He walked on that early morning like the way he always did, very timeless and full of energy. Modou was of average height and slender. His beards, long enough for Aminata to consider touching, should their relationship ever evolve into something romantic. He had a slightly dark complexion, a triangular face with a pointed nose, and his eyeballs on a slightly reddish and white background. He was outgoing, full of humor, a very charismatic young man, revered and liked by many.
The atmosphere was serene, with a tranquil quietness that hung in the air. The sky displayed an exquisite deep blue hue, not too dark, while the sun remained below the horizon. A gentle breeze rustled through the surroundings. People who resembled white-collar workers walked to catch their buses. Modou also headed to the bus stop to catch the 7:30 school bus.
He arrived at the bus stop at exactly 7: 29. Four buses were on standby, and one was already on the verge of departing. Modou and other students from different schools rushed to board it. He sat on the opposite side with the driver, at the back seats, near the window. When the bus started, it wasn’t very crowded, but as it got closer to the last stop, it filled up, and other students had to stand. Modou absentmindedly watched buildings, trees and cars go by as the bus traveled on the four-lane highway. Many were on their phones, some fixed Airpods and a few read pdfs. He heard many voices, some spoke darija, others French. Wolof-like words seemed part of the non-uniform noise and he tried to figure out the person. He slightly turned his face and saw Mariama, a Senegalese in the same school with him. She was conversing with her fellow compatriot, who Modou recognized but forgot his name. Their eyes met and they smiled and waved their hands at each other. He returned to his absentmindedness. Modou spent the 15-minute journey trying to find insight from an incomplete dream.
The bus stopped. Modou had to wait for those standing and on the front seats to alight first. He alighted with the majority. They formed two separate groups, one headed to his school and another to the Faculte de Science et Technique FST.
Exactly at 7: 50, he reached his school’s main gate. The security guards were dressed in white long sleeves and black trousers. He reduced his pace, walking slowly to confirm the venue of his first lecture, Comptabilite Approfondie. He removed his phone from his rumple pocket and opened his class’s WhatsApp group. He read a message “Bonjour les amis, Mr. Chami ne va pas assurer son cours aujourd’hui. Une séance de rattrapage sera programmée après.’’ This message left him motionless. Wrath filled up his heart. Why didn’t he check the messages in his class’s group chat after opening WhatsApp at home? And he ended his enjoyable sleep with a sweet dream just like that. How about the fare he had paid? Going back home was going to be even costlier, for boarding a taxi was twice the amount for a bus. He was supposed to have another class at 10 am but he was not motivated to attend it. That was how he turned back home.
Modou’s disappointment lingered as he exited the school gate. The sun, now risen, bathed the streets of Settat in warm golden light. He couldn’t help but replay his dream, especially where he sat on his bed with Aminata. He replayed that scene over and over even though he unluckily traveled to school in vain.
Meanwhile, in her own world, Aminata had returned to bed after praying fajr and having a short conversation with Modou. She lay on her bed, her thoughts drifting back to a cherished memory with Modou during the just ended summer holidays. As the room grew quiet, she closed her eyes and that was how sleep claimed her.
In the depths of her slumber, the memory came back in a different way. Aminata found herself transported in one sunny after where she visited a hotel in Casablanca with Modou. The hotel receptionists welcomed them with open arms. As they entered, they felt they were in a paradise on earth. They checked in for a night, with every luxury and facility without an additional charge.
Their faces displayed considerable joy. Their voices echoed in the corridors as they ventured in the heart of the hotel with laughter. Since it was hot and sunny, it made sense to start chilling at the expansive swimming pool surrounded by lush greenery. They plunged into the pool together and engaged in a water battle. They splashed water at each other and competed on an endurance test, ascertaining who would last longer beneath the neutral temperate pool water.
From swimming, they visited the restaurant. It was an occasion for a culinary adventure. They sat on very comfortable chairs and a gold-colored table. Many onlookers, including the restaurant staff, assumed they were a couple. And in that moment, perhaps even Aminata and Modou wouldn't deny that they resemble one. They tasted some rare and expensive recipes. They occasionally fork-fed each other while they indulged in a quasi-romantic discussion.
“Can I ask you something, Aminata?’’ He asked looking straight into her eyes.
“Yes, you can.”
“Why are you so amazingly beautiful?”
At this point, a powerful wave of happiness poured in her heart. She rotated her eyes and looked at Modou again. They both smiled. Modou’s hand on hers, purposelessly touching her Rolex watch.
“Awww, thank you, but am I really beautiful in your eyes?” She asked to receive more flattering.
“Seriously, you’re. I've never seen a beauty like you.” He added more maggi nokos.
“Travail de Mama la. It is normal because my mom is a jongoma.”
“You’re right. Mum is very beautiful and you’re a spitting image of her,” Modou confirmed. He added, “Let's go indoors now since we are done eating.” There was something behind that message and how he said it gave more message than the message itself.
