journey. My family, his family—everyone would be against us. Even Hafsat tolerates him now only because I told her there was nothing romantic between us. But I know what I am feeling. I won’t say I love him, because I don’t know what love really is. But I know I enjoy being with him, he makes me laugh, and whenever I’m not with him, I feel like something is missing. Is this love? 💟
I know I can’t ask Hafsat this question unless I want to poke a sleeping lion. The question I keep asking myself is: if what I’m feeling is love, am I willing to take the risk for him? And more importantly, is he willing to take the risk for me?
From then on, I started distancing myself from Ibrahim. I avoided eye contact with him completely. Whenever he wanted to walk with me, I would pull Amira along, and she didn’t mind because she understood that her earlier talk with me had made me cautious. Whenever we walked, our conversations never went beyond schoolwork or family matters.
Then exams began and everything became serious. Amira joined our study sessions. The three of us studied together, and whenever we were done, Ibrahim would ask us questions and we’d answer. On the eve of the holidays, after our exams, Ibrahim called out to me and Amira. We met him while he was on the phone speaking Yoruba. Amira leaned close to my ear laughing, and for some reason I felt annoyed with her.
When he finished the call, he asked,
“So you guys are going home tomorrow, right?”
Amira replied, “Yes sir.”
He laughed. “Oh, Amira, you’re quick to answer. Are you tired of seeing us already? Luckily, we’re also going home to rest.”
I then asked, “Are you going home too?”
He looked at me seriously and said, “Yes, I’m leaving tomorrow. There’s nothing for me to do here if you’re not around.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and softly said, “Okay.”
After a brief silence, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow before you leave.”
Only Amira replied, “Okay sir.”
We went back to the hostel. My body felt cold and weak, like someone recovering from an illness. The next morning at the assembly ground, I kept looking around hoping to see him, but there was no sign of him. The lump in my throat still wouldn’t go away.
Around 10 a.m., the gate was opened and cars began to arrive. Hafsat was searching for our family car, while I silently prayed they wouldn’t arrive yet so I could see him first. Suddenly, I spotted our car entering. Hafsat hadn’t noticed it, so I quickly said,
“Hafsat, let me quickly use the toilet before they come for us.”
She said “Okay” without looking at me. I hurried toward the classrooms, looking around for him, but I didn’t see him. I reached the hostel gate only to find it already closed. I turned back, feeling hot tears rising from my chest, but I refused to let them reach my eyes so no one would ask why.
As I walked with my head down, someone suddenly grabbed my hand and pulled me into a classroom. I struggled, about to run, when I smelled his familiar scent. I turned quickly and our eyes met.
He was in his full NYSC khaki, his cap turned backward, a large school bag on his back. His face was serious. We stared at each other for a while, then I said,
“I thought you had left.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving, then said,
“I’m sorry. We had a meeting early this morning. I was really upset—I thought I wouldn’t see you.”
I felt happy deep inside, and the lump in my throat melted away. I smiled and said,
“I was afraid you’d leave without saying goodbye.”
He stepped closer until we could feel each other’s breath. He held my face with both hands, looked into my eyes, and said,
“I never would.”
Deep in my heart, I felt a warning telling me to pull away, but my body refused to respond. I couldn’t even look away. Slowly, his gaze moved from my eyes to my lips, and he began to lean closer. I was screaming inside myself—I knew what he was about to do, and I knew it was wrong—but I failed to stop him.
Suddenly, he stepped back sharply, turned away, and said,
“A’uzubillahi minash shaitanir rajim.”
Without looking at me, he added, “Go, Maimunatu. Just go.”
Only then did my body come back to me. I quickly opened the door and ran out, shaking. Outside, I saw Hafsat approaching from the hostel direction. I ran to her, calling her name. Together, we reached our car. Ya Walid complained that I had delayed them, but my mind still hadn’t fully returned.
As we were getting into the car, Amira ran up and stopped us. She handed me a book, saying Ibrahim sent it. It was his novel, Sands of Time. Strangely, I’d never told him I liked novels—in fact, I wasn’t even a novel reader. I took it, put it in my handbag, said goodbye to Amira, and we left.
