Until the call for the dawn prayer (Asallatu) echoed through the air, I hadn't slept a wink. My mind spun in endless circles, tossing and turning options to uncover the absolute truth of what was happening to me. Yet, it was all in vain—like trying to scratch something through thick leather.
At five o’clock in the morning, my colleagues woke up to perform their dawn prayers. By the time they finished, I was still sitting there, idly swinging my legs. Aisha looked at me with deep concern and asked, "Ayodele, are you alright?"
"I'm perfectly fine," I replied.
"Then why is your face so red?" she pressed further. I didn't answer, letting out a heavy, weary sigh instead.
Fatima, who was counting her prayer beads nearby, chipped in, "It's probably that dream she always has. It must have visited her again tonight."
I gave her a slight glare and countered, "As if I have nothing better to do than dream about a secret lover, right?" They both laughed before Aisha said, "You should at least get up and wash your face, since you're not joining us to pray."
I looked at her and asked, "When I perform my own worship, where are you?"
She puckered her lips dismissively. "You mean that worship of yours without a fixed direction (Alqiblah)? You don't even know who or what you are serving."
"I worship the Almighty Sovereign God! And I have absolute faith in Him, just as you have faith in your own worship without ever physically seeing Him," I shot back.
Fatima interjected, "For God's sake, drop the religious debate! Let's just finish up our duties so we can head home."
And so we did. After washing my face, we began our ward rounds to check on the patients. By the stroke of nine o'clock, we officially signed off from our shift.
Since I didn't have a personal vehicle, I walked down to the main roadside. With great difficulty, I managed to hail a taxi, which already had an elderly woman inside. I took a seat in the back row, joining three other passengers who were already squeezed tightly together.
"Mtsw!" the woman next to me hissed in frustration for the third time. Unable to tolerate it any longer, I asked, "What is the matter?"
As if she had been waiting for me to speak, she burst out, "Ah! The world is entirely ruined! Everywhere you go now, it's nothing but talk of witches and sorcerers (Mayu). The most tragic part is that they are even recruiting little children!"
I casually replied, "But honestly, if you look closely, ninety percent of the witches in this town are the elderly..." Before the words could fully leave my mouth, the car suddenly came to a screeching halt—quuu!
"Alright, that's it! You've officially offended someone powerful up there, so everybody out!" the taxi driver snapped, clicking his tongue in anger as he stepped out of the vehicle.
He peeked around the car before ordering everyone to dislodge. We all stepped down, except for an old man in the front seat whose mouth was stained completely crimson from chewing kola nuts.
"Please, have patience. They didn't know you were inside, which is why they provoked you," the taxi driver pleaded in a remarkably weak, submissive voice.
Like a tyrannical monarch, the old man slowly stepped out of the car and spat a stream of saliva. To everyone's shock, the red spray landed directly on my body and on the woman I had been conversing with.
He let out a wicked, mocking laugh before barking, "Are you strangers in Abengourou? I asked, are you strangers here?!" He shouted at us as if we were misbehaving children. Terrified, the woman immediately dropped to her knees on the ground, frantically begging for his forgiveness.
My blood boiled, and a fierce wave of hot anger surged to my chest. I lost control of my tongue and fiercely muttered, "The game has turned against the master!"
The old man jerked his head up, staring at me with sudden intensity. His entire frame began to shake violently. He scrambled across the asphalt road, grabbed a sachet of water, and rushed back to frantically scrub the exact spots where his kola-nut-stained saliva had hit me.
I closed my eyes, feeling my heart pound against my chest as I fought to suppress the volatile spiritual energy brewing inside me.
We climbed back into the taxi since it was ready to move, but the old man stubbornly refused to step back inside. The driver was practically on his knees begging him.
As we were about to drive off, I pointed at the trembling woman and asked the old man, "What about this one you are holding back?"
His hands shaking uncontrollably, he quickly broke off a piece of kola nut and handed it to her. I looked at her and signaled for her to take it. With trembling hands, she accepted it and put it in her mouth, after which the driver turned the ignition key.
