This time, Ibrahim closed his eyes completely. The voice of the girl who had called herself "Jumah" began to echo relentlessly inside his mind:
“Doctor doesn't have the phone with him... Doctor is not yet at the office...”
Oh Allah! What kind of affliction is this that has befallen me? he thought bitterly. If only I knew, I never would have called you... Perhaps it was a spirit woman who spoke to me and planted this torment in my soul. Let me just keep myself busy with some deep cleaning or go find Sa'eedah. He started with his own bedroom. He stripped and changed the bedsheets, threw all his dirty laundry into a hamper to slide over to the washing machine, wiped down every surface, and sprayed insecticide before locking the room shut. He then turned on the vacuum cleaner, suctioning every speck of dust from the large centerpiece carpet in the middle of the massive living room. Using a duster, he thoroughly cleaned the couches, the plasma TV, and the rest of the electronic appliances scattered around the space. Next, he moved to another unlocked room—a bedroom completely filled to the brim with children's toys, small beds, a children's study table, mattresses, bicycles, a toy motorcycle, teddy bears, and battery-operated dolls. A sudden laugh escaped his lips—a deep, hearty laugh he hadn't experienced in a very long time. It made him love his father even more. Everything in the room was pristine, completely untouched and still sealed in its original boxes and plastic wrapping. The room didn't actually require any cleaning, but he swept it anyway and sprayed it down with Rambo insecticide. The final bedroom was securely locked. He had to try a whole bunch of keys from his ring before he finally found the right one to click the lock open. Standing at the threshold, Ibrahim froze in absolute astonishment. Ibrahim was fully aware that Dr. Mansur had built this house specifically for them from scratch rather than buying an already completed property. In fact, before construction even began, his father had asked Ibrahim to mail him architectural samples of the kind of house layout he preferred. Ibrahim had sent a specific blueprint design from San Francisco, which his father implemented exactly. Because of this, his father had never put tenants in the house. Ibrahim could swear under oath that he was the very first person to ever spend a single night in this building—but this bedroom completely shattered that assumption. It was a spacious, lavish bedroom featuring elegant white Italian furniture. On the bed, a plush blanket lay unmade. On the vanity mirror, an array of women's cosmetics and perfumes, including various deodorant sprays, were meticulously lined up. Off to the side sat several handbags filled with brand-new women's accessories that looked as though they had never been worn. In the bathroom, white brassieres and panties had been neatly washed and hung to dry on the line, left uncollected. Toothbrushes, Macleans toothpaste, and luxury bath body washes were arranged neatly—alongside a package of sanitary pads that had clearly been opened, with a few pieces missing. This was undeniably a lived-in space. Ibrahim was entirely bewildered, gripped by a mixture of fear, shock, and confusion. He was now absolutely certain that he was not sleeping alone in this house, even though he had never once heard the movement of another human being within the walls. There is definitely a female spirit living here with me, he thought wildly. But wow... I absolutely love the scent of this spirit woman's room, if she really is one. He sat down on the edge of the beautiful bed, picked up the blanket, and brought it to his nose. The scent was incredibly cool and subtle—you had to inhale deeply to fully catch it. Slowly, the fear dissolved from his heart. He found himself lying all the way back on the bed, continuously inhaling the comforting fragrance while closely analyzing the contents of the room. Clothes were scattered about, alongside an array of beautiful flat shoes, elegant high heels, and matching designer handbags from Michael Kors, Nordstrom, Replica, Chloé, and Harrods packed inside a large tote bag, looking entirely untouched. He muttered to himself:
“As far as spirits go, this one has incredible taste. She uses the exact same luxury brands as Sapna.”