On the way home, Ya Walid told us that Inna and Amina (our cousin from Yalleman) had arrived. At home, we happily gathered with Mommy, Inna, Dada, and everyone else. Daddy wasn’t around at the time. There was plenty of food, laughter, and photos. Truly, nothing is sweeter than family.
Late at night, I returned to our room, took a bath, and began reflecting on everything that had happened. Amira was right. Satan can come between siblings, even those from the same womb. I was indeed attracted to Ibrahim—he had almost kissed me, and I hadn’t stopped him. I was weak. My heart was too soft.
I remembered the book in my handbag. After bathing and dressing in my pajamas, I picked it up and a piece of paper fell out. It carried his scent. I opened it and read:
MAIMUNATU,
I CAN NO LONGER STOP MYSELF FROM SAYING THIS. BELIEVE ME, I TRIED.
MAIMUNATU, I LOVE YOU. I DON’T KNOW WHAT LOVE FEELS LIKE, BUT I AM 100% SURE THIS IS IT.
I DON’T KNOW IF YOU FEEL THE SAME WAY. PLEASE, IF YOUR ANSWER IS NO, CALL THE NUMBER AT THE END OF THIS LETTER AND JUST SAY NO. THEN I WILL ASK FOR A TRANSFER BEFORE YOU RESUME. I CAN’T KEEP SEEING YOU KNOWING YOU WON’T BE MINE.
YOURS IN LOVE,
IBRAHIM
So here we are. Will Moon say yes, knowing the consequences, or say no, knowing she may never see him again?
---
Episode Seventeen: Reply
I reread the letter over and over. Ibrahim, you weren’t fair to me. What exactly do you want me to say—yes or no? I knew I couldn’t ask Hafsat for advice. I kept rereading the letter as if hoping the words would change. It was clearly his handwriting, and his scent was still there. I memorized the phone number at the bottom.
I folded the letter and returned it to the book. Hafsat entered the room yawning and teased me for sleeping early. I wasn’t in the mood. I waited until she went to bathe, then hid the book under my pillow.
I couldn’t sleep. I knew I loved Ibrahim—there was no doubt—but being together would be difficult. Daddy wasn’t the issue; Mommy was. One look from her and I’d wish I’d never met him. My extended family would never accept it. I loved my family too much to go against them.
On the other hand, if I said no, I knew Ibrahim was serious about transferring schools. Would my heart survive that? Could I live without him?
Sleep eventually stole me. I dreamed we were driving with my family, laughing, while Ibrahim walked alone on the road. He smiled at me as we passed, then ran after us calling my name until he disappeared. I woke up frightened, praying.
I hid the letter inside a biology textbook in my locker.
The holiday wasn’t enjoyable. Whenever I thought of the letter, my heart sank. One day, after bathing, I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered when I had grown up enough to be thinking about love.
One afternoon, while Dada was sleeping, I secretly dialed Ibrahim’s number from her phone. When he answered, I froze. I couldn’t speak. He hung up. I collapsed in frustration. What had Ibrahim done to me? I couldn’t even say no.
The holidays ended without me making a decision.
---
Episode Eighteen: What’s Next?
On resumption day, I felt sick. Mommy asked if we’d continue lessons with the corps member and insisted Hafsat must always be present.
At school, I saw Ibrahim standing by the staff room, watching the cars. Hafsat teased me about him waiting for me. She asked directly,
“Is it a yes or a no?”
I looked her in the eyes and said, “Yes, it is.”
And so, the battle began.
Hafsat scolded me harshly, questioning my maturity. I calmly reminded her that years ago, when I chose my career dreams, everyone supported me. I told her I just needed her support now. She insulted me and walked away.
I planned everything carefully. I said yes to Ibrahim only so he wouldn’t leave the school—but that didn’t mean I’d let him romance me. If he truly loved me, he would wait.
I created boundaries: no being alone, group study sessions, rearranged seating, even changing my Islamiyya class. Ibrahim was furious when he realized.
Weeks passed in tension. He was frustrated; so was I. Daddy’s visit brought me comfort. But the struggle had only just begun…
Episode Sixteen: The Letter
I reached our room still thinking about Amira’s words. Truly, everything she said was right. I know my biology, and I know I am in my adolescent stage. But am I really attracted to Ibrahim? It’s not as if we are in love or anything—but do I even know what love is? Am I ready for this?
