The entire council fell silent; no one could find the words to speak again. Something bitter settled in the Sultan’s heart—he was deeply pained that Tafawa, his own brother, showed such hostility toward his blood, Hammad, all because of power. He knew that even if no one told him, that letter had been written with his knowledge and brought deliberately. Low murmurs began among the council members. The Sardauna took a breath, cleared his throat, and everyone fell silent. Then he said:
“I think we have already discussed this matter before. I see no benefit in reopening it. We are currently investigating the issues, and the results will be presented. Revisiting this discussion will not help us, especially considering the many pressing matters before us that require our focus.”
One of the council members replied, “No, Sardauna, I don’t think this is an issue to be brushed aside. Do not forget that the future of Agadez is tied to these Imams who have been appointed; they also oversee key royal affairs. If there is confusion and no action is taken, it means the future of this land is heading into an unknown danger.”
Matawalle said, “Turaki, only God truly knows tomorrow. We can only do our part. But as His Excellency the Sardauna said, let us wait for the investigation results first. And as for the allegation of mental instability being linked to Imam Hammad, it is baseless and unfounded. Anyone found spreading such rumors will face strict action.”
The discussion nearly turned into chaos until the Sultan intervened firmly. The meeting then dispersed without any decisive resolution. The Sultan knew for certain that since Tafawa had gained supporters within the council, matters would become even more complicated, and they would continue to pursue the issue relentlessly.
---
Shukura lay on the floor writhing in agony; severe pain coursed through her body. She kept turning her head helplessly. As usual, the person who brought her food opened the door, placed the meal beside her, and left. But whenever food was brought, the room was always plunged into darkness once the door was closed—except today, when there was light. Struggling painfully, she raised her head and looked toward the door; it seemed it hadn’t been fully closed.
She shut her eyes tightly in pain. One part of her urged her to crawl to the door to check if it was truly open; another part told her it was only the pain deceiving her and that the door was closed. The pain intensified, and something warm—she couldn’t tell what—began to trickle down her leg.
Dragging herself slowly, she felt along the wall, knelt, and reached the door. She pulled it—and it opened. Peering out cautiously, she saw no one in the compound; the room was deep within a forested area.
Reciting, “There is no god but You, Glory be to You, indeed I was among the wrongdoers,” she continued dragging her feet forward. When she looked down at herself, she saw that her waters had broken; fluid mixed with blood soaked her legs and clothes. She didn’t care how disheveled she looked—the pain and the dizziness overwhelmed her. She took a path she didn’t recognize and began walking.
With every step, it felt as though the baby would fall out of her due to the heaviness and pain. She walked while praying fervently for God to save her.
---
After returning home, Alhaji Fatuhu spoke with Fadila and said, “Fadila, you should go and check on Yaya Sa’a. She’s not well at all—she’s wasted away and seems mentally unstable. I feel so sorry for her; she’s still suffering deeply from that death.”
Fadila replied, “Poor her. It reminds me of when I lost my Muhsin—when she said I lacked patience, as though I was the first woman to give birth. Now she understands what I felt.”
He frowned. “In short, what exactly are you saying?”
She shook her head. “Who am I to say anything? I just remembered it, and it still hurts.”
“Whatever it is, it’s in the past now. I’ll tell Suwaiba. You should prepare to visit her and console her. If possible, she should come and stay here; perhaps our presence will ease her loneliness.”
Softly she said, “Have you forgotten? We ourselves are under notice. Any moment we could be told to vacate this house.”
He fell silent, lost in thought. She added, “Please don’t worry. God helped you recover with difficulty. With what I have, and with Mama Janna’s help, we can buy even a small house. I don’t want to rent again—even a three-room place would do.”
He widened his eyes. “Three rooms? How would that be enough for us? Even your wing has four rooms and two living rooms, and it felt small.”
Fadila said, “Daddy, have you forgotten who your Fadila is? Hardship doesn’t scare me; I’m used to it. Even my family home before I married had just two rooms for my mother and me.”
He said, “Stop recalling the past. Haven’t you become a blessing to us? If I had judged you by trivial things, I wouldn’t have thought you and Suwaiba would stand by me, given our current situation. I’m deeply grateful to you.”
