CHAPTER 1: SAJEEDAH

"Keh! Keh!! Ke!!! Aren't you two coming out anytime soon? You're going to be late!"
From the other side of the compound, a soft voice answered, "Yes, Inna, we are coming out right now."
A young, teenage girl stepped into view. She was roughly fifteen years old. Close behind her followed a young boy of about ten. She was dressed in a dark liver-maroon top and trousers, carrying a copy of the Holy Qur'an alongside a few other books and a matching liver-maroon hijab. It was clear they were heading to Islamic school (Islamiyya).
However, even a single glance at their uniforms revealed how heavily worn out they were. Due to old age and repeated washing, the fabric had faded from its original deep dark maroon to a very light, washed-out shade. But because the garments were in the hands of someone incredibly clean, they were always spotless and neatly pressed. Even now, the uniform was sparkling clean, sharply ironed, and practically gleaming.
She paused at the doorway, muttering under her breath in annoyance. "Why can’t a person be called by their actual name? Always 'Keh! Keh!!' as if one is a bicycle (Keke)." She let out a soft huff. She made an attempt to pull on her hijab but hesitated, distracted by the giggling of the boy behind her. He was clearly her younger brother; the family resemblance was striking. He, too, wore the exact same uniform style—trousers, a shirt, and a matching cap.
She whipped around and shot him a fierce glare. "Sajeed! I swear to God, I will slap you. Do you think I'm playing with you?"
He raised his hands defensively. "I'm sorry, Aunty SAJEEDAH. I'll stop."
She hissed softly, mtshuww, and proceeded to adjust her hijab.
Watching her closely, one would instantly notice her unique complexion. She wasn't fair-skinned, nor was she dark. Her skin possessed a rare, rich tone that you would hardly find in one out of a hundred people—a striking, pure chocolate complexion.
While she might not be considered a flawless, classical beauty, she was by no means unattractive. Her nose was perfectly proportioned, neither too long nor too short. Her mouth was small and delicate, and her eyes were strikingly clear and bright, tilted slightly in a way that mirrored a Chinese features, though not entirely. She stood at a moderate height, and possessed a thick, abundant mane of hair that had never seen commercial shampoo. Fine, soft body hair lay smooth against her skin. Truth be told, SAJEEDAH possessed a stunning, well-proportioned figure—a classic hourglass shape.
Even through the modest fall of her clothes, her curves were distinct and beautifully formed. Masha'Allah—she was a vision of natural grace as she finally pulled her hijab securely over her head.
Sajeedah and her ten-year-old brother, Sajeed, were the only two children of Malam Abubakar and Inna Saratu. There was a five-year age gap between the siblings.
Originally, Malam Abubakar was from Niger Republic. He was a complete orphan, having lost both his mother and father. After facing bitter hostility from his half-siblings over inheritance, he turned his back on his home country and migrated to settle in Minna, Nigeria.
He scraped by through doing various odd jobs. It was during this period of struggle that God crossed his path with Saratu. They married, and God blessed their union with Sajeedah and Sajeed. In truth, Sajeedah’s parents were devastatingly poor. This stark reality was evident in everything from the quality of their clothes to the shelter they called home.
They lived in an uncompleted building structure (Kango) roughly fenced with corrugated iron sheets (falan kwano). The dwelling consisted of just two rooms constructed from mud blocks. The walls were completely unplastered, let alone painted, and the doorways lacked proper wooden doors. There was only a single pit latrine, which was also hastily cordoned off with iron sheets. The enclosure was so low that if an adult stood completely upright inside, anyone passing by outside could easily see them from the chest up.
They resided in the Tunga quarters of Minna. Sajeedah’s family relied entirely on God and the meager income from her father’s small trade. He used to sell fresh vegetables at the Maje market, but he had to abandon that due to a severe downturn in business. Now, he kept a tiny wooden table directly outside their compound gate, selling basic provision items as a petty retailer.
Sajeedah had completed her primary education in Tunga and had sat for her Junior WAEC. Currently, she was sitting at home, unable to progress to Senior Secondary School (S.S. 1) due to her family's lack of financial resources. Her deepest, most cherished dream was to attend the School of Nursing, but poverty stood as a massive barrier in her path.
Every single day, Malam Abubakar prayed fervently that God would grant him the means to fulfill Sajeedah's dream of becoming a nurse.
Because of her situation, Islamic school was her only outlet. She had completed the graduation of the Holy Qur'an (Sauka) a long time ago and was now focusing on memorizing it (Hadda). Sajeedah was exceptionally brilliant; she excelled effortlessly in both western education and Arabic studies.
Her brother, Sajeed, was clever as well. He was currently in Primary Five and had already memorized twenty portions (Izifi) of the Qur'an. Sajeedah and Sajeed shared a profound bond and loved each other deeply.
Sajeedah was a remarkably calm, respectful, and well-behaved girl, characterized by a deep sense of modesty and self-respect. She was deeply committed to her religious duties. She was generally quiet, possessed a soft, soothing voice, and had an extraordinary amount of patience. She could endure hardships silently, but on the rare occasions she was pushed to her absolute limit, her anger was unyielding, and no amount of pleading could easily placate her. As the saying goes, the easiest person to anger is the one whose patience is vast. Sajeed shared many of her core traits, though they differed slightly in temperament; he was far more talkative and mischievous.
Sajeedah genuinely disliked the blunt "Keh!" that her mother used to call her, which explains her constant muttering, while Sajeed took great pleasure in teasing her for it.