We had only driven a short distance when the woman suddenly began to violently vomit a strange, pitch-black substance, looking as though her very soul was being ripped out of her body. Forcing the taxi to stop, we all scrambled out, and I quickly hailed another vehicle straight home.
"Washhh! I am so exhausted," I groaned, collapsing onto the woven palm mat where Momah sat meticulously sorting beans.
She cast a sharp, intense look at me, making me feel incredibly self-conscious. "Momah, what is it?" I asked.
She let out a long, heavy sigh. "Who did you cross paths with on the road today?"
"What do you mean?" I questioned.
"Your eyes... I can see they have completely changed color," she answered flatly.
I let out a nervous laugh, trying to deflect the tension. "Is there any ice-cold water around?"
"There is none. You'll have to drink from the clay pot. Asabe's daughter passed away, so everyone bought up the ice blocks for the funeral gathering."
"Which of her daughters?"
"Zeinab, of course! You already know she had been battling illness for a very long time."
I clutched my chest in shock. "Since when was she that gravely ill? I had no idea."
"Well, it wasn't more than a week. They kept her treatment entirely within the house, so not many people knew about her condition."
My body felt completely drained of strength as I stood up. The news of her death struck me deeply; out of all the households in our neighborhood, theirs was the only one I ever visited. As I walked away, I felt an eerie sensation—as if invisible footsteps were tracking my every move. I spun around, but the corridor was completely empty. I went into my room, changed out of my clothes, tied a wrapper tightly around my chest, and went to take a bath.
After bathing, I poured some warm gruel (Kunu) into a bowl. Just as I took my first sip, my phone rang. I picked it up, but before I could speak, Aisha’s ecstatic voice filled the line: "I have great news! My bride-price was just officially delivered, and they have already set the wedding date!"
Filled with joy for her, I exclaimed, "Are you serious? Aisha, please tell me you're not pulling my leg!"
"I swear by God, it's real! Please come over right now!"
I took a deep breath. "I can only make it tomorrow. I have somewhere I need to go today."
"Oh, come on! What could possibly be more important? Wherever you're planning to go, put it on hold and get over here. Fatima is already here with me!"
Hearing that, I relented. "Alright, I'm on my way." She hung up, and I quickly got up to dress. Without even applying any lotion or makeup, I walked out and informed Momah.
"Masha Allah! Just make sure to return early. I'll be heading over to the funeral house around five this evening."
"Alright, Momah," I replied, stepping outside.
I froze in my tracks. A bizarre, unnatural darkness had settled over the neighborhood, accompanied by a thick, rising smoke. To my utter bewilderment, the smoke was densest right in front of Zeinab's family house. I muttered aloud, "What on earth is happening now?"
Before I could ponder further, Aisha called again to hurry me up. I brushed the strange sight aside, hurried down to the main road, and caught a ride straight to her house.
The news was absolutely true; the bridal suitcases (Lefe) had arrived. As soon as I entered, I saw a crowd of neighbors arriving to offer their congratulations. After greeting her mother, I rushed into Aisha's room, where we erupted into squeals of joy, immediately plotting out all our wedding plans.
After we ate, I asked, "Aisha, who exactly is this man you are marrying?"
"He's my cousin! You remember he showed interest in me a long time ago, but things fell apart when he moved to Lagos. Well, he's back now, and he came straight to deliver the bridal gifts!" she answered, beaming with pride.
"What kind of work does he do? This Lefe is magnificent—Masha Allah, it looks like it belongs to a governor's wife!" Fatima remarked.
I chimed in, "Exactly! Even the undergarments are high-class, and don't even get me started on the jewelry boxes—I literally saw solid gold chains in there!"
"I told you, he went to Lagos to work in the oil dredging business and made a massive fortune. Right now, he's fully established into major commerce," Aisha explained proudly.
"Fatima, you're up next! Tell Nasir to officially step forward so we can celebrate another wedding!" I teased.
She playfully punched my back. "God forbid! I have my sights set on a Doctor."
Our eyes widened in shock. Aisha gasped, "You mean that ill-tempered Doctor at our hospital? Goodness! Ayodele, do you know that when I walked past the office earlier, I overheard him telling Dr. Jameela about you? He said you somehow revived a girl they had already certified dead!"
