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This is a book about two people who dislike each other more than anything in the world. They rather be in the North Pole than be in the same room together. The dislike they had for each other was strong. But what happens when they find themselves sharing a roof. Do they tear each other part or learn to live together. Read to find out how these two people handle the situation of living together and face the obstacles they have in life.
I can't believe how much my life has changed in three months. It still feels like it was last week I graduated from University. I have been living with my sister and her family for the past three months. I am 21 years old, and I work at an IT company, where I was lucky enough to get a contract and my own office. I have been working there for the past two months. I have a substantial allowance but have always been taught to work for the things I value in life. My life is pretty simple, but I can feel something new is going to happen soon. I don’t know if I like the feeling or not but let’s see what life holds in store for me.
I am brought back from my musings when I feel someone pull on my trousers.
"Aunt, Aunt," my cute niece calls, pulling on my trousers to get my attention.
Eman is the female version of her father, except for her skin tone. She has curly black hair, large grey eyes, a heart-shaped face, and beautiful light skin. She is six years old. She is my sister’s first child.
"Yes, cutie pie what can I help you with?" I ask, giving her my full attention.
"Aunt, when I get back from school today could you braid my hair like how you did yours?" she asks, giving me her best puppy eyes look.
"Of course, honey, once I get back from work I will."
I can’t say no to her, even though I know I am going to be exhausted from work.
After we are done talking, she walks back to the dining table and finishes her breakfast so that she can be on her way to school.
After breakfast, I walk back upstairs to get ready for work. I change from my dressing gown into my work outfit. I wear a pair of plaid pants, a white shirt, a black coat, zip ankle boots and a black bag to match the outfit. I finish dressing and leave the house and get into my car to drive to work.
I arrive at work a few minutes later and take the elevator up to meet with my supervisor. Once I get to her office, I don’t spend more than a minute as she already has the work she wants me to do ready for me.
I walk to my office to begin my work. I still can’t believe my job came with this gorgeous office. The walls of my office are painted white with three paintings adorning the walls, and my desk is white with golden edges. There are two white chairs in front of my desk while my chair is black. There is a coffee table in the middle with a four-seater couch, and the glass window to the left overlooks the city.
I don’t have much to do today, Alhamdulillah (Praise be to Allah). Most times I have a lot of work to get through but because today we were given half of the day off, I have less to do at the office.
Today I was given the task to play new games and check if they have any glitches. It might sound simple, but it’s not. I must play more than ten games before I can finish work today. The fact that sometimes I don’t know how to play them makes it a little hard. That’s not the only thing I do at work, sometimes I am given administrative work to do as well. So, my job is not all fun all the time.
I am driving back home from a good day at work when I get a call from a friend from work.
“Hi Umit, I was calling to remind you that the boss is back and will be coming to work tomorrow. He also said he wants to meet with all new staff and the intern’s tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m."
"Oh, I didn’t forget, but thanks for calling to remind me.”
“You are welcome. Bye,"
“Bye,” I say ending the call.
I drive through our black, cast iron gate. Our house is a two-story building with beautiful flowers all around the front porch and a water fountain in the middle. While parking my car, I notice a black Lykan Hypersport is parked at our front porch, meaning we have a guest. I wonder who it is.
I walk into our entryway. There are two grand staircases with black bannisters adorning it. There is a chandelier in the middle of the staircases and a black vintage table with a flower vase on it.
I walk into the living room. The walls are painted grey ceramics, there is a crystal chandelier, the couches are charcoal with white and grey throw pillows, a brown coffee table and a fireplace.
I see the last person I ever want to see in my life, my worst enemy. The only person in my life I truly loathe. It is none other than my brother-in-law, Ismail Uthman.
Ismail is 25 years old, 6-foot-tall, has black hair, a solid build, and fair skin. Ismail was born and raised in England. His mother is English, but his father is of Turkish descent. He moved to America when he was 18 to attend university. He has a very thick British accent. His brother is married to my sister, making him my brother-in-law too.
"You!" I say, pointing my finger at him. "What are you doing here?"
"If I remember correctly, this is my brother's house," he says with disgust.
"Sure,” I reply, “but I doubt you came to see him. I bet you came to see if you have succeeded in making my life a living hell. But let me tell you, my life is great and there is nothing you can do about it, so you can leave!" I say with a deadly look.
"Oh honey, I wish you were the reason I came over, but sorry sweetheart, I came to see my brother," he smirks, not meaning those sweet names.
"Okay, whatever you say, Mister," I say walking past him.
I am about to go upstairs and get some rest before dinner when I hear my name called from the living room.
"Umit, Umit." I hear my sister's voice calling me.