THE WEALTHY NEIGHBOR

Malam Abubakar had a neighbor, a Fulani man named Alhaji Siddi. He was incredibly wealthy but notoriously stingy—a true miser. He possessed a deep-seated disdain for the poor. He had more money than he knew what to do with, yet he never extended a helping hand to those in need, not even to his immediate neighbors. The only charity he ever gave was the obligatory Zakat, and even that he relinquished with extreme reluctance. He had two wives, both Fulani, and five children: four girls and one boy.
His first wife, Hajiya Harira (affectionately called Mama), was a patient, kind-hearted woman who never looked down on the poor. She had two daughters, Maryam and Balkisu.
His second and younger wife, Hajiya Hajara, perfectly matched her husband’s bitter traits—she was deeply stingy and fiercely arrogant toward less fortunate people. She had three children: two daughters and a boy. Sadeeqah was her eldest daughter (they called her room Momi's room), followed by Suwaiba, and lastly a boy named Maniru, whom everyone nicknamed Kiroh.
Aunty Maryam and Aunty Balkisu were both tertiary students studying at the College of Education (C.O.E.) in Minna.
Meanwhile, Sadeeqah was in Senior Secondary School (S.S. 1), Suwaiba was in Junior Secondary (J.S.S. 2), and Kiroh was in J.S.S. 1. All of Hajiya Hajara's children attended a highly expensive elite private school named New Horizon, right from their primary days up to secondary level. However, after completing her Junior WAEC, Sadeeqah was transferred to a prestigious boarding school located in Abuja, where she currently resided.
There was a severe lack of proper moral upbringing (Tarbiyya) in Alhaji Siddi’s household. While Hajiya Harira tried her best with her daughters, Hajiya Hajara's side of the house was completely out of control.
Sajeedah had only one true, close friend: Sadeeqah. Despite their vastly different backgrounds, they were age mates and shared an incredibly deep, unyielding bond of friendship since childhood.
Their closeness persisted despite numerous attempts by Sadeeqah’s family to break them apart. People fought with Sadeeqah, screamed at her, and demanded she stop associating with a poor girl, but she flatly refused. Sadeeqah would regularly sneak food out of her wealthy home to bring to Sajeedah's house so they could eat together. Whenever she was given school pocket money, she would split it down the middle and share it with Sajeedah. She had been beaten countless times by her mother because of this friendship, but she never relented.
Sajeedah was acutely aware of the trouble her friend faced. Sajeedah had received warnings of her own. Momi (Hajiya Hajara) had once physically cornered Sajeedah, violently twisting her ear and warning her to stay far away from her daughter. But it was entirely useless; their bond was a genuine affection ordained by God.
Because of this, Sajeedah loved Sadeeqah with immense gratitude. She treasured the fact that despite her family’s absolute poverty, Sadeeqah never looked down on her. At times, it might have looked like Sajeedah was intimidated by or afraid of Sadeeqah, but it wasn't fear at all; it was simply Sajeedah's naturally reserved and quiet personality.
Yet, despite their fierce loyalty, they were polar opposites in character.
Sadeeqah was wild, completely lacking in modesty, and highly unrefined. She loved flashy fashion, high-society lifestyle, and frequented parties. She kept a separate circle of wealthy, arrogant friends. She was undeniably beautiful—stunning enough to be on the cover of a magazine, exceptionally fair-skinned, but completely devoid of class. She walked with an arrogant swagger and loved living a lie of grandeur.
But she possessed a dark, hidden side that Sajeedah was completely blind to—Sadeeqah was deeply involved in promiscuity with men (Wa’iyazubillah).
What Sajeedah didn't know was that back when Sadeeqah was only in J.S.S. 2, she had fallen pregnant and had it secretly terminated. Now that she was attending boarding school in Abuja, her exposure to the worldly, illicit lifestyle had grown significantly worse. (May Allah guide us and keep us steadfast on the path of Islam. Ameen.)

A MOTHER’S CARE

Back in the mud-brick compound, Sajeedah fixed her face into a serious expression, looked at Sajeed, and said, "Alright, can we go now?"
He put on a pitiful, pleading face, looking toward Inna, who was stirring a hot pot of millet porridge (Kunu) inside a small, repurposed paint bucket. Swallowing hard, he said, "Please, Aunty JEEDAH, let's wait and drink some first, okay?" He occasionally called her Aunty Jeedah or Aunty Sajeeh, while she affectionately called him Junior Jeed.
She shot him a sharp look. "Oh, brilliant. Let's linger so we can be late, right, you glutton?"
Inna interjected, "Late for what? Since I’ve already prepared it, just sit down and drink. You know he isn't like you; he can't go through the morning on an empty stomach." She spoke while pouring the steaming porridge into plastic bowls for them.
Sajeedah sipped her porridge slowly, almost reluctantly. Inna watched her carefully. Sajeed, on the other hand, was gulping his down rapidly, completely unbothered. Frustrated by Sajeedah's lack of appetite, Inna sighed and shook her head. "Honestly, may God cure you of this total dislike for food."
Sajeedah offered a beautiful, silent smile. The sudden motion revealed a deep, gorgeous dimple on the side of her right cheek. She kept her head tilted down respectfully, remaining quiet. Once they finished their breakfast, the siblings set out for their Islamic school.

