“He’s my best friend,” Ahmed replied, but his voice was knotted as he said it.
“You want to protect him,” she offered, and Ahmed nodded.
That was fair enough. Privately, Souraya thought Kalu sounded like a rich and careless man who probably didn’t deserve the help. New Lagos had so many girls who needed it more, who probably needed help precisely because of men like him.
Still. Ahmed wanted to protect him and Souraya remembered what the city was like, why she’d left, how easy it was to wipe a hand and take a life with it. Especially with men like Okinosho.
“I’ll ask Ola,” she said. “But I do think your friend is a bloody fool, just so we’re clear.”
Ahmed gave a flat smile. “True. I just don’t think he should die for it.”
Souraya started dialing, pretending she couldn’t feel the heat of Ahmed’s gaze on the side of her face.
Saturday, 2:53 PM
After Ola hung up on them, Ahmed took Souraya’s hands in his and kissed her knuckles.
“Thank you,” he said solemnly. “I owe you and Ola a debt.”
Souraya smiled sadly. “I’m sure she’ll collect.”
He kept her hands in his and she let herself linger in the warmth from his skin. Back then, she hadn’t been able to tell if the feelings she’d had for him were real or engineered, and she knew even now that she had made the right decision in leaving. Removing Ahmed had been necessary so she could build a world where she was the one who could make herself okay. But now, those feelings were still there, simmering low and insistent. Souraya wasn’t sure what to do with them.
The corner of Ahmed’s mouth twisted up. “I owe you a debt,” he clarified.
“Let’s call it even for Joburg.”
He flinched—he actually flinched when she said that. Souraya stared at him, fascinated. Did he not know she was in his debt from back then?
“You owe me nothing,” he replied, his voice raspy. “Do you hear? Nothing.”
She didn’t believe him. The debt was something she’d carried in her bones ever since he’d lifted her off that floor and out of hell.
“You killed a man for me,” she reminded him softly. “There is nothing you can say to undo or erase that, Ahmed.”
A low snarl. “He deserved to die.”
“But would you have killed him if he’d done it to someone else? Some girl off the street?” She watched Ahmed closely as the question sank into his skin, and she saw the shame rise up in response. “Of course you wouldn’t, Ahmed. Men like that are your clients. It happens all the time.”
“Souraya.” His face was twisted and she stroked his cheek.
“I’m not judging you. Men like that have been my clients too. I’m just saying, you did it for me. Not because it was the right thing to do.”
Ahmed blew out a long stream of air. “So much for trying to sound noble,” he joked, but his eyes were disturbed. Maybe he hadn’t expected her to hold up such an accurate mirror to his face. She didn’t regret it—he needed to know that she saw who he was, not who he pretended to be.
“Maybe we should actually enter the restaurant and get lunch,” he was saying.
Souraya laughed and glanced through of the window into the heat shimmering outside. The restaurant’s security guards were lounging on plastic chairs under a bower of flowers, their boots pushed into the sand, their eyes watching the car with an easy curiosity.
“I like being in small worlds with you,” she said, her voice thoughtful.
Ahmed’s eyes softened, and he started to lean in, perhaps to kiss her. Souraya held her breath, her eyes on his, but then his phone buzzed. Ahmed pulled back, apologetic, and took it out of his pocket, swiping the screen open. Souraya watched as blood left his face and all the light drained from his eyes, leaving them as flat as a snake’s. He kept holding the phone even as the screen faded to black. Incoherent chatter from the security guards trickled across the yard and through the glass of the window, over the air-conditioning. Ahmed looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe, like the air around him was about to shatter.
Souraya reached out and touched his shoulder. “Is everything okay?” she asked.
He turned his head toward her, his face blank. “I have to go,” he said.
“What?”
“I have to go.” He looked down on his phone before shoving it into his pocket. “I can’t tell you what happened, but it’s an emergency. I’m so sorry, Souraya. Can I drop you back at your hotel?”
Disappointment coursed sharply through her. “Whatever you need to do.”
She turned and buckled her seat belt again, not caring if the insincerity of her words was fucking obvious. This was exactly why she’d left him behind in Joburg. It was easy to be open in their small worlds, but the minute something real intruded, he had shut down and shut her out.
Ahmed slid his hand over hers as her seat belt clicked into place. “I mean it. I’m so sorry. I just have to go take care of this, but I’ll call you immediately after it’s handled, okay?” His hand was still warm and gentle but his eyes didn’t match his words. His pupils were freezing, arctic and distant.
She tried one last time. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me?”
Ahmed stroked her cheek with a knuckle. “Some things I really do have to keep to myself,” he said apologetically. “Trust me, darling, it’s better this way.”
He leaned in and kissed her cheek before buckling his seat belt and pulling out of the compound. Souraya fought the urge to wipe his kiss off her skin, to slap him for thinking his charm would make the apology stick. Suddenly, she was thoroughly sick of the city and the way it always let her down. She couldn’t wait for her hotel room.
Ahmed was silent as they pulled out into the road, and the bougainvillea retreated behind them like a thousand small and colorful fires.
ten
Saturday, 3:34 PM