Completely giving in to the comfort of the space, Ibrahim ended up spending the entire night and the following day tucked away in that bedroom. He only stood up to perform his prayers or to guzzle down the juices and milk that packed the refrigerator next to the bed. When the drinks finally began to run out, he headed to the kitchen store with the intention of restocking. Since arriving at the property, he hadn't once stepped foot inside the main kitchen. He usually came home completely full, utilizing the house only for sleep while relying on the water, juice, and milk stored in his personal bedroom. Stepping into the kitchen, the signs of his house's "spirit occupant" left him even more stunned. The pots and pans were washed to a spotless shine and flipped upside down, everything perfectly organized. However, a sack of potatoes had completely rotted out, crawling with maggots and emitting a foul odor as it began to dry itself out. When he swung the refrigerator door open, he instinctively recoiled in fear, gasping, "Subhanallahi...!" Packed inside were fish, meat, blended pepper mixes, and whole chickens—all frozen solid into blocks that resembled literal chunks of rock. Panicking, he rushed out of the kitchen, threw open the locked doors, grabbed his car keys, and sped directly toward the hospital. He was running to tell Daddy that he absolutely refused to live in a house shared with hidden entities. If his father wouldn't allow him to live near his mother, then he would simply board the next flight back to where he came from.
The Confrontation at the Hospital
At that exact moment, Dr. Mansur was in the hospital seminar room surrounded by the entire medical staff under his department. They were holding an incredibly critical emergency meeting regarding the newly arrived epidemic in Nigeria: Ebola. Ibrahim burst through the doors of the conference room without offering a single greeting or knocking. He was visibly terrified, crying out frantically: "Daddy! Daddy...!" Over thirty doctors instantly shifted their entire attention and gaze toward him. Paying them absolutely no mind, Ibrahim rushed straight to his father, wrapping his arms tightly around him while trembling violently. "By Allah, I am never returning to that house! If you aren't going to give me my family, then I am going straight back to Chicago! I am extremely perplexed...!" Dr. Mansur firmly grabbed his hand, pressing Ibrahim against his chest to steady him. He politely excused himself from the medical board and walked out into the corridor, gently leading his son by the arm while speaking in a deeply soothing, paternal tone. "Calm down. Tell me exactly what happened, Ibrahim. Take a breath." He held him in a tight embrace to give him a sense of security, feeling his son's rapid, erratic breathing against his chest. Once Ibrahim finally calmed down, he pleaded, "Just come with me, Daddy. You need to see it with your own eyes." Daddy replied, "That's impossible right now. Can't you see we are in the middle of an essential meeting?" "Fine. Then I will wait for you in your private office until you finish." "Alright." It took forty long minutes before Dr. Mansur finally returned. The doctor took the driver's seat himself, and they navigated back toward the Farm Center residence. Ibrahim kept his mouth firmly shut the entire drive. When they arrived, Daddy unlocked the front door himself because Ibrahim was visibly hesitating and keeping his distance. Ibrahim grabbed his father's hand, pulling him directly toward the locked bedroom to show him. "Look! Just look...! There is a spirit inside this house!" He pointed frantically at the vanity mirror, then dragged him into the bathroom, pointing out the open sanitary pads, the half-used bar of soap, and the squeezed tube of Macleans toothpaste. He showed him the designer handbags, the shoes, and the hanging brassieres, before pulling him into the kitchen to point out the rock-solid frozen food. He was completely unhinged by the discovery, exactly as he had said: He was utterly perplexed. It was only then that the pieces began to click in Daddy's mind. He finally understood what Ibrahim was trying to show him. A massive wave of laughter welled up inside the doctor's stomach, and he exerted every ounce of control to swallow it down and keep a straight face. Ibrahim pressed on, "I asked you once before who 'Jumah' was, and you showed me an old woman. But I swear to you, I distinctly spoke to a young girl who called herself Juma. I know it's an old woman's name, but by Allah, Daddy, I spoke to a fresh, young girl! I genuinely believe a spirit woman wants to marry me. I cannot live in this house anymore... not until the day Allah blesses me with a real family..." The sheer vulnerability and distress in his son's voice broke Dr. Mansur's heart. Moved by a profound wave of emotion, he pulled Ibrahim close, cradling him against his shoulder. "Who exactly is this Juma girl?" "The nurse at your office." "Did she explicitly tell you she works in my office? When did this happen?" Ibrahim explained, "I called your personal phone and she answered it. After that, we spoke again. She even asked me, for Allah's sake, if I was truly Ibrahim! Before I could answer her, her phone battery died. And I swear, Daddy, it was on your specific phone line." At that moment, the entire picture became crystal clear to the doctor. He remembered the specific day he had accidentally left his phone behind at the residence. He realized that Rayhanah was the one who had answered Ibrahim's call, using the name of her grandmother, Juma, as a cover. He also recalled seeing Ibrahim's missed calls later but hadn't thought much of it at the time. Daddy turned to Ibrahim and said, "Give me one minute..." He stepped into Rayhanah's bathroom, closed the door, and laughed until his stomach ached before finally composing himself and walking back out. Ibrahim stood there, pouting and visibly bloated with frustration, realizing his father was treating his existential terror like a giant joke. Seeing the genuine distress on his son's face, Dr. Mansur quickly wiped the amusement from his expression and became deadly serious. "Calm your heart, Ibrahim... There is no spirit woman named Juma. RAYHANAH IS YOUR WIFE!!!"
