It had been nearly six weeks since the funeral of Mrs. Shajareh, and nearly a month since Musa stopped receiving work from Karim. Running out of money, Musa had already drafted his resume, while putting together a list of publishing companies that he could forward his portfolio to. All he needed to do was to have a second look through his resume, to see if he hadn’t made any errors or left anything out.

But, Musa decided to put his resume on hold for the hour. Instead, he pulled out his phone to see who had contacted him. With no new messages, he proceeded to launch a dating app that he had an account with. On it included a list of women he tried having contact with, with a few others more whom had only spoken to briefly. In addition, others he had spoken to in the past were either not his type, stepped on toes, or were secretive about themselves. To him, it was a constant reminder of his loneliness, with many of his friends having left the country since the economic downturn of 2016, but also how he’s yet to settle down with a wife and child of his own. Perhaps, it was this outcome as to why he was angry at Rosalina for not having feelings for him all those years ago. With a bit of fury, he flipped his phone over, and stormed out of his bedroom.

Since his ordeal, Mr. Shajareh had barely left his bedroom. Normally, he would have had Mrs. Shajareh to keep him company but, for the first time in his life, he was alone. Musa often passed by to check on his father, thus taking on the role of family support. Each time, he noticed his father with a sign of grief on his face, as he was unable to get over his loss. On this day, Musa paid him a visit once more. This time, however, he decided to sit next to his father, hoping to start a conversation.

For over two minutes, not a word was said, with Mr. Shajareh, indulging in cigarettes, appreciating his son’s gesture. Then, he broke his silence by asking, “How do you overcome sadness? When your mother’s health kept getting worse, you remained calm throughout. And, even after her death, you never cried like the rest of us. How?”

“Death is just part of life,” Musa answered, immediately getting his father’s attention. “It comes to us at any time. We do believe in the Akhira.”

Mr. Shajareh nodded in agreement, with a faint smile on his face. “You have strong faith,” he remarked, giving his son a huge pad on the shoulder.

With another long pause between them, Mr. Shajareh then said, “You’ve changed.”

“How so?” Musa asked.

“Maybe because you’ve aged but, throughout your twenties…. No. Even longer, you were always angry,” Mr. Shajareh said. “If you weren’t upset because people found you trouble, you were mad at the world for not fulfilling your dreams. But, now, you’ve become so cool and gentle.”

“I’ve grown to expect nothing from people or, sometimes, the worst,” Musa said. “I even used to blame God for every wrongdoing caused by man, or nothing happening in my life. Sometimes, I had blamed myself.” With a short pause, he then added, “But, then, I remember what you said about God putting us through hardships.” Then paused for a brief moment, then added, “As for how other people and I affected each other, we just never practiced what we preached. Like you said, 'God no longer police mankind since His last revelations.'”

“I said that?” Mr. Shajareh asked, as he was unable to recollect his past conversations. “So, you’ve put all the bad memories of your school bullies behind you?” he asked.

“Not counting my nightmares, yeah,” Musa said.

“And Rosalina?” Mr. Shajareh asked. He understood his son’s silence and frown as a sign of annoyance. “Forgive. What happened wasn’t anyone’s fault,” he said. As he put out his cigarette, he changed the subject by asking, “Do you know what your problem was?”

“What?” Musa asked.

“From becoming a banker, to being married with wife and kids in your twenties, you were chasing other people’s shadows, and not living your own life,” Mr. Shajareh said.

“But, all my friends are already married with jobs. I’m the only one with neither,” Musa lamented.

“Yes, but didn’t you say that Ibrahim just got married, and in his thirties no less?” Mr. Shajareh pointed out, which was enough to make his son think rationally. “Musa,” he said while wagging his finger, ”never run after what might not even be there. Even if you had finished university, there’s still a chance you’d still not be able to find work in the banking sector; I know a lot of people who took up different jobs from the ones they studied for. And, even if you and Rosalina had gotten together, she may not be the woman you need. Everything happens for a reason, so don’t worry yourself.”

For a brief moment, no further words were said between Mr. Shajareh and Musa. But, as he leaned towards Musa, Mr. Shajareh then said, “Although, this reminds me of what I said to you once.”

“What’s that?” Musa asked.

“‘Nothing lasts forever,’ and this also includes dreams. Sometimes, you just have to wake up to see the real goals in life,” Mr. Shajareh said. Then, he added, “Musa, every good thing in life comes in its own time. Don't worry too much. Just enjoy life as it is, and let it take you to your destiny.”

Musa nodded hesitantly in agreement.

“And, also, you had been offering du’a, but life just never gave you what you wanted. Has this troubled you?” Mr. Shajareh asked.

“It has,” Musa admitted.

“If it’s halal, God will fulfill your desires,” Mr. Shajareh said. “If He doesn’t answer your du’a right away, it is because He either intends to answer it later or give you something better.”

The explanation didn’t give Musa much comfort, but he understood the reasons, and how his past supplications could have affected him. “Thanks, dad,” he said, before receiving a hug from his father.

“If you can pardon me asking, what gave you purpose in life since your school years? What made you smile?” Mr. Shajareh asked.

“The memories of spending time with my friends,” Musa said.

“Besides that?” Mr. Shajareh said, interrupting his son.

With a short pause, Musa answered, “When I offer alms to beggars, or put food out for the animals, I do feel a sense of purpose.”

“And that’s just it,” Mr. Shajareh said, as he pointed. “The purpose of life isn’t about chasing a career, or settling down with a hot woman with children. It has always been about how we can treat living creatures before returning back to our Lord. That’s one of the best achievements in life.”

That put a faint smile on Musa’s face, as he expressed his agreement to his father’s pep talk.

“So, how’s the new work going?” Musa then asked, hence changing the subject.

“I’m getting there,” Mr. Shajareh said. “I’m just waiting for Abu Khalid to come back from Port Harcourt. Then, we’ll start our new transport business. Don’t worry about it; it will all be well.”

"God willing,” both Mr. Shajareh and Musa said in Arabic.

Musa padded his father on the shoulder but, as he was standing up, Mr. Shajareh added, “Musa, I never told you this before, but your mother was very proud of you. How you looked after the house, and catered to your mother's needs during her final days, to her, you’d been more of a man than you ever gave yourself credit for.”

For the first time in a while, Musa felt a sense of accomplishment as he walked away.

Nearly a month after Mr. Shajareh had his conversation with his son, one afternoon, Musa stops by a supermarket to buy himself a box of fruit juice. He hands over five Naira to the cashier, and receives two hundred and thirty Naira in change. Along the way, he gives away his change to a neighborhood beggar who, in return, expresses his gratitude with a smile.