CHAPTER 2: THE PILOT

Today was Saturday, the day the hajj pilgrims from Niger Republic were scheduled to land.
The domestic airport terminal in Minna was packed to capacity. The crowd was dense, with every face filled with joyful anticipation, waiting to welcome back their loved ones from the holy land. The airport authorities had already announced that the aircraft was on its final descent.
Within thirty minutes, by the grace of God, the massive plane made a perfectly smooth landing. After taxiing for about thirty minutes, the doors opened, and the pilgrims began filing out down the steps in an orderly, peaceful line, their expressions radiant with relief and joy.
A tall, striking young man of about thirty emerged from an crew exit door, walking alongside a well-built senior officer of about forty-five. They were clearly the flight crew, dressed sharply in immaculate white pilot shirts, navy blue trousers, and uniform caps.
The younger, fair-skinned pilot held a navy blue uniform sweater and three high-end smartphones in his hand. As he stepped into the shade, he gracefully removed his cap, revealing a thick, perfectly groomed head of dark hair that gleamed in the light.
He was exceptionally handsome—a first-class gentleman. He was tall, broad-chested, and possessed an athletic, powerful build. His sharp face was framed by a perfectly trimmed beard that traced his jawline. He had a prominent, straight nose, deep bedroom eyes, and small, naturally pink lips. He was an absolute stunner; a single look confirmed he carried mixed Arab heritage.
He walked with an easy, commanding confidence toward the operations office alongside the older officer. About fifteen minutes later, the young pilot stepped back out and headed toward a luxury SUV parked in the VIP lane. The sleek black vehicle bore a custom plate in bold lettering: PILOT S. A. SARDAUNA.
The professional chauffeur bowed his head slightly. "You are welcome back, Sir!"
In a smooth, deep, and remarkably pleasant voice, the pilot replied, "Thanks, Peter. How is everything?"
"Fine, Sir."
"Good." The driver held the rear door open. The pilot stepped into the air-conditioned interior, and the door clicked shut. Peter quickly walked around to the driver's seat, started the engine, and navigated out of the airport gates.
They drove into an incredibly lavish, sprawling estate. The sheer architectural beauty of the mansion was beyond description; it was a masterpiece of luxury. Peter drove straight to the massive parking garage, which was lined with at least ten ultra-luxury vehicles, each a high-end model.
Peter scrambled out to open the rear passenger door. Slowly, the pilot stepped onto the pavement, holding his personal items, walking toward the main house with a relaxed, slow stride.
Suddenly, a fair-skinned, young woman of about twenty ran out of the main doors toward him. She was short with round, chubby cheeks and a flat nose. She rushed toward him with open arms, clearly aiming to wrap him in a tight hug.
The pilot stopped dead in his tracks and let out a booming, thunderous shout: "STOP RIGHT THERE!"
The sheer force and coldness of his voice made her freeze instantly, completely startled.
Inside the house, a beautiful middle-aged woman was relaxing on a plush sofa. She answered his greeting, rising gracefully from her reclining position. She was elegantly dressed in a gold-and-brown patterned lace wrapper with a matching silk veil draped loosely over her shoulders. One look at her face revealed she was his mother; the physical resemblance between them was undeniable.
He walked over to her with deep respect, sitting close to her feet like a child seeking a blessing. He leaned his head gently against her lap, taking her hand in a firm, loving grip before letting out a heavy sigh of exhaustion. She smiled warmly, her heart swelling with love for her only son. She gently stroked his hair. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.
"My Ammi, I really missed you so much!" he murmured.
She smiled tenderly. "I missed you too, my young pilot. Did you meet everyone in good health?"
"Alhamdulillah, Ammi. Everyone is well, but I am incredibly exhausted." He opened his heavy, bloodshot eyes, looking up at her. "Ammi, I am truly bone-tired."
She laughed softly. "So you need some proper rest then, right?" He nodded weakly. "Go on then, go to your wing and rest, my young pilot."
He rose slowly, gathered his phones and sweater, and walked toward his private wing. Ammi watched his retreating figure with deep maternal pride and affection.
She then turned her gaze toward Zubee, who had been standing silently in the corner watching them. "Come here, Baby Zubee."
Zubee walked over and sat beside her. "Yes, Ammi, I’m here."
Ammi sighed, a hint of frustration in her voice. "What am I going to do with you, girl? Is that how you welcome a guest? This is the man who is going to be your husband, yet you have no idea how to properly care for him or read his mood."
Zubee pouted, rolling her eyes. "Oh, please."
Ammi frowned. "Don't hiss at me. Get up right now, go into his wing, draw his bathwater, and then bring his lunch to his room."
"Fine," Zubee muttered, standing up and heading toward his private quarters.
Without knocking or uttering a greeting, she barged straight into his bedroom.
The pilot snapped his head up, his face dark with irritation at her intrusion. "Are you completely devoid of manners? Who walks into a person's private room without knocking or knocking?" He glared at her. "What on earth do you want in my room?"
Zubee didn't say a word. Instead, her eyes locked onto his exposed chest. He had already unbuttoned the top of his shirt, revealing a broad chest covered in a mat of soft hair.
Noticing exactly where her eyes were wandering, he quickly pulled the edges of his shirt together, holding it tight. He shot her a fierce glare. "What is wrong with you? I am speaking to you and you're standing there staring at me like you've never seen a human being before!"
She pushed her lips forward in a pout. "Ammi told me to come and prepare your bathwater."
He let out a harsh, sarcastic laugh. "Oh, really? Fix it for yourself first before you think about fixing it for anyone else. Now, get out of my room before I lose my temper with you!"
"But, Yah P.S—"
"I said get out!" he barked.
She turned around and scurried out of the room.
He quickly closed the door behind her, locking it with a click. "Utterly foolish girl," he muttered. He stripped off his uniform shirt, grabbed a clean towel, and walked into the bathroom to take a shower.
The handsome young pilot was Captain Seeraj Abbas Sardauna, widely known among his colleagues and friends as S.A. Sardauna.
His father was Alhaji Abbas Sale Harka, a highly prominent figure who held the traditional title of Sardaunan Minna. The family belonged to the aristocratic Fulani clan of Gwada. The grandfather, Alhaji Sale Harka, had been an extraordinarily wealthy international merchant whose vast fortune was built on clean, honest trade.
Following the passing of his parents, Alhaji Sale Harka had found Gwada lonely and empty. He relocated his family to the city of Minna, settling in the Bosso residential area. He moved with his wife, Hajiya Amina (popularly called Inna Wuro), and their two children, Abbas and Rabi'atu.
Alhaji Sale Harka expanded his commerce beautifully. But on a fateful Wednesday night, tragedy struck. He was seized by a sudden, violent headache. His condition deteriorated with terrifying speed.
Abbas scrambled to get the car keys and rushed his father toward the hospital. But before they could even reach the emergency ward, Alhaji Sale Harka breathed his last.
The next day, he was laid to rest. Life, as it always does, continued to move forward. Alhaji Abbas took charge of his mother and younger sister while steering his late father’s business empire. Within a short time, Abbas’s sharp business acumen turned him into an international tycoon, making him one of the most respected corporate figures in Nigeria. By this time, his sister, Hajiya Rabi'atu, had long been married and lived with her family in the Mai Tumbi quarters.
Years later, during a business trip to Jordan, Alhaji Abbas sought an audience with a legendary Jordanian billionaire merchant named Alhaji Seerajo. Because the billionaire was constantly traveling, he delegated his business operations to his brilliant eldest daughter, Raihana.
From their very first meeting, Abbas was completely captivated by Raihana’s grace and intellect. After concluding their corporate transactions, Abbas didn't hesitate to voice his feelings, honorably asking for her hand in marriage. Raihana, who had felt a mutual spark, discussed the matter with her father. After conducting thorough background checks and confirming Abbas's impeccable character, the billionaire gladly gave his blessings.