The Ultimatum
Ibrahim instantly snapped his pale eyes upward, staring blankly at his father. There was not a single trace of humor left on Dr. Mansur's face. The doctor continued firmly:
“Though, to be fair, she was your wife in the past. I made up my mind a long time ago to dissolve this marriage completely, seeing as you completely rejected my choice and reduced my dignity to absolutely nothing in the eyes of Rayhanah and her grandmother, Juma.”
This time, absolute terror gripped Ibrahim as he looked at his father. "Her grandmother is the one named Juma?" Daddy nodded slowly. "And this specific bedroom is where she lived for a full year, patiently waiting for you to honor your marriage." Ibrahim stared intently at his father, his voice shaking. "Why on earth have you decided to dissolve the marriage, Daddy? Not once did a single word leave my mouth saying I didn't want her." "Are you trying to humiliate me now?" Daddy countered sharply. "We spoke clearly face-to-face. You explicitly gave me your consent to marry you to whomever my heart approved of, stating you had no personal preference for your first marriage. That wedding was conducted with immense honor, respect, and in defiance of many disgruntled relatives. Yaya Abdulkadir and I personally brought that young girl to your home with the utmost dignity and reverence. From that exact day, Ibrahim, you completely stopped looking for me. Whenever I tried to reach out to you, your phone lines were completely disconnected. That poor girl endured the isolation patiently until her grandmother couldn't take it anymore and demanded a divorce. Yet, Rayhanah chose to sever ties with her own grandmother permanently, choosing instead to stay right here and wait for your return for the rest of her natural life—even if she were destined to never look upon your face for as long as she lived. She didn't do it for your sake. She doesn't know you, and she doesn't love you. She did it out of sheer, unadulterated respect for my honor! To make matters worse, Khalipha was originally supposed to marry her before your mother completely dismantled the arrangement. I am a father who believed with absolute certainty that I had a son I could rely on—a son who would wipe away my tears whenever I faced distress. I gifted you Rayhanah's hand in marriage because I preferred you for her above all else, knowing your identical temperaments and personalities meant you would live together in perfect harmony. Tell me, Ibrahim, what did I gain from granting you this immense favor? Nothing but absolute shame and embarrassment! I have spent months trying to figure out how to ease her loneliness, even though she never complained—only her grandmother did. So, what is the point of forcing it any longer? Rayhanah is not short of suitors. The only reason she isn't married to someone else is because I locked her down. You couldn't even manage to visit just once, or even ask me about your wife's well-being. Were you waiting for me to market her to you? To display her on a silver platter and beg you to take her? You have severely underestimated me, and your mother has underestimated me. Take this...!" Dr. Mansur reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a document along with a pen clipped to his suit, and thrust them directly into Ibrahim's hands.
“Sever Rayhanah's marriage bonds right now. Write her a single divorce declaration so the poor girl can finally have her peace.”
Ibrahim's eyes instantly welled up with thick tears. "Daddy, please don't do this to us... don't do this... at least hear my side of the story first..." "I will only listen to you after you have written Rayhanah at least one declaration of divorce. What valid excuse could you possibly have? As far as I'm concerned, I am leaving. Don't you dare step foot in my house unless you are delivering Rayha's divorce papers. I will not have an irresponsible bachelor lounging around my home; my daughters are grown young women now. That is final! May Allah grant us what is best." He turned on his heel and marched out, tossing one last bitter remark over his shoulder: "If it really is a spirit woman that wants to marry you, go right ahead and marry her! You clearly suit each other anyway, considering you are an aging bachelor. You are well over thirty years old and nobody can even call you a young suitor anymore—unlike Khalipha, whose beautiful family is an absolute pride to look at."