She replied, “Daddy, you deserve far more from us. When you were wealthy, you gave to us and even to those around us; you cared for us. Then God tested us—should we abandon you? God forbid.”
He said, “You are truly dear. When God loves a servant, He tests him in one way and eases him in another. Many abandon their families during hardship. Do you know something?”
“No—tell me, my groom,” she said playfully. He laughed. “Groom?” She raised her brows, smiling. He gently pinched her cheek. “This joy I feel with you—unchanged despite my illness and lack of wealth—brings me immense happiness. This illness has increased my fear of God and my faith; it has drawn me closer to Him. Whenever I move, I remember God, feeling as though my life is nearing its end. Unlike when I had wealth and health—I remembered God, but not this deeply. I feel a blessing approaching us, God willing.”
She said, “That’s how it should be, Daddy. I hope you’ve also changed your view on traditional and religious medicine now.”
He laughed. “I changed long ago. You are truly a woman of Paradise.” They continued chatting happily.
---
During Nana’s three days with Hammad, his condition stabilized, though he barely spoke. Nana did her utmost to avoid anything that might lead to intimacy between them. They slept on the floor; she never lay down until he had fallen asleep, though sometimes he clung to her when pain struck.
As he recovered further, she felt he had changed toward her—there was a new aura about him, especially when he looked at her; it unsettled her. She couldn’t decipher his intentions. She devoted herself intensely to reciting the Qur’an. Since the last time she saw Qaisar, she hadn’t seen him again—neither awake nor in dreams—and she worried about him.
She was deeply unsettled; the day she saw blood, she couldn’t tell whether it was a miscarriage or menstruation. The room had been further furnished with luxury items, bath supplies, and everything Imam Hammad might need.
While he bathed, she filled herself with fruits, as she barely ate the meals Mahmoudu brought. Fear crept in—what if she truly was pregnant? She sank deeply into thought.
She was startled when she didn’t hear him leave the bathroom; suddenly his arms wrapped around her waist. Despite the room’s spaciousness, she usually sensed even the slightest movement—but she hadn’t sensed him at all. Her body trembled; she felt herself losing composure.
He smiled faintly, gesturing to the bed for her to lie down. She stiffened and refused. He tried to pull her hand; she yanked it back and stood firm. He let her be, climbed onto the bed, and lay down.
She stood there scanning the room. After a while, she spread a mat on the floor and lay down. As soon as she did, she began to hear the rustling of unknown beings. The noise echoed in her ears like a battlefield. She saw a figure enter through a door, its gender indiscernible, fully covered. It approached the bed where Sayyid lay, placed a letter there, and moved toward another door.
Determined, Nana followed it, though it moved like the wind. The noise stopped her from continuing. Sayyid hugged her; her body shook as she covered her ears, overwhelmed by the din. She looked at him and asked, “Is there something here?” He paused, then opened the door, took her hand, and led her through a pitch-dark passage—astonishingly within that grand, well-lit room—into a corridor.
They emerged into a vast desert of fine sand, cool and serene, dotted with sparse trees under bright moonlight. She turned and saw a structure like a rocky mountain, firelight flickering through a window-like opening.
Her lips trembling, she said, “Sayyid, I know this place. I dreamt of this desert long before I met you; even in my dreams, I saw you here—with Giyaz. You used to sit by that tree with Habu, drinking tea with others I didn’t recognize. Where is this, and why are things I see in dreams appearing in reality? I still have many unanswered questions about you.”
“Do you now believe what I told you—that our souls are connected, that one cannot live without the other?”
“That’s not what I want to hear. There are still hidden things about you I don’t understand.”
“Everything will unravel slowly. You’ll understand my life, but I mean you no harm. In time, your doubts will be resolved.”
She opened her eyes, his voice still echoing. They were on the bed together; he was facing her, breathing softly against her face. It unsettled her—she knew it had happened in reality, yet it felt like a dream. And since Qaisar wasn’t well, she couldn’t even attribute it to him. Confusion overwhelmed her.
She stared at him, searching his face for the truth she longed for.
“What happened?” his voice struck her ears.
She said nothing, turning away, wrestling with her thoughts. He moved closer, silent, but sensing his intent made her flinch and recoil.