I lay down, counting my thoughts. A relationship with Ibrahim is not something easy. It is a very long journey. My family, his family—everyone would be against us. Even Hafsat tolerates him now only because I told her there was nothing romantic between us. But I know what I am feeling. I won’t say I love him, because I don’t know what love really is. But I know I enjoy being with him, he makes me laugh, and whenever I’m not with him, I feel like something is missing. Is this love? 💟
I know I can’t ask Hafsat this question unless I want to poke a sleeping lion. The question I keep asking myself is: if what I’m feeling is love, am I willing to take the risk for him? And more importantly, is he willing to take the risk for me?
From then on, I started distancing myself from Ibrahim. I avoided eye contact with him completely. Whenever he wanted to walk with me, I would pull Amira along, and she didn’t mind because she understood that her earlier talk with me had made me cautious. Whenever we walked, our conversations never went beyond schoolwork or family matters.
Then exams began and everything became serious. Amira joined our study sessions. The three of us studied together, and whenever we were done, Ibrahim would ask us questions and we’d answer. On the eve of the holidays, after our exams, Ibrahim called out to me and Amira. We met him while he was on the phone speaking Yoruba. Amira leaned close to my ear laughing, and for some reason I felt annoyed with her.
When he finished the call, he asked,
“So you guys are going home tomorrow, right?”
Amira replied, “Yes sir.”
He laughed. “Oh, Amira, you’re quick to answer. Are you tired of seeing us already? Luckily, we’re also going home to rest.”
I then asked, “Are you going home too?”
He looked at me seriously and said, “Yes, I’m leaving tomorrow. There’s nothing for me to do here if you’re not around.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and softly said, “Okay.”
After a brief silence, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow before you leave.”
Only Amira replied, “Okay sir.”
We went back to the hostel. My body felt cold and weak, like someone recovering from an illness. The next morning at the assembly ground, I kept looking around hoping to see him, but there was no sign of him. The lump in my throat still wouldn’t go away.
Around 10 a.m., the gate was opened and cars began to arrive. Hafsat was searching for our family car, while I silently prayed they wouldn’t arrive yet so I could see him first. Suddenly, I spotted our car entering. Hafsat hadn’t noticed it, so I quickly said,
“Hafsat, let me quickly use the toilet before they come for us.”
She said “Okay” without looking at me. I hurried toward the classrooms, looking around for him, but I didn’t see him. I reached the hostel gate only to find it already closed. I turned back, feeling hot tears rising from my chest, but I refused to let them reach my eyes so no one would ask why.
As I walked with my head down, someone suddenly grabbed my hand and pulled me into a classroom. I struggled, about to run, when I smelled his familiar scent. I turned quickly and our eyes met.
He was in his full NYSC khaki, his cap turned backward, a large school bag on his back. His face was serious. We stared at each other for a while, then I said,
“I thought you had left.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving, then said,
“I’m sorry. We had a meeting early this morning. I was really upset—I thought I wouldn’t see you.”
I felt happy deep inside, and the lump in my throat melted away. I smiled and said,
“I was afraid you’d leave without saying goodbye.”
He stepped closer until we could feel each other’s breath. He held my face with both hands, looked into my eyes, and said,
“I never would.”
Deep in my heart, I felt a warning telling me to pull away, but my body refused to respond. I couldn’t even look away. Slowly, his gaze moved from my eyes to my lips, and he began to lean closer. I was screaming inside myself—I knew what he was about to do, and I knew it was wrong—but I failed to stop him.
Suddenly, he stepped back sharply, turned away, and said,
“A’uzubillahi minash shaitanir rajim.”
Without looking at me, he added, “Go, Maimunatu. Just go.”
Only then did my body come back to me. I quickly opened the door and ran out, shaking. Outside, I saw Hafsat approaching from the hostel direction. I ran to her, calling her name. Together, we reached our car. Ya Walid complained that I had delayed them, but my mind still hadn’t fully returned.
As we were getting into the car, Amira ran up and stopped us. She handed me a book, saying Ibrahim sent it. It was his novel, Sands of Time. Strangely, I’d never told him I liked novels—in fact, I wasn’t even a novel reader. I took it, put it in my handbag, said goodbye to Amira, and we left.