A sharp, icy jolt went through my chest. My head began to throb as if it were splitting open. Without exaggeration, it felt as though the very chemical composition of my blood had altered its course.
With great effort, I managed to voice, "I am feeling incredibly dizzy and sleepy. Let me lie down for a bit before I head home later."
"You hypocrite! You just saw that it's time for Islamic prayers and want to dodge it, right?"
I looked at Fatima, my eyes feeling incredibly heavy, as if they were shifting shapes beneath my eyelids. I closed them tightly without offering a response. As I drifted off, I could hear her whispering to Aisha, "Aisha, honestly, Ayodele's whole existence creeps me out sometimes. Have you noticed how her eyes occasionally shift to look exactly like a leopard's?"
The realm I dissolved into was so incredibly vivid it felt entirely tangible, far removed from a standard dream. Consequently, their voices faded into absolute nothingness.
I remembered the day Momah abruptly announced we were packing up and leaving our old neighborhood for this current one. I could never forget how, the moment we arrived, I was struck with a severe, agonizing pain in my leg that kept me bedridden. Our neighbor, Asabe, had pulled us aside to warn us that this neighborhood was heavily infested with witches and sorcerers, though their true identities remained hidden, urging us to fortify ourselves with intense prayers. I had taken some traditional medicine and eventually healed. But another detail I could never forget was that, since that day, I never got along with any of the elderly folks in this area.
Deep in this slumber, I let out a heavy sigh as the spirit of Zeinab materialized before me. Tears were streaming down her face. Behind her, a horde of the neighborhood's old women followed in a sinister procession, each clutching a gleaming knife in her hand.
"Ayodele? Ayodele? Are you alright?"
Aisha's voice suddenly pierced through the vision, shaking me awake. I forced my eyes open with great difficulty, but the moment I blinked, Zeinab's distressed form flashed before my eyes again. Aisha's persistent shaking eventually forced me to sit up entirely, long before I was ready to leave the realm.
"My goodness, you scared me! Is that how you always sleep? You were groaning and snarling like a wild leopard trapped in a forest," she said, staring at me intently.
"Where is Fatima?" I asked abruptly.
"She went home. Get up, please accompany me to the tailor's, and from there we can head straight to your house."
I went into the restroom, splashed cold water on my face, and we left for the tailor's shop. Once they finalized all the measurements and fabric styles, we hailed a taxi back to my neighborhood.
The afternoon sun was blazing fiercely, completely scorching the earth. The streets were mostly deserted; it couldn't have been past three o'clock.
"Ayodele, look, they are about to perform a funeral prayer (Sallar Gawa)," Aisha noted, stepping out of the taxi ahead of me.
The moment I swung my legs out of the car, my eyes locked onto Zeinab’s funeral bier. A crowd of men stood gathered around it, preparing to commence the final prayers.
Driven by an unstoppable force, I marched directly toward the gathering. Aisha grabbed my arm from behind, frantically whispering, "Where on earth do you think you are going?"
I violently yanked my hand free, strode right up to the wooden bier, and lifted my hand high. "Stop! Do not bury her! She is not dead—look at her, she is sitting right there, weeping bitterly!"
Before anyone could stop me, I reached down and tore the white burial shroud away from her face. I honestly had no conscious control over what I was saying or doing. The exact moment the cloth cleared her face, Zeinab suddenly bolted upright, sitting perfectly straight on the bier.
"Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!" the men erupted into panicked shouts of praise. Within minutes, the shocking news spread like wildfire into the compound.
I didn't even see Momah approaching until she suddenly appeared right in front of me, her face contorted in pure rage. She grabbed me by my wrist and violently dragged me out of the chaotic, screaming crowd, pulling me aggressively all the way back to our house.
The moment we crossed the threshold into our courtyard, she gave me a powerful shove that sent me crashing hard onto the ground.
Breathing heavily in sheer fury, she shrieked, "What kind of cursed affliction is this? An inheritance of ruin! A legacy of torment! Ayodeleeee!"
Suddenly, her voice cut off. She clutched her chest tightly right over her heart. Panic seizing me, I scrambled to my feet and lunged forward to catch her before she hit the ground. But it was entirely in vain; Momah's dead weight overcame my strength, and she collapsed heavily onto the hard floor...