"Yes, Waheeda,” I say walking into the living room to answer her.
Waheeda is different from me in features. I am dark skinned while she is light skinned. She is slightly taller than me. I am 5 feet 6 inches tall while she is 5 feet 7 inches. Waheeda takes after my mother while I take after my father in skin tone. Waheeda and I were born and raised in Nigeria but moved to America after we finished university. She finished years before me, though.
"Please take a seat we have something to discuss with you," Waheeda says as soon as I walk into the living room. I take a seat opposite her and her husband, Aazim.
"I know you and my brother have a rough past, but you both have to put that aside because you are going to be sharing a roof. And truth be told, you both know that it is not Islamic to hate one another," my brother-in-law Aazim says. Aazim, like his brother is 6-feet-tall, has black hair, broad shoulders, and fair skin. Aazim moved to America from England in his 20’s when he got a job offer.
"I don't understand what you mean by ‘this…’ I stutter with a nasty look, “whatever he calls himself, and me sharing a roof."
"What he means is that I am moving in, whether you like it or not." Ismail is returning the same nasty look.
"UH, what did you say?! You are What?! Moving into where? Please stop with the silly joke," I say standing up while laughing sarcastically. "I have never killed a human being, but if you wake up tomorrow and find your brother dead, don't be surprised. We all know we can’t stand each other for a minute, and you want us to live under the same roof?! If I may ask, why can't he live in his own house? Because I saw a 2019 Lykan Hypersport parked outside which I am pretty sure belongs to him. So, I know he can afford an apartment or even an estate if he wants," I rant really getting flustered, not really meaning what I said about killing him.
"You are not killing my brother. You will both have to learn to co-exist. Like I said before, it’s not even Islamic that you guys fight a lot and the reason he is moving in…, it's not my place to tell you that story. All that matters is that he is moving in and that’s final," Aazim says.
"Fine, I will try to co-exist because I respect you as my brother-in-law, and for the sake of Allah I will learn to co-exist with him and live under the same roof as him,” I say.
“Thank you,” Aazim says, walking out of the living room with Waheeda.
“I am surprised you have not said much since you came in, maybe you are finally starting to learn some manners," I say to Ismail with a smug smile on my face.
“Just because I am not giving you the pleasure of hearing my voice, does not mean you should be sad about it," Ismail says smirking.
"Who said I like the sound of your voice?"
“You don’t need to say it, sweetheart, but I know you do and the sooner you accept it the better.”
“I think something is wrong with you. What makes you think I would like your voice when I can’t even stand your presence!” I state with disgust and annoyance, because even though I dislike him he does have a nice voice, but I will never tell him that.
“Nothing is wrong with me. There is something wrong with you because who wouldn’t love my voice? I have a British accent,” he says sounding proud.
"This is why…” before I can finish my statement, Aazim walks back into the living room and stops our argument.
"Both of you, what did I just say before I left the room," he says with a stern look.
"That we should learn to co-exist," Ismail and I say in unison.
"And is that what both of you are doing?"
"No." we both admit.
"If you don't want me to kick both you guys out of my house you better learn to co-exist before I throw you guys out. I can’t believe you guys are adults, fighting like children." Aazim says shaking his head.
"I can’t promise you anything, Aazim, but I will try to co-exist," I say.
“Please do,” Aazim says.
“Same goes for me,” Ismail says.
"Good! And before I forget Umit, please, will you help Ismail with his things?”
“Do I have to?” I whine, dropping my shoulders trying to look tired.
“Not really, but it will help with learning to co-exist.”
“Alright fine, I will,” I say knowing there is no way out.
“You are welcome.”
I can't believe I am going to be sharing the same house with Ismail. He is the last person I want to see every day.
I help Ismail take his things upstairs, and I can’t believe among all the rooms in the house, he had to choose the one right next to mine.
I finish helping Ismail. I pray Asr (mid-afternoon) prayer before I go downstairs to make something to eat.
I feel like preparing one of my Nigerian dishes today, but I wonder which I should make. 'Aha, I know just what to prepare'.
I go to the kitchen. The kitchen walls are painted all white. There is a chandelier in the middle, the cupboards are painted white with brushed steel handles, the gas cooker and the microwave are brushed steel, and the worktop is ceramic with a black and white pattern.
I start preparing dinner which is pounded yam and egusi soup with chicken. But if I eat it and go to bed early, my stomach will hurt the next morning, but Alhamdulillah (Praise be to Allah) it's 3:00 p.m. I am lucky I got off work early today. There is enough time for the food to digest before I go to bed.
Two hours later I finish making my egusi soup and pounded yam. I am about to dish up my food when I hear someone’s voice coming from the living room, walking to t
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