The Awakening of Ibrahim
Ibrahim tossed and turned on the medium-sized bed, tightly wrapped inside Rayhanah’s cotton wrapper. Only now did he recognize the exact fragrance lingering in the room: it wasn't just any perfume, it was Makhmariyyah wa Lamsa Nectar, a custom luxury blend mixed at a specific boutique in Jeddah. Sapna had actually introduced him to it one day; while holding her close, he had asked her what kind of incredibly soothing, calming perfume she had applied to her clothes. Why on earth does Rayhanah use the exact same things as Sapna? Is it a pure coincidence or what? he wondered. Does she inherently know the specific things that draw him to Sapna, including these subtle sensory details? Sapna's sense of style was effortlessly elegant and composed—never loud or overwhelming. She was a true designer baby. But more importantly, who exactly is Rayhanah? He knew the name carried a heavy weight in his memory, but he had completely forgotten where he first encountered it. Even if Daddy decided to disown him, he knew with absolute certainty that he would never write that divorce paper. It wasn't just because he had realized she was the captivating "Jumah" whose voice had thoroughly ensnared his soul over the phone. It was because of her profound declaration: that she would willingly preserve his marriage vows and wait for him forever out of pure reverence for his father, even if she never saw his face. To Ibrahim, anyone who held his father in such high esteem deserved nothing less than absolute love and protection. He resolved to teach his own heart to be honorable. He would love her and stand by her side forever for his father's sake, even if her physical appearance turned out not to be his typical preference. If it came down to it in the future, he could always marry Sapna as a second wife if Rayhanah lacked the emotional depth to fully satisfy his desires in marriage. Ibrahim carried an immense emotional capacity reserved for whichever woman ventured to become his wife. At thirty-three years old, he had never intimately known a woman. He had consciously preserved his purity, saving himself entirely for his wedded wife, whom he prayed would become the absolute foundation of his future family. He was entirely willing to grant this grand, elevated status to Rayhanah—a girl he didn't even know—simply because she was his father's chosen choice. He found himself praying aloud that Rayhanah wouldn't turn out to be one of those delicate, overly high-maintenance women like his brother Khalipha's demanding wife. He deeply desired a dark-skinned woman—a sister who was fully, authentically Nigerian. He wanted none of the artificial allure of hair extensions or chemically bleached skin. Suddenly, he burst into a quiet laugh at his own expense, despite the immense tension his father had placed on him regarding the divorce papers. The amusement stemmed from a sobering question posed by his own conscience:
“Are you seriously assuming the soup is automatically sweet just because you saw the master butcher? You haven't even laid eyes on the woman yet—you don't know if she is beautiful or plain, you haven't seen the shape of her lips—yet your mind is already busy fantasizing about how she will perform in your bed? Man! Marital intimacy is not the only thing to romanticize in a marriage. There are other profoundly vital elements that carry their own immense weight. Emotional bonding, a deep heart-to-heart closeness, genuine love, mutual mercy, compassion between spouses, mutual understanding, attentiveness to each other's joys and sorrows, planning the moral upbringing of children, and the depth of her devotion to her religion and worship. If a woman completely fulfills your desires in bed but utterly lacks these profound qualities, she is fundamentally not enough, and by Allah, the marriage will never survive.”
Human beings are inherently flawed, and it is incredibly rare to find a single individual who possesses every single one of these virtues. In Ibrahim's philosophy, if a marriage faced such deficiencies, divorce was never the solution. You simply married a second wife who possessed the virtues the first one lacked, balancing them out so that life, understanding, and love could endure. These deep analytical thoughts consumed Ibrahim's mind until a heavy, peaceful sleep finally claimed him, sending him into vivid dreams of what Rayhanah would look like in reality.