MUTUWARE: The Mortuary (House of the Dead)

By Mrs Sadauki

The Secrets of the Turtle Shell

Momah’s facial features suddenly began to shift, morphing perfectly into the face of an ancient woman—the kind of elder who had witnessed centuries of life and death. Terror instantly paralyzed my heart, freezing the blood in my veins.
When she spoke, the voice that emerged was entirely alien, devoid of her usual maternal warmth: "The entity you hold in your hands is exceptionally dangerous. Return it to them immediately before their wrath consumes you. Do you have any idea what the Kambun Kunkuru (The Turtle's Shield) truly is? It is an anchor of relentless, deep-seated witchcraft (Maita). Those who possess it will never find peace; even if they die, their spirits are bound to return as restless phantoms because their insatiable desire for the dark pleasures of the material world can never be erased from their souls."
The moment she finished speaking, her features snapped back to normal in the blink of an eye. She drew a ragged breath, her eyes locking onto mine with intense gravity.
I quickly stuffed the tiny pulsing turtle back into the depths of my handbag. "Momah... is that really you?" I stammered.
Instead of answering, she simply broke down, weeping bitterly. My panic escalated, and I bombarded her with questions. Eventually, she checked her tears, composed herself, and sternly ordered me to go to bed.
I didn't dare argue. I lay down, but sleep was completely out of the question. My mind raced at a frantic pace. By now, it was blindingly obvious that Momah was guarding a HIDDEN SECRET, a dark truth about my lineage that she desperately kept from me.
As if she could read the chaotic thoughts swirling in my mind, her voice drifted across the dark room: "Ayodele, I did not withhold the truth of your lineage out of malice. I did it solely to shield you from the horrific destiny your biological father intends to force upon you."
I bolted upright, sitting straight up on the mat. "Momah, for the love of God, tell me! Who is my father? Is he still alive?"
"He is alive. Even though it has been over twenty years since I fled our ancestral land, I can feel it in my very bones that his heart still beats."
"Then why did you have to run away?"
"I will reveal everything to you on the exact day you turn twenty-two years old. Not a single day sooner."
"That is exactly two months from now!" I exclaimed, realizing my birthday was just around the corner. She gave a firm nod of confirmation. Content with that promise, a wave of joy washed over me, and I managed to rest.
The following morning, as I prepared to leave for work, Momah strictly reinforced her warning, insisting that I return the turtle artifact to the exact spot where I had taken it. "Alright," I replied smoothly, though I had absolutely no intention of obeying her.
The moment I stepped out of the house into the courtyard, I dug a deep hole in the muddy earth right where the wastewater normally pooled. I dropped the pulsing Kambun Kunkuru inside and covered it with dirt. As the earth fell over it, I could see its large, sentient eyes staring back at me through the shadows, but God was my witness—I could not allow its dark magic to remain free to destroy innocent lives.

The Unburied Corpse

When I arrived at the hospital, the staff quarters was buzzing with excitement as the nurses selected their Anko uniform fabrics for Aisha's upcoming wedding. Trying to look normal, I joined the circle, inspecting the materials and asking where they had sourced them.
In the middle of our duties, Aisha pulled me aside. "Ayodele, do you remember the old man who passed away yesterday?"
Even though I knew exactly who she meant, I played dumb to gather information. "Which old man?"
"The one who died right before our shift ended. The one whose bed was right next to the young boy with sickle-cell anemia."
"Oh, yes. I remember him."
"Hum! Let me tell you... they just brought him back to the hospital."
"He wasn't dead?" I asked sharply, my heart leaping.
She shot me a long, calculating look before replying, "Oh, he is dead alright."
I let out a quiet sigh of relief, but she pressed on, her voice dropping to a whisper: "The problem is... his corpse flatly refuses to enter the grave. Every time they try to lower his body into the earth, the ground rejects him."
I gave her my full, undivided attention. "I don't understand. What did they do with the body then?"
"They had no choice but to bring him back here! His corpse is currently sitting down there in the MUTUWARE (The Mortuary), locked away in the cold storage units," she answered.
"Let him rot there then! His wicked deeds in life are the reason the Almighty is making an example out of him," I remarked coldly, turning back to my paperwork to signal the end of our short break.
"But Ayodele, let me ask you something honestly."
"I'm listening," I replied without looking up from my files.
She said, "What was your connection to him?"
I raised my head, fixing a sharp, steady gaze upon her. She visibly flinched and stammered, "Ah! I just mean... what happened between you two? Yesterday, while I was trying to administer CPR to save him, I distinctly heard him wheezing, begging you to spare his life. He kept saying, 'Don't expose me, I am not ready to go to the unseen world!'"
"And he explicitly told you he was speaking to me?"
"I clearly heard him pronounce your name, Ayodele."
"Then you should go down to the mortuary and ask his corpse for clarification," I snapped in a fit of anger, standing up and walking away from her.