“Nana,” he called her tenderly. She felt uneasy and looked at him fearfully.
“Why?” he asked softly. She said nothing, lowering her head and edging away.
“You are my wife—have you truly stopped loving me?”
She replied, “Even if I love you, it won’t benefit me. Before, I had full freedom as your wife—in a world where it was just you and me. In this world, you’ve distanced me. I know once I’m no longer useful, I’ll be dismissed. Trusting you again would be my gravest mistake.”
He exhaled slowly. “Please give me a chance. You returned because you still love me; if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have come back.” He gently squeezed her hand. “You don’t love me the way I love you. Don’t judge me only by what you see.”
Coldly she said, “Love whoever you want—your beloved wife is there, accepted by your culture. As for me, perhaps I should be enslaved for being dark and ugly.” She stood up.
He stood too. “No, I never said that. I have a fair-skinned wife, yet I pursue you, pleading with you. Please forgive me—we’ve both been lonely. Being with you here brings me deep comfort.”
She stared at him in shock, unsure how to respond.
Trying to provoke him, she said, “Even if you didn’t say it, she enslaved and humiliated me. Your wife disgraced me terribly. Go to your lawful wife, known to your family—I am not a secret wife.”
“So that’s what you say?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied sharply.
He gazed at her; her beauty stirred him deeply. In his heart he thought, Let her do as she wishes—she deserves it. Aloud, he stepped off the bed and headed for the exit.
Confused, she jumped down. “Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer. She followed anxiously. “Sayyid, you’re not fully well—where are you going?”
He locked her inside and left. She rattled the door—locked. She sat down, chilled, worried something might happen to him.
---
After Shukura’s baby was born, she began to lose consciousness due to heavy bleeding. The woman who brought her to the hospital was completely shaken; since meeting her, Shukura hadn’t spoken at all—even through labor. The doctor advised calling security, fearing something serious might have happened to her.
---
Doctor Sharif awoke with partial paralysis after the shock of finding his daughter’s violated corpse. Though he struggled to speak, he tried to ask about his wife’s condition. He was told she was improving—unaware that after he left for the police, she had passed away.
---
Matawalle and the Sultan were talking. The Sultan said with deep sorrow, “I don’t know what I ever did to Tafawa to make him harbor such hatred toward my blood—something I would never do to him.”
Matawalle replied, “You’ve never shared the same temperament. Calm yourself; we’ll proceed gradually. God willing, we’ll find a solution. But how has the Imam been these past two days?”
“He’s improving; there’s progress, but he doesn’t speak at all. I haven’t visited yesterday or today—I don’t want to intrude too much; the girl seems frightened of us. I’m amazed how she managed to bring him back to his senses.”
Matawalle said, “May God grant you success. I fear another problem may arise.”
“What problem?” the Sultan asked.
“That something might happen. You see our struggle—figuring out how to present the matter to the world regarding Imam Hammad in a convincing way. Now we’ve left him alone with her—what if another issue arises?”
The Sultan smiled faintly. “Then we accept destiny and wait for her to give birth again. But I don’t think anything will happen, since he’s not fully well. The healer we brought has traveled briefly; once he fully recovers, they’ll be separated and we’ll decide what to do with her.”
Matawalle said, “Indeed. May God grant him complete health.”
“Amen,” replied the Sultan.
---
Hammad didn’t return until after dawn. When he entered, he didn’t even glance at Nana.
“Good morning,” Nana greeted him, stealing a look—but he ignored her.
The silence hurt her. He went to the mirror to fix his hair. She approached. “Shall I fix it for you?”
He glared, brushed her aside, and continued combing.
A knock sounded. He set the comb down and looked at Nana; she took her hijab and wore it. He opened the door. Mahmoudu entered with food trays. He greeted Hammad, who acknowledged him. Nana greeted him, and he said, “I should be greeting you—our lady of the house. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank God. Where is Nene?” Nana asked.
“She’s well. She sent this for you—she’s persuading me to return to Agadez; I left her at my house but she refused,” he said, pointing to a flask.
Nana said, “Please, when you return, ask her to come see me. If I’m dismissed from here, I’ll go to her—she said she’d accompany me home—” She stopped mid-sentence at Sayyid’s glare.