Reconciliation & The Journey to Singapore
At dawn, after performing his prayers at the local mosque near the residence around six in the morning, Ibrahim sat down and carefully drafted a long, heartfelt text message to his father, pleading for forgiveness and understanding. He wrote:
"My marriage to Rayhanah stands firm until the very day the trumpet sounds. Please have patience with me and forgive me. I cannot even bring myself to simulate the divorce you commanded. Grant me Rayhanah... There were severe circumstances that prevented me from answering your calls, and I was equally unable to reach you. I had disconnected my phone lines entirely due to a prolonged, severe illness I suffered while in San Francisco. I explicitly told Mami about it, and she can verify it. Daddy, I’m so sorry... Love you Dad!"
Dr. Mansur was just stepping out of the hospital mosque after his overnight shift when his phone buzzed, alerting him to the incoming text. He pulled it out and read the message, a profound softness washing through his body. However, he deliberately chose not to reply. He got into his car and drove straight to the Farm Center residence. Pulling into the driveway, he spotted Ibrahim’s car parked outside. His heart softened even more when he walked into the living room and found his son sitting slumped on a sofa, his fingers buried deep in his hair, his head bowed. He was still wearing his pajamas. Ibrahim was so deeply lost in thought that he hadn't even heard his father walk in or offer a greeting. His entire mind was consumed by the image of Rayhanah, who had firmly taken root in the core of his heart. Dr. Mansur walked over, placed his hands on his son's shoulders, and pulled him to his feet, wrapping him in a warm, tight embrace. "Go and fetch your passport so we can get your visa sorted out to join Rayhanah. But I swear to you by Allah, Ibrahim, hold Rayhanah as a sacred trust for me. She is a trust placed by Allah in my hands. If it turns out you truly cannot love her, return my daughter to me safely. Do not dare humiliate or mistreat her the way your mother mistreated her...!" Ibrahim quickly raised his hand, gently pressing it over his father's lips to prevent him from digging up the painful, bitter memories planted by Mami in the past. "The past is the past, Daddy... let's focus entirely on the present!" Dr. Mansur nodded slowly, a deep smile breaking across his face; he finally trusted his son's heart. Ibrahim, his speech slightly heavy with his distinct accent, asked softly, "Where exactly is Rayhanah right now?" Daddy smiled, "Informatics – Singapore." Ibrahim's eyes went wide with shock, a sight that thoroughly amused Dr. Mansur. "With whom, Daddy? While legally married to me?" Daddy chuckled, "With your girlfriend, Juma, whom you've been romancing over the phone." "I wish the earth would open up and swallow me whole!" Ibrahim groaned, instantly burying his face in his palms out of pure, unadulterated embarrassment. Dr. Mansur simply laughed heartily and walked past him into the inner rooms. Whenever Ibrahim was around his father, he instinctively reverted back to behaving like an innocent, dependent child—and Daddy absolutely adored it. To this very day, whenever Dr. Mansur looked at Ibrahim and Khalipha, his mind still saw the little boys walking hand-in-hand to Al-Muntada and Al-Falah Islamic children's schools in the United Kingdom. He could still picture the days when he would hold one boy's hand while Asma’u held the other to safely cross the busy streets and guide them into their classrooms. Because of this, they remained his precious boys. He never entirely relinquished the reins of their lives except to guide them along the straightest path—not out of a desire to control them, but through a perfectly balanced approach of deep affection and necessary discipline.