The Assembly of Shadows

For the rest of the day, our shift was defined by a suffocating, tense silence. Even Fatima noticed the friction between Aisha and me. When she questioned us, we both brushed it off, claiming nothing was wrong. Even during dinner, Aisha kept casting suspicious, sideways glances at me. I couldn't fathom what dark theories she was concocting in her head.
When bedtime finally arrived, I watched her perform an exhausting cycle of protective prayers, jumping in fright at the slightest ambient noise.
Unable to watch her suffer, I broke the silence. "Aisha, I want to talk to you."
She glanced over at Fatima, who was already fast asleep, before giving me a hesitant, "Alright."
I forced a gentle smile. "Do you truly believe that if any entity tried to harm you, I would just stand by and watch? Let alone hurt you myself? I don't know what dark suspicions you are harboring against me, but you must understand that Ayodele’s soul is pure. My only drive is to dismantle evil and destroy those who practice it. I know the chaotic events in our neighborhood and the death of that old man have made you doubt me."
She took a long, deep breath. "To be completely honest with you, your entire existence has started to terrify me. You do things that only the youngest child of the jinn would be capable of. Your eyes literally change color right in front of me. I won't lie to you, Ayodele... I have become afraid of you."
I burst into a lighthearted laugh. "I swear to you, I am not evil! I don't even fully understand what is happening to me myself. But I need you to anchor one truth in your heart: Ayodele will protect Aisha with her life."
A genuine, relieved smile broke across her face. "That completely clears my chest. I can finally sleep in absolute peace tonight."
We chatted idly for a few more minutes until she drifted off into a deep slumber. I looked at my two friends, feeling a profound, fierce love for them—a bond as fierce as blood.
Just as I prepared to close my eyes, a voice echoed clearly through the silence of the room: "Ayodele?"
I spun around, but the room was empty. I assumed my exhausted mind was playing tricks on my hearing. But to my horror, the voice called out a second time, clear and unmistakable. Driven by an unseen force, I stood up and stepped out into the corridor.
The voice kept chanting my name, drawing me forward. I followed the auditory direction passively, turning down one dark hallway after another until I arrived at an isolated corridor. There, my eyes locked onto a stark, bold sign hanging on the wall. In massive, terrifying lettering, it read: GIDAN GAWA (THE MORTUARY). Below the text was a graphic illustration of a corpse tightly wrapped in a white burial shroud.
I looked around the deserted hallway. Just as I turned to retreat, a deep masculine voice called my name from within. I turned toward the male cold-storage ward. The heavy doors swung open entirely on their own, inviting me into the abyss. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.
Kyal-kyal-kyal!
A loud, mocking laughter erupted, echoing off the metallic walls. I scanned the room frantically, trying to determine which refrigeration unit the sound was emanating from.
"I am right here," a voice whispered from behind.
I spun around. Standing right there was the solid form of the old sorcerer whose unburiable corpse Aisha had told me about. Our eyes locked.
"Why have you summoned me here?" I demanded.
"I want my Kambu (Shield) back."
"I will never return it. You must face the transition of death, just like the innocent souls you murdered."
"Give it back to me peacefully, or I will summon our Grandmaster to tear it from you!"
I narrowed my eyes. "Oh? So you have a leader? Let me ask you: why do you choose the path of malice? Why can't you live a normal life among mortals like everyone else?"
"Because the hidden realm of sorcerers is intoxicating! To drink blood, to wield supernatural illusions, and to strike absolute terror into the hearts of mortals brings us unimaginable joy!"
He began to boast, explaining the intricate ways they capture human souls and how they manifest illusions to terrify their victims. He spoke with such passion that I became completely distracted—until I suddenly realized that the entire mortuary had filled with malevolent spirits.
These were the souls of the unrighteous; some had even migrated directly from the local cemeteries to aid their wicked comrade. They encircled me completely. I couldn't see their faces; some were nothing but shifting shadows, others were dense clouds of black smoke, and some manifested as terrifying phantoms clad in white shrouds.