The wedding was celebrated with grandeur in Jordan, and Raihana relocated to Nigeria with her husband. Out of respect, Abbas offered to have Raihana live in the family house in Bosso with his mother, Inna Wuro. However, the wise matriarch declined, insisting that the newlyweds occupy his luxurious modern mansion in the Tunga quarters, while she remained in her familiar Bosso home surrounded by her dedicated attendants.
Their marriage was filled with deep love and mutual respect. In due course, God blessed them with a beautiful baby boy who inherited the striking good looks of both his parents. He was named Seerajo after his maternal grandfather.
From his primary school days, Seeraj harbored a singular, burning passion: he wanted to be a pilot. Upon completing his secondary education, he moved to Jordan to pursue aviation studies. Although his father had secretly hoped Seeraj would take over his multi-billion naira business empire, he chose not to crush his son's dream.
In Jordan, Seeraj was a fiercely dedicated student. With the backing of his maternal grandfather, he graduated at the top of his class as a fully certified commercial pilot. He made history by becoming the youngest certified commercial pilot in Nigeria at the exceptionally young age of twenty-five.
His flawless precision and calm demeanor under pressure earned him massive acclaim. Within a short period, he became a highly sought-after captain, flying international routes for Royal Jordanian Airlines. He had arrived back in Nigeria on a special leave of absence, having personally volunteered to pilot the return flight for the state's hajj pilgrims.
Zubee (Zubaida Bashir) was the eldest daughter of Alhaji Bashir and Hajiya Fati. Her father was a top-ranking federal civil servant who provided an incredibly lavish lifestyle for his family in the highbrow Barikin Sale quarters.
Her mother, Hajiya Fati, was an overly permissive parent who never disciplined her children or allowed anyone to correct them. Consequently, Zubee grew up incredibly spoiled and completely useless in terms of domestic skills; she couldn't cook, clean, or manage a household, relying entirely on maids.
Hajiya Raihana (Ammi) loved Zubee dearly and often brought her to stay at the mansion for weeks. As Zubee grew older, she became a permanent fixture in the house. While she and Seeraj used to get along during childhood, their relationship soured completely when she entered the College of Education.
Zubee had fallen in with a terrible crowd and secretly adopted a hidden lifestyle—she was actively engaged in lesbianism (Wa’iyazubillah).
One afternoon, Seeraj had returned home unexpectedly. Noticing the door to Zubee's guest room was slightly ajar, he walked over, calling out her name. Receiving no response, he assumed she was asleep. He shook his head, muttering about her laziness, and reached out to pull the door shut.
As he pulled the handle, he heard an unusual, strained gasping sound from inside. Concerned that she might be ill, he pushed the door wide open.
The scene before his eyes made his heart freeze. Zubee and her close friend, Nusee, were completely naked on the bed, engaged in a deeply illicit act. Seeraj stood rooted to the spot in absolute shock, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. The two girls were so entirely engrossed that they hadn't even realized he was standing there.
Overcome with disgust, Seeraj slammed his fist violently against the doorframe, roaring, "Get your clothes on and get out here right now, you wretched hypocrites! Before I come in there and break your bones!"
The girls jumped apart in sheer terror, scrambling to pull on their clothes. Zubee’s heart was hammering violently against her ribs, while Nusee looked more annoyed than ashamed that their fun had been interrupted.
When they finally stepped out, Seeraj lunged forward, grabbed Zubee by the arm, and delivered two resounding slaps across her face, throwing her onto the sofa. He turned his fury on Nusee, slapping her hard and throwing her out of the estate, warning her that if her feet ever crossed his threshold again, he would ensure she ended up in a hospital.
From that day onward, Seeraj completely cut Zubee off, looking at her with nothing but pure disdain.
Two days after the incident, on a quiet Sunday morning, Seeraj was relaxing in the parlor with Ammi. Suddenly, Zubee marched down the stairs dragging a large rolling suitcase.
Ammi blinked in surprise. "Zubee? Where are you going with all your bags?"
"I'm going back to my parents' house for a while, Ammi," Zubee replied smoothly, keeping her eyes averted from Seeraj.
Ammi looked worried. "Did someone upset you here?" She glanced at Seeraj, who was completely absorbed in the television screen.
"No, Ammi. Nothing happened. I just want to spend some time at home."
"Alright then. Give my warmest regards to Hajiya Fati," Ammi said kindly.
Zubee turned toward the hallway, offering a faint, "Goodbye, Yah P.S."
Without even looking in her direction, Seeraj replied coldly, "May it be a very long absence."
Once the front door closed, Ammi turned to her son. "My young pilot, I want to ask a profound favor of you."
Seeraj smiled warmly, taking his mother's hand. "Ammi, between a mother and her son, there is no such thing as a favor. There are only commands. Give me your directive, and as long as it does not violate the laws of Allah, consider it done."
Ammi smiled beautifully. "It doesn't violate our religion at all. Are you absolutely certain you will honor my wish?"
"Yes, Ammi. I am entirely certain, Insha'Allah."
Ammi took a deep breath, looking at him with pleading eyes. "I want you to take Zubee as your wife."
A sudden, suffocating wave of shock washed over Seeraj. It felt as though a cold venom had instantly surged through his veins. His face paled, and his eyes turned a sharp, pained crimson as he slowly looked up at her.
"My Ammi..." his voice trailed off as he dropped his gaze to the floor.
Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine his mother would make such a request. His mind raced with a thousand agonizing questions. Why would Ammi do this to me? Why Zubee? He didn't possess a single molecule of love or respect for that girl. Her character, her morals, and her entire secret lifestyle were utterly repulsive to him.
Seeing his prolonged, heavy silence, Ammi’s expression softened into one of deep sorrow. "My young pilot... won't you grant your mother this one profound happiness?"
Seeraj slowly raised his head. He forced a strained, painful smile to his lips—a smile that carried the weight of a shattered heart. "My Ammi, I told you, your wish is my absolute command. If this marriage is what brings peace and joy to your heart, then I will marry Zubee solely for your sake."
Overjoyed, Ammi wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, completely blind to the profound misery masking his face. "Thank you, my son! Thank you, my young pilot! May Allah bless you with a lifetime of happiness, just as you have brought happiness to my heart today."
She eagerly stood up. "Let me go call Hajiya Fati right now to share this wonderful news before your father returns."
Seeraj watched his mother walk down the hallway. The moment her door closed, he pressed his hand hard against his chest, feeling the frantic, painful hammering of his heart.
"Ammi... Zubee may claim my name and she may occupy my house because you wish it," he whispered into the empty room. "But I swear to Almighty Allah, she will never, ever possess my heart. My heart belongs to someone else... someone I can feel in my very soul is out there, waiting for me."
Exhausted and heavy-hearted, he stood up and walked slowly toward his room.
Within a remarkably short period, the news of the matchmaking spread like wildfire through both families. Everyone was ecstatic, especially the two mothers. Alhaji Abbas Sardauna and Alhaji Bashir gladly formalized the arrangement.
On Zubee’s part, she was on cloud nine. Seeraj had always been her ultimate dream man; he was the epitome of wealth, class, striking looks, and high social standing. He was currently celebrated as one of the finest young pilots in Africa. She felt she had won the ultimate lottery.
Even though her secret lifestyle left her with very little genuine attraction toward men, the sheer status of being Captain Seeraj's wife filled her with immense pride. Occasionally, a sharp stab of fear would pierce through her joy whenever she remembered the look of pure disgust in his eyes the day he caught her with Nusee. She knew he despised her, but she convinced herself she could manage it.
The formal betrothal (Baiko) was quickly concluded, with the understanding that the grand wedding ceremony would take place immediately after Zubee’s final year at the College of Education.