It was 8am and Aminata was still in bed. Fatima, one of her flat mates, who read Medicine from a Medical school, was in the kitchen. It was her turn for the daily cleaning. A plate was not properly placed in the cupboard. She slightly pushed the cupboard to sweep the food particles from the other corner. The plate visited the tiled floor. It made so much noise that it was as if it fell in Aminata’s room. That was how she jolted awake.
Aminata woke up with mixed feelings. She was happy because her dream was a dream that she wanted to come true. She was however more interested in serious relationship. And as advised by her grandmother, whenever she dreamt of something she wanted to happen, she turned to her right hand and blew air on her right palm. The exact opposite was for the reverse. Aminata did it as her mentor told her.
On the flip side, she was mad at Fatima’s carelessness, everyone in the apartment considered her lazy. She got up, unhanged her towel and opened her door. Fatima was bending down and scrubbing. She stood up to squeeze the water from the rag and her eyes met Aminata’s.
“I am very sorry for waking you up.’’
“Don’t worry but try to clean when people are awake.”
Fatima was not a problematic person. She disagreed with what Aminata said but she just kept quiet. Aminata walked her way to the bathroom with an angry face.
While taking a bath, she replayed her dream, every moment, every gesture and all the spoken words were analyzed. She held the view with a good chunk of doubt that, like her, Modou also loved her and wanted their friendship to evolve into something romantic, preferably marriage.
As the morning sun gently streamed through the curtains of her bedroom, Aminata stood before her mirror with a determined smile. Today, she was not only going to school, but it was a day to create another impression. She knew that Modou appreciated her for her personality, but looking beautiful was an added advantage. Since Modou promised to call her during breaktime, she wanted to look her absolute best.
Aminata had recently bought herself a new pair of black jeans that hugged her curves perfectly. She slipped into them with a sense of excitement, feeling their soft fabric against her skin. To compliment the jeans, she chose a light and white blouse, whose sleeves flew gracefully with every movement she made. She wore her silver necklace given to her by Modou as a birthday gift. A delicate bracelet surrounded her wrist, which was equally part of her birthday gifts. She checked her collection of wigs and stood for about a minute before finally choosing her black virgin human hair wig. She finally slipped into her stylish white ballets, which would allow her to move with ease as she went about the day. She looked at herself on her mirror and observed every detail of her swag before leaving her room.
She descended the staircase with considerable mindfulness. She headed to the bus top, walking majestically with her one-hand black bag hung on her right shoulder. Her behind was trembling with vigor as she walked. She was tall, a sizable number 8 that many guys secretly talked about. She had a sizable diastema at the mid of her melon seeds, white like milk, impeccably arranged in her sizable mouth, with her upper gum naturally painted black by providence. She had a shiny black complexion, very captivating. On her heart shaped face stood a pointed nose, her black eyeballs on a pure white background. Aminata was in her early twenties, her body showing no signs of what many hands had touched.
With sheer confidence, she observed herself as she walked. It took her ten minutes to reach the bus stop. She boarded the bus at 9:30 and arrived at the university gate at 9: 49. Her marketing de service lecture was to be held at B10. She entered the class with excitement as she met her colleagues again. Every greeting was a peck. They hugged each other and discussed how they spent their holidays.
It was 10:15 and the prof was around. She commenced the lecture with a brief introduction of herself before delving into the introductory aspect of her course. Aminata sat in front, listening attentively. But her concentration occasionally shifted to her dream, and she would bring it back. The class ended at 11: 40, earlier than the normal time, 12:00, but it was normal since it was the first class.
Aminata went out. She patiently waited for Modou’s call at the Espace des etudiants. It was already 12:05 but he did not call. Something was wrong. She decided to call him.
“Hello Mo.’’
“Hello Aminata.” His voice resembled that of a sleeping person.
“Modou, you will not tell me that you’re at home deh.’’
“I came back because my classes were canceled.”
“Your classes were canceled, both of them?”
“Yes,” he lied.
“You are not telling me the truth, I just saw Peter, your Liberian classmate.”
He was caught red-handed. He knew that dodging never pleased Aminata, so he lied in order not to make her angry. He had nothing to say, he quickly thought of another lie.
“I was feeling somewhat sick. I had to go back home.”
At this stage, Peter was passing by, and she called him,
“Peter,” she called in her seductive voice. Modou was listening as she called Peter.
“Yes, Abinata,” he called her wrongly and approached her.
“How are you?”
“I am fine, how was your holiday?”
“It was fine, did Modou come to school?” She asked.
“No, he didn’t. We had Compta but it was canceled. But I have just finished my Gestion de portefeuille lecture and I'm done for the day.”
“Ok, thanks Peter.”
“You’re welcome. ‘He said and continued his journey back home.
Aminata was very furious, she could barely speak properly and that was how Modou realized that her bestie was mad at him, which he never wanted. She hung up the call and sat on a wooden chair bench, her heart boiling. She was not only mad because Modou deliberately missed classes, but her efforts to impress him on that day equally went in vain. She had three lectures, two already gone before 12 and one left after breaktime. She attended the latter with sheer disappointment, finding it very difficult to focus. It was the beginning of a conflict between the two besties.
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