The Unseen Convergence in Singapore
Aboard the Turkish Airlines flight, Ibrahim Mansur Takai was completely consumed by an endless storm of thoughts. He couldn't even bring himself to take a single sip of the iced juice served in the delicate glass in his hand. Who is this Rayhanah? What does she look like? What kind of reception will she give me? More importantly, how should I behave when I face her? Will I be able to love her? Can I truly accept her as my wife? Can I genuinely bind my destiny forever to a girl I don't know, have never seen, and have never shared a single interaction with to know her face or character? These intense questions battered Ibrahim's brain relentlessly. Meanwhile, sitting right next to him in the first-class cabin, his father, Dr. Mansur Takai, looked completely unfazed. The doctor calmly sipped his juice, flipped through the pages of the Daily Tribune newspaper, and occasionally signaled the flight attendants to bring him whatever he needed. From time to time, Dr. Mansur would steal a glance at Ibrahim from the corner of his eye. He was acutely aware of the existential crisis plaguing his son's mind, but he deliberately chose to say absolutely nothing, pretending to be completely oblivious to his state of distress. When the cabin announcement ordered passengers to fasten their seatbelts as the aircraft prepared for its descent into Changi Airport, Ibrahim didn't even hear it. He only snapped out of it when he felt his father gently reaching over to click his seatbelt into place after fastening his own. It was only then that Ibrahim realized just how profoundly lost in thought he had been. He looked at his father, his father looked back at him, and they shared a quiet, knowing smile. After clearing customs, the shuttle from the hotel his father had booked prior to their departure—Mandarin Orchard Singapore—was already waiting for them. The vehicle swept them and their light luggage away, heading straight toward the luxury hotel. All through the drive from the airport, Daddy repeatedly dialed Rayhanah’s phone number, but the automated operator continuously informed him that the line was switched off. At that exact moment, Rayhanah was locked inside a lecture hall undergoing a mock examination, as their final year-end examinations were rapidly approaching. Her accelerated program was strictly a two-year course, given that she had already arrived with an advanced diploma. At exactly six o'clock in the evening, she finally walked out of the institute grounds and began her commute home. She made a quick stop to buy some roasted KFC for Inna, while purchasing some Wanton Mee (wonton noodles), Chili Crab, and Fried Hokkien Mee for herself—all famous dishes featured on the definitive list of classic Singaporean staples. She had explicitly instructed Inna not to cook anything today, promising to bring home takeout since she had woken up feeling slightly under the weather. Her primary focus was to get home quickly so she could take Inna to a local clinic for a medical checkup. As she neared her neighborhood, an unexplainable, heavy sense of apprehension suddenly gripped her chest. The feeling became so intense that she had to pause on a small incline, sitting down momentarily to rest and placing her shopping bags on the ground. From her vantage point, she could see the front gate of their residence—and parked right outside was a pristine, stark-white luxury shuttle bearing the prominent logo of the Mandarin Orchard Hotel. Knowing that this was the exact hotel her father always patronized whenever he visited the country, her intuition instantly shouted that Daddy had arrived. But what on earth was the meaning of this sudden, violent pounding in her chest? She instinctively reached out to switch on her mobile phone, only to remember that she had left it charging back inside the house. Gathering her resolve, she stood up and dusted herself off, thinking: Let me just get to the house. It's true we haven't spoken in days, to the point where Inna keeps asking me why Baba Likita hasn't called and if everything is alright. I kept reassuring her that everything was perfectly fine and reminding her that her son is a highly sought-after, busy medical director. Inna had grumbled back, "I don't care if he is busy or a businessman, just get him on the phone for me!" Rayhanah had laughed, teasing her, "Inna, I genuinely do not have the luxury to keep my phone switched on right now with these grueling tests shoved in my face. I have tried over and over again to teach you how to operate the phone yourself so you don't have to keep pestering me to dial this person or that person, but you simply refuse to learn. Maybe now you'll find the motivation to learn!" Inna had playfully swiped at her, and Rayhanah had bolted out the door laughing. That was how they had parted ways that morning. She picked up her pace, walking steadily along the sidewalk. She was incredibly hungry, and the heavy plastic bags and her purse felt like an immense burden against her arms—especially the boxed KFC containing two whole chickens. She forced herself to keep moving forward, even as the heavy drumming inside her chest grew increasingly intense. She wasn't wearing an ounce of makeup or any elaborate clothing, yet the moment anyone laid eyes on her, they would instantly perceive...
2. Character Alignment & Narrative Progressions
1. Ibrahim’s Internal Evolution
This chapter marks a massive turning point in Ibrahim's character. Initially driven by a logical, Westernized mindset, he is entirely unhinged by the domestic traces of a woman in his home, interpreting it through the lens of local folklore (Aljanu). However, his shift from refusing the marriage to fiercely defending it—vowing never to sign the divorce papers—shows a deep alignment with the core values of respect and parental honor. His internal monologue regarding the true qualities of a wife reveals a deeply analytical, mature character who values emotional and spiritual compatibility over mere physical attraction.