Mahmoudu dropped the subject and spoke to Hammad in their language. Hammad listened silently. Nana couldn’t understand, but it clearly upset him. He stood, took a pen and paper, and began writing. Nana’s heart sank—she feared it was a divorce letter. He finished, handed it to Mahmoudu, and they left together.
Relieved, she opened the flask from Nene. Smiling at the chicken inside, she said, “Nene wants me to grow fat.”
She didn’t see Hammad again until night. He bathed, changed, and headed out. Nana asked, “Sayyid, will I sleep alone again tonight? You know this room frightens me.”
“What should I stay and do? I might upset you if I remain. I’m going to my wife,” he said coldly.
Her eyes reddened. Only then did he regret his words, remembering her intense jealousy. He felt like apologizing and staying—but forced himself to leave.
Once outside, guilt overwhelmed him. Pity for Nana consumed him; she was bound to feel jealous of Asal and resent him—especially given how Asal dominated and belittled her.
After he left, Nana couldn’t sit or stand. A sharp pain stabbed her chest up to her neck. Though she was used to seeing them together and felt jealous, today’s hurt was far deeper.
Sleep stole over her, filled with nightmares of those beings chasing her. Before dawn, she awoke with a burning fever and headache. After praying, she collapsed where she was, distressed and unwell.
She felt a weight on her—opened her eyes to see Muhsin clinging to her. She sat up, crying, “My Muhsin!” He hugged her; she embraced him, smiling as though she had carried him again. She looked up and saw Hammad nearby, smiling.
Muhsin slipped away, brought dates from the Imam, and fed her. She accepted them, feeling the powerful bond between mother and child.
Sayyid lifted Muhsin and sat him beside himself, feeding him. He looked at Nana and softly said, “Naa,” gesturing for her to come sit and eat. Though Hammad didn’t outwardly acknowledge her presence, the moment filled her with indescribable joy—her husband and her son together. It became clear that a strong bond existed between Muhsin and Hammad; Muhsin showed no fear of him at all.
The entire council fell silent; no one could find the words to speak again. Something bitter settled in the Sultan’s heart—he was deeply pained that Tafawa, his own brother, showed such hostility toward his blood, Hammad, all because of power. He knew that even if no one told him, that letter had been written with his knowledge and brought deliberately. Low murmurs began among the council members. The Sardauna took a breath, cleared his throat, and everyone fell silent. Then he said:
“I think we have already discussed this matter before. I see no benefit in reopening it. We are currently investigating the issues, and the results will be presented. Revisiting this discussion will not help us, especially considering the many pressing matters before us that require our focus.”
One of the council members replied, “No, Sardauna, I don’t think this is an issue to be brushed aside. Do not forget that the future of Agadez is tied to these Imams who have been appointed; they also oversee key royal affairs. If there is confusion and no action is taken, it means the future of this land is heading into an unknown danger.”
Matawalle said, “Turaki, only God truly knows tomorrow. We can only do our part. But as His Excellency the Sardauna said, let us wait for the investigation results first. And as for the allegation of mental instability being linked to Imam Hammad, it is baseless and unfounded. Anyone found spreading such rumors will face strict action.”
The discussion nearly turned into chaos until the Sultan intervened firmly. The meeting then dispersed without any decisive resolution. The Sultan knew for certain that since Tafawa had gained supporters within the council, matters would become even more complicated, and they would continue to pursue the issue relentlessly.
---
Shukura lay on the floor writhing in agony; severe pain coursed through her body. She kept turning her head helplessly. As usual, the person who brought her food opened the door, placed the meal beside her, and left. But whenever food was brought, the room was always plunged into darkness once the door was closed—except today, when there was light. Struggling painfully, she raised her head and looked toward the door; it seemed it hadn’t been fully closed.
She shut her eyes tightly in pain. One part of her urged her to crawl to the door to check if it was truly open; another part told her it was only the pain deceiving her and that the door was closed. The pain intensified, and something warm—she couldn’t tell what—began to trickle down her leg.