A MOTHER'S COOKING

Back in the present, Seeraj stepped out of his bathroom with a small towel wrapped around his waist, using a smaller cloth to dry his hair. He walked over to the dressing mirror, staring at his reflection for a few long moments. He meticulously applied his expensive lotions and sprayed a layer of rich, masculine cologne.
He walked over to his walk-in wardrobe, selected a comfortable, short-sleeved ash-grey jellabiya, and pulled it over his head.
Glancing at the wall clock, it read 9:40 AM. He let out a soft sigh. "I need to eat something," he muttered, heading out of his room.
In the main parlor, he found Ammi watching a program. He sat beside her affectionately. "Good morning, and rest well, my Ammi."
She smiled warmly. "Welcome, my son. Do you need anything?"
He rubbed the back of his neck with a boyish grin. "Ammi, I am absolutely starving. Is there food?"
"Of course! I have already prepared your absolute favorite meal."
His eyes lit up. "Pounded yam (Sakwara)?"
"Yes, indeed. I made it with my own two hands because I know my young pilot rarely enjoys anyone else's cooking." She turned toward the corridor and called out loudly, "Zubee! Zubee!! Zubee!!!"
From the kitchen wing, a voice answered, "Yes, Ammi! I'm coming!" Zubee hurried into the parlor. "Yes, Ammi, I’m here."
"Go into the kitchen and bring your brother his lunch," Ammi instructed.
"Alright," Zubee said. She returned a moment later, placing the heavy tray on the table before turning to walk away with a visibly annoyed expression.
Seeraj's face hardened as he looked at her. "What kind of an unmannered girl are you?"
Ammi blinked, startled by his sharp tone. "What did she do wrong now?"
Zubee turned around, her face flushed with irritation. "Exactly! I don't even know what I did wrong!"
Seeraj hissed loudly, mtshuww. "Of course you wouldn't know, because you don't use your brain for anything useful, only for foolishness. Look at the table! Where is the water for washing my hands? Where is a cold drink? Move your feet, lady, and bring them out!"
Zubee turned back toward the refrigerator, muttering curses under her breath.
Ammi called after her, "Bring him his favorite juice, Zubee!" Turning back to her son, Ammi laughed softly. "Have I spoiled you too much, my young pilot?"
He smiled, his eyes softening. "Honestly, Ammi, if it doesn't come from your kitchen, I can barely swallow it. Whenever I am away on flights, I survive entirely on canned foods and takeout. That’s why I pray every day that Allah preserves you for me."
She shook her head gently. "Life doesn't work that way, my son. No one stays forever. If it isn't death that separates us, it is marriage. You must start training yourself to eat meals prepared by others."
Just then, Zubee returned, carrying a tray with a glass pitcher of water, a cup, a chilled bottle of juice, and a small wide bowl for washing hands. She set it down with a heavy thud. Seeraj rinsed his hands in the bowl, completely ignoring her presence.
Ammi looked at Zubee and sighed. "Look at her, Seeraj. She absolutely detests kitchen work. Whenever I ask her to join me, she always claims she has to study."
Seeraj shot Zubee a dark, knowing glare, thinking to himself, 'Study? More like studying deviance.' Aloud, he said coldly, "She's just a lazy girl, Ammi. You had better make her learn how to cook properly, because I swear to Almighty Allah, I will never tolerate hired maids preparing my meals in my own home. Not a chance."
Ammi smiled reassuringly. "She will have to learn now, especially since the wedding is around the corner."
"Well, if she chooses not to, that will be her own cross to bear," Seeraj said, taking a perfect, steaming morsel of pounded yam and dipping it into the rich soup. He ate with relish, while Ammi watched him with an affectionate smile.
Once he finished, he cleared his throat. "Alhamdulillah." He checked the parlor clock; it was 10:30 AM. He stood up, stretching his tall frame. "Ammi, I am going to head back to my room to sleep for a bit. Please have me awakened by 1:30 PM."
"Alright, sleep well, my son."
When Seeraj entered his bedroom, his phone was buzzing with missed calls from his absolute best friend, Sageer.
Sageer Aliyu Nasko (known to everyone as S.A. Nasko) was the son of a wealthy merchant who owned multiple large wholesale provision stores in the bustling Gwadabe market. The Nasko family residence was also located in the Tunga quarters, though it sat a considerable distance away from Seeraj’s estate. Sageer was the eldest child, followed by twin sisters, Hassana and Hussaina.
Seeraj and Sageer had been inseparable since their primary and secondary school days. However, they were completely different when it came to their personal lives. Sageer was a notorious ladies' man who was always chasing after multiple women, whereas Seeraj had never had a girlfriend in his entire life. Despite the distance when Seeraj was in Jordan, they spoke on the phone almost every day.
Seeraj dialed his number, a playful smirk on his face. "Hey there, you old rogue! What's putting you in such a frantic mood today?"
From the other end, Sageer laughed loudly. "S.A. Sardauna! Man, your serious, dry lifestyle is getting out of hand. You're just terrified of women, admit it!"
Seeraj chuckled. "Whatever you say, man."
"When did you touch down?" Sageer asked.
"Just a while ago. I was the captain on the flight that brought our state’s pilgrims back."
"Oh, right! I completely forgot. Man, time flies. We definitely need to link up later today."
"For sure. See you this evening, brother," Seeraj said before hanging up.