2. The Multi-Layered Dynamics of Dr. Mansur
Dr. Mansur’s character shines brightly as both a commanding professional and a deeply affectionate, traditional father.
The Strategist: He uses a brilliant reverse-psychology tactic, weaponizing Ibrahim’s guilt and threatening a forced divorce to make Ibrahim realize how profoundly he actually values Rayhanah.
The Protector: His emotional breakdown when recalling how his wife (Mami) mistreated Rayhanah highlights his role as Rayhanah's ultimate shield, elevating her status from an impoverished orphan to his most cherished child.
3. Structural Breakdown: Ibrahim’s Ideal vs. Reality
The author uses Ibrahim’s internal reflections to set up a powerful thematic contrast for the impending meeting in Singapore:
INGARMAN NAMIJI BOOK 2 BY AUTAR ALHERI
The Mystical Discovery at Farm Center
This time, Ibrahim closed his eyes completely. The voice of the girl who had called herself "Jumah" began to echo relentlessly inside his mind:
Oh Allah! What kind of affliction is this that has befallen me? he thought bitterly. If only I knew, I never would have called you... Perhaps it was a spirit woman who spoke to me and planted this torment in my soul. Let me just keep myself busy with some deep cleaning or go find Sa'eedah.
He started with his own bedroom. He stripped and changed the bedsheets, threw all his dirty laundry into a hamper to slide over to the washing machine, wiped down every surface, and sprayed insecticide before locking the room shut. He then turned on the vacuum cleaner, suctioning every speck of dust from the large centerpiece carpet in the middle of the massive living room.
Using a duster, he thoroughly cleaned the couches, the plasma TV, and the rest of the electronic appliances scattered around the space. Next, he moved to another unlocked room—a bedroom completely filled to the brim with children's toys, small beds, a children's study table, mattresses, bicycles, a toy motorcycle, teddy bears, and battery-operated dolls.
A sudden laugh escaped his lips—a deep, hearty laugh he hadn't experienced in a very long time. It made him love his father even more. Everything in the room was pristine, completely untouched and still sealed in its original boxes and plastic wrapping. The room didn't actually require any cleaning, but he swept it anyway and sprayed it down with Rambo insecticide.
The final bedroom was securely locked. He had to try a whole bunch of keys from his ring before he finally found the right one to click the lock open. Standing at the threshold, Ibrahim froze in absolute astonishment.
Ibrahim was fully aware that Dr. Mansur had built this house specifically for them from scratch rather than buying an already completed property. In fact, before construction even began, his father had asked Ibrahim to mail him architectural samples of the kind of house layout he preferred.
Ibrahim had sent a specific blueprint design from San Francisco, which his father implemented exactly. Because of this, his father had never put tenants in the house. Ibrahim could swear under oath that he was the very first person to ever spend a single night in this building—but this bedroom completely shattered that assumption.
It was a spacious, lavish bedroom featuring elegant white Italian furniture. On the bed, a plush blanket lay unmade. On the vanity mirror, an array of women's cosmetics and perfumes, including various deodorant sprays, were meticulously lined up. Off to the side sat several handbags filled with brand-new women's accessories that looked as though they had never been worn.
In the bathroom, white brassieres and panties had been neatly washed and hung to dry on the line, left uncollected. Toothbrushes, Macleans toothpaste, and luxury bath body washes were arranged neatly—alongside a package of sanitary pads that had clearly been opened, with a few pieces missing. This was undeniably a lived-in space.
Ibrahim was entirely bewildered, gripped by a mixture of fear, shock, and confusion. He was now absolutely certain that he was not sleeping alone in this house, even though he had never once heard the movement of another human being within the walls. There is definitely a female spirit living here with me, he thought wildly. But wow... I absolutely love the scent of this spirit woman's room, if she really is one.
He sat down on the edge of the beautiful bed, picked up the blanket, and brought it to his nose. The scent was incredibly cool and subtle—you had to inhale deeply to fully catch it. Slowly, the fear dissolved from his heart. He found himself lying all the way back on the bed, continuously inhaling the comforting fragrance while closely analyzing the contents of the room.
