"Can I have your number? I'd like us to be friends."
The words hung between them, Rihannat froze slightly.
Basit noticed the shift in her posture immediately — the guarded look, the invisible wall rising brick by brick. He cleared his throat quickly.
"I mean… friends like Rayyan and Balkis," he added, softer this time. "If you don't mind."
She looked at him carefully.
"Friends, with me?" She asked doubtful and skeptical.
"Why me?"
It wasn't a shy question. It wasn't flattered. It was a cautious and.. curious one. Why her?
Basit held her gaze and smiled gently. "Nothing complicated. I just feel like we're alike. We share the same views. We're both serious about our studies. Hardworking. Focused. Don't you think?"
She didn't answer immediately.
She was searching his eyes to see if he was joking or lying to her but his expression seems sincere and true.
She doesn't allow males around her because of their nature. Womanizing. Using women and later discard them like clothes.
But with what she saw in him throughout their time together that day, he isn't a womanizing type. Maybe she should just...
"I mean no harm, okay?" he added quickly. "Please."
Rihannat adjusted her bag strap on her shoulder.
"But I don't always see you with friends," she said honestly. "I thought you didn't like having people around you."
Basit burst into laughter.
"Me? Not like being with people? Oh no, no, no! Who doesn't have a friend?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"I do have a friend," he continued. "Ridwan. He's a medical student. My childhood friend. We've known each other since forever. He's just always busy. Medical students barely breathe," he said dramatically. "Even busier than we business students."
She almost smiled.
"And my sister is here too," he added casually.
Her eyes widened slightly. "You have a sister in this school?"
"Yes. My only sister. She's studying Engineering — following our mum's profession."
"Wow… so lowkey," she murmured.
Basit chuckled. "Not exactly. A lot of people know. You're just always buried inside your books and sketchpads, so you don't notice things."
She blinked. "Sketchpads?"
There it was.
The slip.
How do you know I draw? I know all my customers in school, you're not among. Or did I work for you in the past? She mused that to herself. I rarely forget such things.
For a split second, Basit's heart skipped.
Oh God in heaven, help me.
"So many people know," he said quickly. "I heard from someone on campus." Likely she's one of your customers, I'm not sure but I heard her praising your work and telling about you to her friends.
He looked away briefly.
What a cover-up.
The truth? He knew far more than that. He knew she took portrait orders. He knew she did calligraphy. He knew she sold her pieces quietly to survive. He even knew her pricing.
And more than once, he had secretly paid someone to buy her art at double the amount.
He had even developed a sudden "interest" in photography and calligraphy after learning she loved it.
But that was his secret.
"Am I that popular?" she asked with a soft smile.
"It would have been better if you remember the girl so I can thank her." She told him sadly.
Sigh, well he should finish what he started right? He thought before saying, "It's fine, take it as Allah's way of helping you. And you can send your prayers to her always."
She smile and nod. "Sounds good."
So my work is popular?! She said happily again while clapping her hands. Who doesn't want to be appreciated? No one!
He shrugged. "You'd be surprised."
She shook her head slightly. "I didn't know you were into art."
"Well…" he hesitated. "I developed the interest not long ago."
Another lie.
His interest began the day he noticed the way her eyes lit up while sketching in class.
"I'm just like you with two friends," he continued. "I don't keep a crowd. Minority, not majority." He added quickly, trying to divert the topic.
"Who told you I have just two friends?" she shot back immediately.
He paused, then grinned.
"Oh, my mistake. You have so many friends that I can't even count."
She glared at him.
Are you making fun of me?
"Good. I'm not giving you my number, bye."
"And I don't have male friends."
"Goodbye."
Before he could react, she turned and began walking away — almost running.
Basit burst into laughter.
He jogged after her. Shouting her name.
"Rihannat! Wait!"
She stopped abruptly, embarrassed.
"Why are you running like I'm chasing you for marriage?" he teased.
Immediately Rihannat heard that she stopped, turned to him seriously now.
"Listen carefully," she said firmly. "Don't have any other intentions. I'm not ready for that. I don't want to give you hope. And I won't think twice before blocking you if you cross any boundary."
Her tone wasn't harsh — just clear.
Basit felt something twist inside him.
It was painful.
So.. He lied without blinking.
"No other intentions," he said calmly.
But his heart knew otherwise.
Was it love?
He wasn't sure yet.
He saw her for the first time during their matriculation and something stirred in him but he overlooked it. Or maybe cautioned himself. - to face his studies. But....now,
All he knew was that since his second year — the first time he truly noticed and interacted with her — really----something had shifted. And that "don't come near me" aura she carried around men had always kept him cautious.
What if she rejects me publicly?
What if she embarrasses me?
What if I lose even this small access?
He swallowed those thoughts. Waiting for her response.
"Okay fine," she finally said.
They exchanged numbers.
Simple. Quick. No ceremony.
"Don't misuse it," she warned.
"Yes ma," he replied playfully.
Rihannat shake her head at his antics.
She walked toward the roadside and entered a cab. Basit stood there, watching until the vehicle disappeared from sight. Only then did he sigh deeply before stopping a bike to head home.
That same night, after freshening up, Rihannat observed her Isha prayer quietly.
She warmed the remaining food in the pot and ate slowly. Simplicity was her lifestyle. No unnecessary expenses. No luxury cravings.
After eating, she picked up her phone and called home — as she did every night.
Her mother answered.
"My daughter, how was today?"
"It was fine, Mum."
After a few minutes of normal conversation, the topic shifted — as it always did.
"There are still proposals," her mother said gently. "Good families. Financially stable men. Your life will be easier in school dear."
Rihannat sighed softly.
"Mum…"
"Every woman wants a good life," her mother continued. "Comfort. Security."