CHAPTER 3: THE MEETING

The next morning, at exactly 8:00 AM, Sajeedah and Sajeed were fully dressed and ready for Islamic school, following their usual routine.
Today, Sajeedah didn't carry her large Qur'an; instead, she only held her smaller textbooks on Hadith and Islamic Jurisprudence (Ahalari). She had woken up with severe menstrual cramps, and a dull, throbbing pain was radiating through her lower abdomen.
As they neared the exit, Sajeed pulled back. "Aunty, please, let's wait and drink some porridge first."
Sajeedah snapped around, her eyes flashing with pain and irritation. "Sajeed! What is wrong with you these days? We used to go to school without breakfast all the time! Now, suddenly, you're insisting we must sit down and eat every single morning? I am not waiting today! Let's move!"
Inna’s sharp voice cut through the air. "If you don't want to wait, Sajeedah, you can march right out that door by yourself! He will join you when he is finished eating, do you hear me?"
From her mother's stern tone, Sajeedah knew she had crossed a line. In truth, she would never dream of walking down the lonely roads to school without her little brother.
Reluctantly, she stood by the door while they drank their porridge. The moment they stepped out of the gate, she turned to him fiercely. "I swear to God, Sajeed, if you do this tomorrow, I am leaving you behind. I mean it! You're making us late every single day."
She checked the cheap plastic wristwatch on her arm—a discarded gift that Sadeeqah had passed down to her. "Look at the time! It's already 8:30 AM. School starts at 8:00 AM sharp, and here we are, barely down the street. It’s entirely your fault."
Sajeed looked up at her with a remorseful, puppy-dog expression. "I'm sorry, Aunty JEEDAH. I won't do it again, I promise."
"You had better not, because I will completely stop speaking to you," she huffed as they turned the corner into a narrow side street.
Suddenly, someone walking briskly from the opposite direction collided sharply against her shoulder. The impact was strong enough to send the textbooks flying from her hands, scattering across the dusty ground.
Sajeedah gasped, pain flaring in her side. She looked up, her lips parting to deliver a fierce reprimand. "Are you blind—"
The words died instantly in her throat.
Her eyes locked into a pair of deep, mesmerizing eyes. A powerful, electric jolt shot straight through her chest, making her heart skip a beat. Sajeedah immediately dropped her gaze, her cheeks burning as a strange, overwhelming nervousness washed over her. 'Innalillahi,' her mind whispered frantically. 'Who is this man? What kind of magic is in his eyes? May Allah save me.'
Seeraj stood frozen. He, too, felt a sudden, powerful tremor echo through his chest. A warm, completely unfamiliar sensation rippled through his entire body—a feeling he had never experienced in the presence of any woman before.
He was dressed in a sleek black Adidas athletic tracksuit with white accents, a matching baseball cap turned backward, which failed to completely hide his thick, soft hair.
They both instinctively knelt down at the exact same moment to gather the scattered books. In their haste, their foreheads collided with a loud, sharp smack.
They both recoiled instantly, clutching their foreheads in pain.
"Washshhh!" Sajeedah groaned.
"Auchhh!" Seeraj winced.
Sajeed, who was standing right next to them, burst into an uncontrollable fit of giggles at the sight of the two adults clutching their heads. "Sorry, Aunty Jeedah!" he managed to gasp out between laughs.
Sajeedah ignored her brother's teasing, quickly grabbing her books from the dirt with trembling fingers.
Every weekend morning after the dawn prayer (Asuba), Seeraj had a routine: he would spend an hour reading the Qur'an before meeting Sageer for a morning jog. They had just finished their run, and Seeraj was taking a shortcut back to his estate when he collided with Sajeedah.
Seeraj looked up at Sajeed with a warm, playful grin. "Hey, young man, that’s a bit unfair, don't you think? You only offered an apology to your sister. What about me?"
Sajeed giggled, bowing his head. "I'm sorry, Sir."
Seeraj smiled broadly, extending a hand toward the boy. "Thanks. My name is Seeraj. What’s yours?"
Sajeed readily grasped his hand. "My name is Sajeed Abubakar Sadeeq."
"A fine name, Sajeed. Would you like to be my friend?"
"Yes! I'd love to!"
"Awesome. From today onward, you are my official best friend, okay?" Seeraj chuckled. Sajeed nodded enthusiastically. Seeraj glanced subtly toward the quiet girl beside them. "So, my friend... what is your sister's name?"
"Aunty Jeedah!" Sajeed replied proudly.
Seeraj blinked, a look of genuine confusion crossing his face. "Jeedah?"
Sajeed nodded. "Well, her full name is Aunty SAJEEDAH."
"Ah, I see!" Seeraj grinned, casting another look at her. "Tell me, Sajeed... is your sister unable to speak? Is she deaf?"
Sajeed’s eyes went wide with alarm. "Oh, no! She isn't deaf or mute at all!"
"Then why hasn't she said a word to me?" Seeraj teased playfully. "And she hasn't even offered an apology for breaking my forehead."
Sajeed burst into laughter. "But, Yah Seeraj, you were the one who bumped into my sister! That means you are the one who is supposed to say sorry to her!"
Seeraj feigned surprise, widening his eyes. "Oh, is that so?"
"Yes, it is!" Sajeed nodded firmly.
Sajeedah stood there, completely stunned by her little brother’s brazen chatter. 'Unbelievable,' she thought, her mind racing. 'This boy is utterly shameless. Look at him chattering away and revealing our names to a complete stranger with those dangerous, magnetic eyes.' She let out a silent huff. 'Such a foolish boy.'
Slowly, deliberately, Seeraj turned his gaze completely onto Sajeedah. He looked at her with those soft, deep eyes that she had secretly branded as magical. He desperately wanted her to look up at him, to lock eyes with her just one more time so he could feel that incredible, electrifying spark again. But she kept her face down, staring intently at her brother.
Realizing she had no intention of looking at him, Seeraj raised both his hands to his ears, lowered his voice to an adorable, childlike tone, and said, "I am so very soweeey, Aunty JEEDAH. Please forgive me."
Sajeed let out another loud laugh.
Sajeedah’s head snapped up in sheer shock at hearing this tall, sophisticated man use such a soft, playful tone to call her Aunty.
Their eyes collided instantly.
For what felt like an eternity—perhaps five long, breathless minutes—they stood completely frozen, staring deep into each other's eyes, as if searching for a long-lost truth hidden within their souls. Sajeedah was the first to tear her gaze away, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.
A strange, heavy weakness washed over her entire body from that singular gaze.
Seeraj kept his eyes fixed on her face, his voice dropping to a sincere, gentle whisper. "Please... I am truly sorry."
Without looking at him, her voice trembling slightly, she managed to whisper, "No... it's fine. No problem." She grabbed Sajeed’s hand tightly. "Sajeed, let's go. We are incredibly late."
"Okay," Sajeed said.
Seeraj stood there, completely captivated by the melodic, sweet sound of her voice. Sajeed shook Seeraj’s hand gently. "Goodbye, my best friend! We have to go now."
Seeraj snapped out of his trance, blinking rapidly. "Uh... what did you say?"
Sajeed giggled. "I said we are leaving."
"Oh! Right, right." Seeraj cleared his throat, offering a warm smile. "Okay, then. Goodbye, my friend. See you when you get back."
His eyes followed Sajeedah’s figure as she hurried down the dirt street. She was walking as fast as her legs could carry her, desperate to escape his overwhelming presence, feeling as though her knees might buckle beneath her at any moment.
He stood watching them until they disappeared around a distant alleyway. He let out a long, heavy breath, turned around with a lingering sense of wonder, and walked slowly toward his home.
The moment they rounded the corner, Sajeedah stopped dead in her tracks and leaned against the mud wall, panting heavily as if she had just completed a hundred-meter sprint.
She looked up and shot a fierce glare at Sajeed, who was staring at her in confusion. "What is wrong with you?" she hissed. "Staring at me like you've never seen me before! And you—tell me right now, where on earth do you know that man from?"
"I don't know him at all!" Sajeed protested. "Today is the very first time I've ever seen him."
She shook her head in sheer exasperation. "You don't know him, yet you opened your mouth like a parrot, rattling off our names and families to a total stranger? Unbelievable! Sajeed, your talkative nature is getting completely out of hand, I swear to God."
He pouted, lowering his eyes. "I'm sorry, Aunty Jeedah."
"Oh, save your sorry," she muttered, pushing him ahead of her. "Move your feet and let’s get to school."
When Seeraj arrived back at his estate, he went straight into his bathroom and stood under a cold shower for a long time. He dried off, applied his cologne, and pulled on a comfortable jellabiya.
Checking his bedroom clock, it read 9:15 AM. He threw himself onto his massive, plush bed, closed his eyes, and muttered a quiet, "Bismillah." Within minutes, he fell into a deep sleep, his dreams entirely consumed by the image of Sajeedah.