Dragging herself slowly, she felt along the wall, knelt, and reached the door. She pulled it—and it opened. Peering out cautiously, she saw no one in the compound; the room was deep within a forested area.
Reciting, “There is no god but You, Glory be to You, indeed I was among the wrongdoers,” she continued dragging her feet forward. When she looked down at herself, she saw that her waters had broken; fluid mixed with blood soaked her legs and clothes. She didn’t care how disheveled she looked—the pain and the dizziness overwhelmed her. She took a path she didn’t recognize and began walking.
With every step, it felt as though the baby would fall out of her due to the heaviness and pain. She walked while praying fervently for God to save her.
---
After returning home, Alhaji Fatuhu spoke with Fadila and said, “Fadila, you should go and check on Yaya Sa’a. She’s not well at all—she’s wasted away and seems mentally unstable. I feel so sorry for her; she’s still suffering deeply from that death.”
Fadila replied, “Poor her. It reminds me of when I lost my Muhsin—when she said I lacked patience, as though I was the first woman to give birth. Now she understands what I felt.”
He frowned. “In short, what exactly are you saying?”
She shook her head. “Who am I to say anything? I just remembered it, and it still hurts.”
“Whatever it is, it’s in the past now. I’ll tell Suwaiba. You should prepare to visit her and console her. If possible, she should come and stay here; perhaps our presence will ease her loneliness.”
Softly she said, “Have you forgotten? We ourselves are under notice. Any moment we could be told to vacate this house.”
He fell silent, lost in thought. She added, “Please don’t worry. God helped you recover with difficulty. With what I have, and with Mama Janna’s help, we can buy even a small house. I don’t want to rent again—even a three-room place would do.”
He widened his eyes. “Three rooms? How would that be enough for us? Even your wing has four rooms and two living rooms, and it felt small.”
Fadila said, “Daddy, have you forgotten who your Fadila is? Hardship doesn’t scare me; I’m used to it. Even my family home before I married had just two rooms for my mother and me.”
He said, “Stop recalling the past. Haven’t you become a blessing to us? If I had judged you by trivial things, I wouldn’t have thought you and Suwaiba would stand by me, given our current situation. I’m deeply grateful to you.”
She replied, “Daddy, you deserve far more from us. When you were wealthy, you gave to us and even to those around us; you cared for us. Then God tested us—should we abandon you? God forbid.”
He said, “You are truly dear. When God loves a servant, He tests him in one way and eases him in another. Many abandon their families during hardship. Do you know something?”
“No—tell me, my groom,” she said playfully. He laughed. “Groom?” She raised her brows, smiling. He gently pinched her cheek. “This joy I feel with you—unchanged despite my illness and lack of wealth—brings me immense happiness. This illness has increased my fear of God and my faith; it has drawn me closer to Him. Whenever I move, I remember God, feeling as though my life is nearing its end. Unlike when I had wealth and health—I remembered God, but not this deeply. I feel a blessing approaching us, God willing.”
She said, “That’s how it should be, Daddy. I hope you’ve also changed your view on traditional and religious medicine now.”
He laughed. “I changed long ago. You are truly a woman of Paradise.” They continued chatting happily.
---
During Nana’s three days with Hammad, his condition stabilized, though he barely spoke. Nana did her utmost to avoid anything that might lead to intimacy between them. They slept on the floor; she never lay down until he had fallen asleep, though sometimes he clung to her when pain struck.
As he recovered further, she felt he had changed toward her—there was a new aura about him, especially when he looked at her; it unsettled her. She couldn’t decipher his intentions. She devoted herself intensely to reciting the Qur’an. Since the last time she saw Qaisar, she hadn’t seen him again—neither awake nor in dreams—and she worried about him.
She was deeply unsettled; the day she saw blood, she couldn’t tell whether it was a miscarriage or menstruation. The room had been further furnished with luxury items, bath supplies, and everything Imam Hammad might need.
While he bathed, she filled herself with fruits, as she barely ate the meals Mahmoudu brought. Fear crept in—what if she truly was pregnant? She sank deeply into thought.
She was startled when she didn’t hear him leave the bathroom; suddenly his arms wrapped around her waist. Despite the room’s spaciousness, she usually sensed even the slightest movement—but she hadn’t sensed him at all. Her body trembled; she felt herself losing composure.
