The voice of the elderly woman, who seemed to be no more than fifty years old, filled the room, shaking the young man who was eighteen years old. He lay on the large bed in the room, and she kept saying, "Are you okay, son? Open your eyes, Aliyu, open your eyes! What’s your problem… What kind of dream is this, Fatima?” He then opened his eyes in panic, sitting up and scanning the room, his chest heaving. At the same time, he turned his gaze to his mother, who was looking at him but did not say anything. He closed his eyes and, in a soft voice, said, “Motherrr…” She took his hand, her face clearly showing worry, and said, “What’s your problem, Aliyu? What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”

He opened his eyes, looking at her, and in a low voice, he said, “Please pray for me, Mum… I don’t know, I just can’t find peace of mind, maybe…” He fell silent, tears gathering in his closed eyes. She said, “I am your mother, Aliyu; there’s no one else in this world you can tell your worries to besides me. Tell me what you’ve done wrong; what’s troubling you? Please, Aliyu.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead, gently resting his head on her shoulder as he said, “Just help me pray, Mother.”

She lifted his head and said, “So you won’t tell me, right?” He fell silent, looking at her with his big eyes. Then he carefully closed them again and opened his mouth, saying, “I will continue praying, Mum; it’s not worth mentioning. Please just pray for me…” She stood up again, heading toward the door, and he followed her with his eyes as she exited. He murmured, “Your prayers, please, Mum…” She didn’t respond; she left, and he saw the clock showing it was two in the morning. He got up slowly and entered the bathroom.

5 years later

In a rush, she finished cleaning the cup and spoon she had washed, left the kitchen, turned off the electronics in the sitting room, grabbed her bag that was on the chair, slung it over her shoulder, and headed for the door while glancing at her wristwatch. She was wearing a long sea-green dress and a small red scarf with flat red shoes; she wasn’t really good at wearing heels. Her bag was also red. Her face was bare, except for powder and eye pencil, and she wore a chapstick on her lips, but it wasn’t noticeable that she hadn’t applied pink lipstick because of the natural pinkness of her lips. She knew her lips were unique, but who cares?

She sighed quietly as she opened the door to step out, holding the key to lock her apartment door. She stood still, spotting a young man by the entrance of her apartment, seemingly also about to lock his door. He was very tall, the kind of person one would describe as a gentleman, and standing next to him made her feel small. He resembled an Egyptian or Ethiopian man, judging by his skin tone and hair. His eyes were a deep shade, and his face looked stern without much brightness.

Slowly, she stepped aside to let him pass. After he finished locking his door, he turned, not looking at her at all, and walked towards the parking space. She followed him with her eyes, realizing he hadn’t fastened his belt or, perhaps, he had simply let it hang down. With her mouth slightly open, she realized that indeed he had left it hanging. She turned her head away, filled with disappointment about living in the same compound with him. He was the new tenant in the apartment next to hers, following her kind neighbor Nancy's move out.

For the past three weeks since returning from her trip, she had hoped for a quiet neighbor, and finding out that it was a man was unsettling to her. Regardless, she quickly shut her door to go catch a taxi to the University of Cambridge. They left the school around two o'clock in the afternoon together with her friend Vanessa. They had been together since their first year, and now they were in their third year with only a few months left.

After Vanessa waved to her as she got into the taxi, saying, “See ya, pretty,” she smiled back, waving from within the taxi, responding, “Alright, love.” When they reached home, her mind remained far away in thought, even as the voice of the Indian taxi driver brought her back to reality. She stepped out, handed him the fare, then hurried into her apartment. Though she didn’t see any signs that he was home since his car wasn’t parked, she quickly locked her door.

She started with a shower and performed her prayers, then entered the kitchen to prepare something to eat. Only noodles were left in her kitchen, so she boiled water and began making them. Before the noodles were ready, she took the dustbin out and opened the door to dump it, glancing at the gym equipment that had been left in the corner of his flat. Since returning, it was only then that she had gone into the backyard of her apartment. She frowned and grabbed the broom to clean the area adjacent to his, sweeping until the dirt was cleared and throwing the debris into a basket before returning inside and closing her door.

After finishing her noodles, she went to her room to lie down. Grabbing her phone, she checked the time, noticing it was five minutes to three. She put the phone down, knowing whom she intended to call, but they were surely in class at that time. She closed her eyes. She didn’t wake up until it was past four fifteen. She quickly entered the bathroom to freshen up, performed her ablution, completed her prayers, and then grabbed her study materials to start working.

Nigeria