THE STRUGGLE OF POVERTY

"Ohhh! Inna, my stomach! It hurts so much! Inna, it feels like my inside is going to burst!"
Sajeedah was writhing in agony, tossing and turning on a thin, severely worn-out foam mattress that was barely distinguishable from a straw mat.
Inna sat on the floor beside her daughter, gently rubbing her shoulder and whispering soothing words. "Oh, Allah, please relieve my child from this terrible pain. Sannu, my daughter, sannu."
Sajeedah was completely past the point of speech. She could only nod weakly, tears leaking from the corners of her tightly shut eyes as waves of intense pain washed over her.
Sajeed stood nearby, his face twisted with worry for his sister. "Sannu, Aunty Jeedah. Let me go check outside. Maybe Baba has returned from the market, and I can get some money to buy your medication, okay?"
She gave a small, desperate nod.
As Sajeed turned toward the doorway, Malam Abubakar stepped into the compound, offering a warm greeting. Inna answered immediately.
"Baba, welcome back!" Sajeed said, quickly taking the small plastic bag from his father’s hands.
Malam Abubakar smiled warmly. "Thank you, Sajeed. Take that to your mother; I managed to buy a small portion of sweet potatoes so she can boil them for us."
Malam Abubakar was a thoroughly impoverished man, but he possessed an incredibly rich and dignified soul. He relied entirely on Almighty Allah and the honest labor of his own hands. He had never once begged or asked anyone for financial assistance. His singular, driving purpose in life was to provide for his family with whatever lawful earnings God blessed him with. He was also a man who deeply respected communal ties; he never undertook any major decision without consulting or informing his neighbors out of sheer courtesy.
He walked over to the low stool near the mattress, his face filling with deep concern. "What is happening here? What is wrong with my Sajeedatu?"
Inna sighed heavily. "She woke up with severe stomach cramps, Abubakar. Ever since they returned from Islamic school, she has been in absolute agony, unable to find peace."
"Oh, dear. This is serious," Malam Abubakar muttered, his face wrinkling with sympathy. "Sannu, Sajeedatu. Has she taken any medicine yet?"
"No," Inna replied sadly. "I only have a ten-naira coin on me, and the tablets at the local chemist cost twenty naira."
Without a moment’s hesitation, Malam Abubakar thrust his hand into his shirt pocket. "Sajeed, come here quickly. I have some spare change from my morning sales." He pulled out a crumpled note and handed a twenty-naira note to the boy.
Sajeed took the money, his face instantly souring. He knew the local chemist, a man popularly known as Oga Chidinma, was notoriously hostile and completely lacking in compassion.
Malam Abubakar noticed his son's expression. "What's the matter, son?"
"Baba, it's Oga Chidinma," Sajeed muttered. "Every time I go there with exact change, he yells at me and makes a massive scene, complaining that I am wasting his time with small money."
Malam Abubakar pulled out an extra ten-naira coin and pressed it into Sajeed's palm. "Here, take this as well. Tell him to give you thirty naira worth of the medicine and ask him to please be patient with us."
"Alright, Baba!" Sajeed said, turning around and sprinting out of the compound.