He smiled faintly, gesturing to the bed for her to lie down. She stiffened and refused. He tried to pull her hand; she yanked it back and stood firm. He let her be, climbed onto the bed, and lay down.
She stood there scanning the room. After a while, she spread a mat on the floor and lay down. As soon as she did, she began to hear the rustling of unknown beings. The noise echoed in her ears like a battlefield. She saw a figure enter through a door, its gender indiscernible, fully covered. It approached the bed where Sayyid lay, placed a letter there, and moved toward another door.
Determined, Nana followed it, though it moved like the wind. The noise stopped her from continuing. Sayyid hugged her; her body shook as she covered her ears, overwhelmed by the din. She looked at him and asked, “Is there something here?” He paused, then opened the door, took her hand, and led her through a pitch-dark passage—astonishingly within that grand, well-lit room—into a corridor.
They emerged into a vast desert of fine sand, cool and serene, dotted with sparse trees under bright moonlight. She turned and saw a structure like a rocky mountain, firelight flickering through a window-like opening.
Her lips trembling, she said, “Sayyid, I know this place. I dreamt of this desert long before I met you; even in my dreams, I saw you here—with Giyaz. You used to sit by that tree with Habu, drinking tea with others I didn’t recognize. Where is this, and why are things I see in dreams appearing in reality? I still have many unanswered questions about you.”
“Do you now believe what I told you—that our souls are connected, that one cannot live without the other?”
“That’s not what I want to hear. There are still hidden things about you I don’t understand.”
“Everything will unravel slowly. You’ll understand my life, but I mean you no harm. In time, your doubts will be resolved.”
She opened her eyes, his voice still echoing. They were on the bed together; he was facing her, breathing softly against her face. It unsettled her—she knew it had happened in reality, yet it felt like a dream. And since Qaisar wasn’t well, she couldn’t even attribute it to him. Confusion overwhelmed her.
She stared at him, searching his face for the truth she longed for.
“What happened?” his voice struck her ears.
She said nothing, turning away, wrestling with her thoughts. He moved closer, silent, but sensing his intent made her flinch and recoil.
“Nana,” he called her tenderly. She felt uneasy and looked at him fearfully.
“Why?” he asked softly. She said nothing, lowering her head and edging away.
“You are my wife—have you truly stopped loving me?”
She replied, “Even if I love you, it won’t benefit me. Before, I had full freedom as your wife—in a world where it was just you and me. In this world, you’ve distanced me. I know once I’m no longer useful, I’ll be dismissed. Trusting you again would be my gravest mistake.”
He exhaled slowly. “Please give me a chance. You returned because you still love me; if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have come back.” He gently squeezed her hand. “You don’t love me the way I love you. Don’t judge me only by what you see.”
Coldly she said, “Love whoever you want—your beloved wife is there, accepted by your culture. As for me, perhaps I should be enslaved for being dark and ugly.” She stood up.
He stood too. “No, I never said that. I have a fair-skinned wife, yet I pursue you, pleading with you. Please forgive me—we’ve both been lonely. Being with you here brings me deep comfort.”
She stared at him in shock, unsure how to respond.
Trying to provoke him, she said, “Even if you didn’t say it, she enslaved and humiliated me. Your wife disgraced me terribly. Go to your lawful wife, known to your family—I am not a secret wife.”
“So that’s what you say?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied sharply.
He gazed at her; her beauty stirred him deeply. In his heart he thought, Let her do as she wishes—she deserves it. Aloud, he stepped off the bed and headed for the exit.
Confused, she jumped down. “Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer. She followed anxiously. “Sayyid, you’re not fully well—where are you going?”
He locked her inside and left. She rattled the door—locked. She sat down, chilled, worried something might happen to him.
---
After Shukura’s baby was born, she began to lose consciousness due to heavy bleeding. The woman who brought her to the hospital was completely shaken; since meeting her, Shukura hadn’t spoken at all—even through labor. The doctor advised calling security, fearing something serious might have happened to her.
---
Doctor Sharif awoke with partial paralysis after the shock of finding his daughter’s violated corpse. Though he struggled to speak, he tried to ask about his wife’s condition. He was told she was improving—unaware that after he left for the police, she had passed away.