On the way home, Ya Walid told us that Inna and Amina (our cousin from Yalleman) had arrived. At home, we happily gathered with Mommy, Inna, Dada, and everyone else. Daddy wasn’t around at the time. There was plenty of food, laughter, and photos. Truly, nothing is sweeter than family.
Late at night, I returned to our room, took a bath, and began reflecting on everything that had happened. Amira was right. Satan can come between siblings, even those from the same womb. I was indeed attracted to Ibrahim—he had almost kissed me, and I hadn’t stopped him. I was weak. My heart was too soft.
I remembered the book in my handbag. After bathing and dressing in my pajamas, I picked it up and a piece of paper fell out. It carried his scent. I opened it and read:
MAIMUNATU,
I CAN NO LONGER STOP MYSELF FROM SAYING THIS. BELIEVE ME, I TRIED.
MAIMUNATU, I LOVE YOU. I DON’T KNOW WHAT LOVE FEELS LIKE, BUT I AM 100% SURE THIS IS IT.
I DON’T KNOW IF YOU FEEL THE SAME WAY. PLEASE, IF YOUR ANSWER IS NO, CALL THE NUMBER AT THE END OF THIS LETTER AND JUST SAY NO. THEN I WILL ASK FOR A TRANSFER BEFORE YOU RESUME. I CAN’T KEEP SEEING YOU KNOWING YOU WON’T BE MINE.
YOURS IN LOVE,
IBRAHIM
So here we are. Will Moon say yes, knowing the consequences, or say no, knowing she may never see him again?
---
Episode Seventeen: Reply
I reread the letter over and over. Ibrahim, you weren’t fair to me. What exactly do you want me to say—yes or no? I knew I couldn’t ask Hafsat for advice. I kept rereading the letter as if hoping the words would change. It was clearly his handwriting, and his scent was still there. I memorized the phone number at the bottom.
I folded the letter and returned it to the book. Hafsat entered the room yawning and teased me for sleeping early. I wasn’t in the mood. I waited until she went to bathe, then hid the book under my pillow.
I couldn’t sleep. I knew I loved Ibrahim—there was no doubt—but being together would be difficult. Daddy wasn’t the issue; Mommy was. One look from her and I’d wish I’d never met him. My extended family would never accept it. I loved my family too much to go against them.
On the other hand, if I said no, I knew Ibrahim was serious about transferring schools. Would my heart survive that? Could I live without him?
Sleep eventually stole me. I dreamed we were driving with my family, laughing, while Ibrahim walked alone on the road. He smiled at me as we passed, then ran after us calling my name until he disappeared. I woke up frightened, praying.
I hid the letter inside a biology textbook in my locker.
The holiday wasn’t enjoyable. Whenever I thought of the letter, my heart sank. One day, after bathing, I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered when I had grown up enough to be thinking about love.
One afternoon, while Dada was sleeping, I secretly dialed Ibrahim’s number from her phone. When he answered, I froze. I couldn’t speak. He hung up. I collapsed in frustration. What had Ibrahim done to me? I couldn’t even say no.
The holidays ended without me making a decision.
---
Episode Eighteen: What’s Next?
On resumption day, I felt sick. Mommy asked if we’d continue lessons with the corps member and insisted Hafsat must always be present.
At school, I saw Ibrahim standing by the staff room, watching the cars. Hafsat teased me about him waiting for me. She asked directly,
“Is it a yes or a no?”
I looked her in the eyes and said, “Yes, it is.”
And so, the battle began.
Hafsat scolded me harshly, questioning my maturity. I calmly reminded her that years ago, when I chose my career dreams, everyone supported me. I told her I just needed her support now. She insulted me and walked away.
I planned everything carefully. I said yes to Ibrahim only so he wouldn’t leave the school—but that didn’t mean I’d let him romance me. If he truly loved me, he would wait.
I created boundaries: no being alone, group study sessions, rearranged seating, even changing my Islamiyya class. Ibrahim was furious when he realized.
Weeks passed in tension. He was frustrated; so was I. Daddy’s visit brought me comfort. But the struggle had only just begun…