"I know," Rihannat said calmly. "But I made fifteen thousand naira this week from photography and drawings," she added.
You know how these rich heir spend. "So, I'm managing well. I don't spend extravagantly. I don't chase luxury. I'm okay."
Her mother wasn't convinced.
"Who doesn't want good things?" she asked softly.
"I want good things too," Rihannat replied. "But I want to earn them. I don't want to depend on someone because of comfort. Let me build first."
Her mother sighed.
"She's stubborn," she murmured to her husband.
Her father chuckled in the background.
He knew his daughter.
When Rihannat decided to fight, she fought till the end.
He would never fold her wings. He would never cage her ambition. Gold must pass through fire to shine. And his daughter — his princess — was not ordinary gold.
She was a rare gem.
She needed pressure. Determination. Confidence.
And he would stand behind her quietly while she soared.
After ending the call, Rihannat lay on her bed.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She stared at it for a second before answering. She had forgotten she gave Basit her number.
"Good evening… new friend," Basit's voice said softly from the other end.
She rolled her eyes even though he couldn't see her. "Good evening."
And for the first time in that school, she didn't hang up immediately after hearing a male student voice."
Meanwhile, Basit had just returned home.
As he approached his apartment door, he saw a familiar figure leaning against the wall with folded arms.
Ridwan.
"Basit!" Ridwan straightened up. "I've been calling you. Eight times. Eight! What happened? You didn't see your phone?"
Basit blinked. "Subhanallah… I'm sorry. I didn't even notice."
Ridwan narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"What are you thinking about that made you miss eight calls? And why are you smiling like someone who just won a lottery? Did the bike man hit your head somewhere? You're acting strange."
Basit tried to suppress his grin. "It's nothing. Just… nothing."
Ridwan stepped closer dramatically. "This vibe you're giving me is putting me on edge. You will tell me what is going on. You know I won't stop until I get my answer."
Basit sighed. "Fine. Come inside before you embarrass both of us outside."
He unlocked his door and dragged his overly curious friend in.
They settled on the couch.
"So?" Ridwan leaned forward.
Basit narrated everything — the number exchange, her warnings, her seriousness, her boundaries.
Ridwan listened carefully, eyes widening gradually.
"Wait," he interrupted. "Are we talking about the same girl you mentioned two years ago?"
Basit nodded slowly.
"The one you said had this cold aura?"
Ridwan let out a long whistle.
"So you're telling me the mighty Basit is finally smitten?"
Basit frowned. "Smitten ke? Don't exaggerate."
Ridwan burst out laughing. "Allahu Akbar! I thought you would be single forever! I thought no girl could shake you!"
Basit stood abruptly. "Are you for real? Aren't we the same? Pot calling kettle black!"
He dashed toward his bedroom and locked the door.
"Basit!" Ridwan banged on it playfully. "Come out! I promise I won't kill you tonight — I'll only beat you small!"
Their laughter echoed through the apartment.
The neighbors were used to them. Outside, they were calm, composed, almost intimidating. But at home? They were children.
They chased each other around, wrestled lightly, tickled one another until they collapsed onto the couch, breathless.
Childhood friends.
Brothers in everything but blood.
When they finally calmed down, Ridwan leaned back, serious now.
"So… this isn't infatuation?"
Basit stared at the ceiling.
"This has been going on for two years," he admitted quietly. "Since the first time I noticed her. I tried to avoid her. You know dating isn't allowed in Islam. And she… she gives that 'don't come near me' vibe."
Ridwan nodded.
"But now," Basit continued, "I don't think I can go back to acting like before. Getting closer made it worse. She has this presence… this discipline. It pulls me in."
Ridwan studied his friend.
"Bro… I think you're in love. Deeply."
Basit didn't argue.
"And if it's real," Ridwan continued, grinning again, "start preparing yourself. I can already imagine your parents dancing. Uncle calling everyone. Aunty crying with joy. And me? Best man, obviously."
Basit wanted to shut him up.
But something about hearing those words — groom, marriage, future — stirred something warm inside him.
He didn't understand it fully.
But he liked it.
"I appreciate you," Basit said quietly.
Ridwan waved it off. "We're past appreciation level. We're brothers."
They hugged briefly.
Both came from influential families. Ridwan's father was a respected chief judge; his mother, a world-renowned surgeon. Basit's father was a powerful businessman with investments across countries; his mother, an accomplished construction engineer known for excellence.
Their parents had once hoped to strengthen the bond by marrying their children to each other's siblings.
But fate had other plans.
Basit's sister and Ridwan behaved like siblings already. And Basit and Ridwan were inseparable.
Sometimes, love refuses to follow parental blueprints.
And parents can only pray.
The next morning, Rihannat arrived at school earlier than most students.
She always did.
Even when she had no morning lectures, she preferred studying on campus. There was something about the quiet corridors that helped her think clearly.
She carried her homemade food in her bag — neatly packed — and walked toward her usual spot.
An unused building at the far end of campus.
A quiet corridor.
A corner by the window where sunlight filtered gently across the floor.
She sat there, legs folded neatly, books spread out before her, completely absorbed.
Meanwhile, Basit had just finished his first lecture.
He scanned the usual classrooms.
No sign of her.
He checked the library.
Nothing.
He spotted one of the girls who had walked with her the previous day.
"Excuse me," he asked politely. "Do you know where Rihannat usually studies?"
The girl hesitated, then pointed toward the old building.
"She likes that quiet corridor near the unused block."
Basit thanked her and headed there.
As he approached, he slowed his steps.
And there she was sitting alone.
Sunlight resting on her shoulders. Completely unaware of the new audience.
Basit paused for a moment.
Watching, smiling like an idiot.