---
Matawalle and the Sultan were talking. The Sultan said with deep sorrow, “I don’t know what I ever did to Tafawa to make him harbor such hatred toward my blood—something I would never do to him.”
Matawalle replied, “You’ve never shared the same temperament. Calm yourself; we’ll proceed gradually. God willing, we’ll find a solution. But how has the Imam been these past two days?”
“He’s improving; there’s progress, but he doesn’t speak at all. I haven’t visited yesterday or today—I don’t want to intrude too much; the girl seems frightened of us. I’m amazed how she managed to bring him back to his senses.”
Matawalle said, “May God grant you success. I fear another problem may arise.”
“What problem?” the Sultan asked.
“That something might happen. You see our struggle—figuring out how to present the matter to the world regarding Imam Hammad in a convincing way. Now we’ve left him alone with her—what if another issue arises?”
The Sultan smiled faintly. “Then we accept destiny and wait for her to give birth again. But I don’t think anything will happen, since he’s not fully well. The healer we brought has traveled briefly; once he fully recovers, they’ll be separated and we’ll decide what to do with her.”
Matawalle said, “Indeed. May God grant him complete health.”
“Amen,” replied the Sultan.
---
Hammad didn’t return until after dawn. When he entered, he didn’t even glance at Nana.
“Good morning,” Nana greeted him, stealing a look—but he ignored her.
The silence hurt her. He went to the mirror to fix his hair. She approached. “Shall I fix it for you?”
He glared, brushed her aside, and continued combing.
A knock sounded. He set the comb down and looked at Nana; she took her hijab and wore it. He opened the door. Mahmoudu entered with food trays. He greeted Hammad, who acknowledged him. Nana greeted him, and he said, “I should be greeting you—our lady of the house. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank God. Where is Nene?” Nana asked.
“She’s well. She sent this for you—she’s persuading me to return to Agadez; I left her at my house but she refused,” he said, pointing to a flask.
Nana said, “Please, when you return, ask her to come see me. If I’m dismissed from here, I’ll go to her—she said she’d accompany me home—” She stopped mid-sentence at Sayyid’s glare.
Mahmoudu dropped the subject and spoke to Hammad in their language. Hammad listened silently. Nana couldn’t understand, but it clearly upset him. He stood, took a pen and paper, and began writing. Nana’s heart sank—she feared it was a divorce letter. He finished, handed it to Mahmoudu, and they left together.
Relieved, she opened the flask from Nene. Smiling at the chicken inside, she said, “Nene wants me to grow fat.”
She didn’t see Hammad again until night. He bathed, changed, and headed out. Nana asked, “Sayyid, will I sleep alone again tonight? You know this room frightens me.”
“What should I stay and do? I might upset you if I remain. I’m going to my wife,” he said coldly.
Her eyes reddened. Only then did he regret his words, remembering her intense jealousy. He felt like apologizing and staying—but forced himself to leave.
Once outside, guilt overwhelmed him. Pity for Nana consumed him; she was bound to feel jealous of Asal and resent him—especially given how Asal dominated and belittled her.
After he left, Nana couldn’t sit or stand. A sharp pain stabbed her chest up to her neck. Though she was used to seeing them together and felt jealous, today’s hurt was far deeper.
Sleep stole over her, filled with nightmares of those beings chasing her. Before dawn, she awoke with a burning fever and headache. After praying, she collapsed where she was, distressed and unwell.
She felt a weight on her—opened her eyes to see Muhsin clinging to her. She sat up, crying, “My Muhsin!” He hugged her; she embraced him, smiling as though she had carried him again. She looked up and saw Hammad nearby, smiling.
Muhsin slipped away, brought dates from the Imam, and fed her. She accepted them, feeling the powerful bond between mother and child.
Sayyid lifted Muhsin and sat him beside himself, feeding him. He looked at Nana and softly said, “Naa,” gesturing for her to come sit and eat. Though Hammad didn’t outwardly acknowledge her presence, the moment filled her with indescribable joy—her husband and her son together. It became clear that a strong bond existed between Muhsin and Hammad; Muhsin showed no fear of him at all.