The Demise of the Unburied

"Auwushhh tangarrsinn,mahulujaaa.An yarhihum khaaaaa!"
The esoteric words poured from my mouth entirely independent of my will. The gathered spirits gasped in terror, instantly recoiling. The old sorcerer scrambled in panic, throwing himself back onto his metal tray inside his storage unit.
With my eyes closed tightly, I continued to chant in that ancient, foreign tongue, aggressively throwing my hands forward. Instantly, a brilliant, celestial light flooded every square inch of the mortuary. Even with my eyelids shut, the sheer intensity of the light allowed me to see the spirits dissolving in agony.
The horde of shadows fled the room in terror, leaving me alone with the old man. I marched over and slammed my hand onto the metallic surface of his storage unit. He began to shriek inside, his voice cracking in desperation: "Please! Have mercy! I will leave, I swear! Tomorrow morning I will vacate this mortuary and allow myself to be laid to rest in the grave..."
Before he could finish his sentence, a blinding beam of light erupted from my mouth, striking him squarely in the forehead. He went completely still. This time, I knew with absolute certainty that even his phantom would never rise again.
My head began to throb with a vicious, blinding pain. As my consciousness snapped back to normal reality, I rushed out of the room, only to crash directly into the night security guard.
"Who goes there? What are you doing here?" he barked.
My voice shook with adrenaline. "I was... I was just...!"
A strange expression crossed his face, and he smiled gently. "Go on back to your quarters." I didn't understand why he let me go so easily, but I didn't question it. If he had raised an alarm and gathered a crowd, I would never have been able to explain what a nurse was doing inside the mortuary in the dead of night.
I slipped back into my room, my mind spinning with the weight of what I had done until a deep, dreamless sleep finally claimed me.

The Suspicious Feast

The next morning, after we had all washed up and dressed, I noticed Aisha was practically glowing with happiness. Intrigued, I asked, "What has got you in such a fantastic mood?"
"Mansur is coming to pick me up after our shift! He promised to drop you off at home too," she answered gleefully.
"Oh, really? Didn't Fatima bring her motorcycle today?"
"It broke down yesterday on our way back from picking out the wedding fabrics. She left it at the mechanic's shop."
As we were talking, her phone rang. She answered with a wide smile, and after a brief conversation, she hung up. "He's already outside. Let's go!"
We met up with Fatima in the lobby, who was busy texting her lover. We walked out of the hospital gates together, and my eyes immediately landed on a massive, pitch-black luxury SUV with a spare tire mounted on the back.
Aisha opened the rear door, and Fatima and I climbed into the back seat while Aisha took the front passenger seat.
"Baby, these are my friends from the hospital that I told you about. We're giving them a ride home," Aisha introduced us.
"It's a pleasure to meet you all. I hope you're having a wonderful day?" he greeted us. His voice was remarkably soft and high-pitched for a man. We all politely responded that we were well.
He turned to Aisha. "So, are we still heading to the restaurant?"
"Of course! Let's go, they'll love it. Right, girls?" Aisha beamed.
Fatima eagerly agreed, but I remained entirely silent, retreating into my thoughts. How on earth did this man acquire such massive wealth within such a short period? If Aisha's story about him going to Lagos to find casual labor was true, then something was deeply amiss. There was definitely a snake in the grass.
Lost in these troubling thoughts, we arrived at a high-end restaurant—the kind reserved exclusively for the ultra-wealthy. I hadn't even known such a place existed in this town. The staff swarmed the vehicle to welcome us, making it abundantly clear that Mansur was a highly valued, regular patron here.
He took the liberty of ordering a specialized gourmet meal for Aisha, then gracefully requested that Fatima and I select whatever we wanted from the menu. However, Aisha quickly interjected, telling him that even at work, we always ate from the same plate, so there was no need to treat us separately here.
Mansur went quiet, a subtle shadow passing over his face as he pondered her words. Eventually, he signaled the waiter to fulfill her request. A massive, luxurious platter of food was brought out, and we began to eat casually. But Mansur's demeanor grew increasingly tense and uncomfortable.
Suddenly, it felt as though an invisible iron hook had been driven into my abdomen, violently twisting my internal organs. A sharp, unbearable pain flared in my stomach. Dropping my fork, I gasped, "I am full."
I stood up abruptly, asked a nearby attendant for the restrooms, and rushed inside. I collapsed over the toilet bowl, violently vomiting as if my very soul were being purged from my body. Cold sweat drenched my skin from the sheer agony of the spasms.
Taking a ragged breath, I wiped my mouth and pushed the restroom door open to step out—only to crash directly into Aisha’s fiancé, Mansur, standing in the shadows waiting for me.