THE CONFRONTATION AT THE CHEMIST

Meanwhile, Seeraj was tossing and turning in his luxurious bed, completely unable to sleep. His thoughts were filled with the image of Sajeedah.
Giving up on sleep, he swung his long legs out of bed and stood up. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, slipped his wallet into his pocket, put on his shoes, and walked out of the house.
He walked aimlessly through the quiet streets of the neighborhood. Before he even realized it, his feet had guided him back to the very lane where he had crossed paths with Sajeedah that morning. He walked slowly, looking around the alleyways with a quiet hope inside his heart.
Suddenly, his eyes caught sight of a small figure sprinting toward a local chemist shop down the street. It was Sajeed.
An immediate wave of relief and joy washed over Seeraj's heart. 'Alhamdulillah,' he thought. 'My heart has truly been captured by that girl.' He quickened his pace and called out loudly, "Sajeed! My friend!"
Sajeed spun around, a bright, joyful smile lighting up his face. "Oh! My best friend! Is that you?"
Seeraj smiled warmly, catching up to him. "Yes, it’s me. What are you buying at this shop?"
Sajeed’s smile instantly vanished, replaced by a look of deep sadness. "I came to buy medicine for my Aunty Jeedah."
Seeraj’s heart skipped a beat. "What's wrong with her?"
"Her stomach is hurting her so badly," Sajeed explained, his eyes welling with tears. "She’s crying at home. Baba gave me money to quickly buy her some pain relief."
A sharp pang of worry pierced Seeraj’s chest. "Is it that severe?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Alright, let's go inside together and get it," Seeraj said gently.
Sajeed walked into the small chemist shop with a newfound confidence, holding his thirty naira tightly in his hand.
The shop owner, Oga Chidinma, looked up from his counter. The moment his eyes fell on Sajeed, his face darkened into a harsh, mean scowl. He was a notoriously ill-mannered man who spoke Hausa with a heavy, thick accent.
"You again?" Oga Chidinma barked aggressively.
Sajeed offered a polite smile, extending the money across the counter. "Yes, Oga Chidinma. Please give me the usual stomach pain medicine."
Oga Chidinma slammed his hand on the counter, glaring fiercely at the boy. "Didn't I explicitly warn you never to bring your pathetic twenty naira to my shop again? You poor street beggars think you can just come here and waste my time? I am not selling anything to you today! Get out of my shop right now!"
Sajeed’s face fell, and he frantically held up the extra coin. "But look, Oga Chidinma! Today I brought thirty naira! See? It’s thirty naira!"
"I don't care if it's a hundred! I said I am not selling to you! Get out before I throw you out!" the man roared.
Sajeed began to cry, his voice cracking. "Please, Oga Chidinma, I beg of you! My Aunty Jeedah is crying at home. Her stomach hurts so much..."
"I don't care if she dies! That is none of my business—"
The man's words were cut off by a thunderous, terrifying roar that shook the very walls of the shop.
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!"
Seeraj stepped into the shop, his face completely distorted with absolute rage. He had been standing by the doorway, listening to every single word of the cruel exchange. He marched up to the counter, his eyes burning with fury. "Did you just say you don't care if she dies? Who do you think you are, you miserable piece of filth?"
Oga Chidinma froze, his jaw dropping as his entire body began to tremble violently. He raised both his hands to his head in absolute terror.
He hadn't noticed Seeraj standing outside. He instantly recognized the young pilot. He knew that almost half the buildings and commercial shops on this entire street belonged to Seeraj’s billionaire father. In fact, this very shop space was rented out to him by the Sardauna family for a nominal, generous fee.
Oga Chidinma knew his livelihood was flash-frying before his eyes. "Oh, mercy! Forgive me! Please, Sir, sorry, Sir Captain!" he stammered frantically, wringing his hands in desperation.
Seeraj glared at him with pure venom. "Oh, so because you didn't realize he was with me, that gives you the right to treat a child like garbage? You refuse to sell medicine to a suffering person because of twenty naira? Is twenty naira not currency, you arrogant fool? Is this how you routinely treat less fortunate people in this neighborhood?"
"No, Sir! I swear, Sir, it was a mistake!" the man wept, dropping to his knees.
"You are a heartless, cruel man," Seeraj hissed, his voice cold as ice. "Pack up every single one of your items right now and vacate this shop. This property belongs to my family, and I will not have a monster operating on our land. Get out!"
Oga Chidinma’s heart stopped. He threw himself onto the floor, grabbing Seeraj’s shoes, weeping and begging for mercy. He scrambled up, rushed to his shelves, and grabbed an entire box of the premium pain-relief medication, thrusting it into Sajeed’s hands. "Here! Take it! Take the whole box! May Allah grant her swift healing! Please, just take it for free!"
Sajeed, completely stunned, tried to hand over his thirty naira.
"No, no! Keep your money, child! Just go give it to her!" the chemist cried frantically.
Sajeed turned to Seeraj, his eyes bright with gratitude. "Thank you, Oga Chidinma! Thank you, Yah Seeraj!"
Seeraj fixed the trembling man with one final, devastating look. "Let this be your first and absolute last warning. If I ever hear a single complaint about your vile behavior from anyone on this street again, you will be thrown out into the gutter where you belong."
He let out a sharp hiss, grabbed Sajeed’s hand, and walked out of the shop.
As they walked down the street, Seeraj calmed his breathing and looked down at the boy. "My friend, let me see the medicine. What is the name?"
Sajeed handed it over.
Seeraj glanced at the label. Ladinax. He paused, studying the fine print on the cardboard packaging: FOR TREATMENT OF SEVERE MENSTRUAL PAIN.
A soft, private smile touched Seeraj’s lips. 'Ah, I see,' he thought to himself. 'It's menstrual cramps, not a regular stomach ache.' He handed the box back to Sajeed. "Tell me, my friend... which way is your house?"
Sajeed pointed down a narrow, winding alleyway. "It's just down that path, Sir."
"Alright, let's walk together. I want to see where you live," Seeraj said. As they walked, Sajeed chattered away happily, completely unbothered.
Meanwhile, Seeraj’s mind was racing. He desperately wanted to see Sajeedah again, but he knew that since she was unwell, she would likely be resting inside her room.
Suddenly, a brilliant idea sparked in his mind. He stopped. "My friend, wait for me right here for a minute, okay?"
"Okay, Yah Seeraj."
Seeraj walked over to a nearby petty trader's kiosk. After exchanging brief greetings with the owner, Seeraj asked politely, "Please, Baba, do you have a piece of paper and a pen I could borrow for a moment? I need to jot something down."
"Of course, my son," the old trader said, handing over a clean notebook and a blue ballpoint pen.
Seeraj stepped to the side, sat on a wooden bench, and began to write. A quiet smile graced his lips; he found it utterly ironic that he, Captain Seeraj, was writing a love letter to a girl he had only met that morning.
He carefully tore out the small piece of paper containing his elegant handwriting, returned the notebook and pen to the grateful trader, and walked back over to Sajeed.
He slipped the folded note into Sajeed’s hand. "Give this directly to your Aunty Jeedah. Tell her it is a special message from me, okay?"
"Okay, Sir! Our house is just at the end of this lane."
Right at that moment, Seeraj's phone began to vibrate violently in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Ammi on the screen. He answered immediately. "Hello, Ammi?"
"Seeraj! Where on earth are you?" his mother’s frantic voice came through the line.
"I’m just down the street, Ammi. Is everything alright?"
"Get back to the house right now! Hurry!" she commanded before abruptly hanging up.
Seeraj’s heart dropped. He slipped the phone into his pocket and turned to Sajeed. "My friend, I have to run back home immediately. My mother needs me. Make sure you deliver that note safely to your sister, and tell her I send her my warmest regards, alright?"
"I will, Yah Seeraj! Goodbye!" Sajeed called out as he turned into his compound gate, while Seeraj sprinted back toward the estate.

THE SECRET LETTER

Inside the mud-brick compound, Inna helped Sajeedah sit up against the wall, propping a heavily worn-out pillow behind her back. Sajeedah leaned back, closing her eyes tightly.
Despite the throbbing, intense pain in her lower abdomen, her mind was completely occupied by thoughts of Seeraj. She couldn't stop playing their morning encounter over and over again in her head. Those deep, magnetic eyes had left her feeling utterly defenseless and strangely light-headed.
"Assalamu Alaikum!" Sajeed’s cheerful voice burst through the quiet compound.
Sajeedah opened her eyes to see her brother rushing toward her, his face beaming with excitement. "Aunty JEEDAH! Look! Oga Chidinma gave me the medicine completely for free! He refused to take a single naira!"
Sajeedah blinked in absolute astonishment. "What? Why?"
Sajeed sat close to her, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. "At first, the mean man refused to sell it to me. But then my best friend showed up! He gave Oga Chidinma a massive scolding, and the man got so terrified he gave me the whole box for free! He told me to tell you he hopes you feel better. And look, my friend gave me this note to give directly to you!" He slipped the medicine box and the small, folded piece of paper into her hand.
Sajeedah’s heart