Clothes were scattered about, alongside an array of beautiful flat shoes, elegant high heels, and matching designer handbags from Michael Kors, Nordstrom, Replica, Chloé, and Harrods packed inside a large tote bag, looking entirely untouched. He muttered to himself:
Completely giving in to the comfort of the space, Ibrahim ended up spending the entire night and the following day tucked away in that bedroom. He only stood up to perform his prayers or to guzzle down the juices and milk that packed the refrigerator next to the bed. When the drinks finally began to run out, he headed to the kitchen store with the intention of restocking.
Since arriving at the property, he hadn't once stepped foot inside the main kitchen. He usually came home completely full, utilizing the house only for sleep while relying on the water, juice, and milk stored in his personal bedroom. Stepping into the kitchen, the signs of his house's "spirit occupant" left him even more stunned.
The pots and pans were washed to a spotless shine and flipped upside down, everything perfectly organized. However, a sack of potatoes had completely rotted out, crawling with maggots and emitting a foul odor as it began to dry itself out.
When he swung the refrigerator door open, he instinctively recoiled in fear, gasping, "Subhanallahi...!" Packed inside were fish, meat, blended pepper mixes, and whole chickens—all frozen solid into blocks that resembled literal chunks of rock.
Panicking, he rushed out of the kitchen, threw open the locked doors, grabbed his car keys, and sped directly toward the hospital. He was running to tell Daddy that he absolutely refused to live in a house shared with hidden entities. If his father wouldn't allow him to live near his mother, then he would simply board the next flight back to where he came from.
The Confrontation at the Hospital
At that exact moment, Dr. Mansur was in the hospital seminar room surrounded by the entire medical staff under his department. They were holding an incredibly critical emergency meeting regarding the newly arrived epidemic in Nigeria: Ebola.
Ibrahim burst through the doors of the conference room without offering a single greeting or knocking. He was visibly terrified, crying out frantically:
"Daddy! Daddy...!"
Over thirty doctors instantly shifted their entire attention and gaze toward him. Paying them absolutely no mind, Ibrahim rushed straight to his father, wrapping his arms tightly around him while trembling violently.
"By Allah, I am never returning to that house! If you aren't going to give me my family, then I am going straight back to Chicago! I am extremely perplexed...!"
Dr. Mansur firmly grabbed his hand, pressing Ibrahim against his chest to steady him. He politely excused himself from the medical board and walked out into the corridor, gently leading his son by the arm while speaking in a deeply soothing, paternal tone.
"Calm down. Tell me exactly what happened, Ibrahim. Take a breath."
He held him in a tight embrace to give him a sense of security, feeling his son's rapid, erratic breathing against his chest. Once Ibrahim finally calmed down, he pleaded, "Just come with me, Daddy. You need to see it with your own eyes."
Daddy replied, "That's impossible right now. Can't you see we are in the middle of an essential meeting?"
"Fine. Then I will wait for you in your private office until you finish."
"Alright."
It took forty long minutes before Dr. Mansur finally returned. The doctor took the driver's seat himself, and they navigated back toward the Farm Center residence. Ibrahim kept his mouth firmly shut the entire drive. When they arrived, Daddy unlocked the front door himself because Ibrahim was visibly hesitating and keeping his distance.
Ibrahim grabbed his father's hand, pulling him directly toward the locked bedroom to show him.
"Look! Just look...! There is a spirit inside this house!"
He pointed frantically at the vanity mirror, then dragged him into the bathroom, pointing out the open sanitary pads, the half-used bar of soap, and the squeezed tube of Macleans toothpaste. He showed him the designer handbags, the shoes, and the hanging brassieres, before pulling him into the kitchen to point out the rock-solid frozen food. He was completely unhinged by the discovery, exactly as he had said: He was utterly perplexed.
It was only then that the pieces began to click in Daddy's mind. He finally understood what Ibrahim was trying to show him. A massive wave of laughter welled up inside the doctor's stomach, and he exerted every ounce of control to swallow it down and keep a straight face.
Ibrahim pressed on, "I asked you once before who 'Jumah' was, and you showed me an old woman. But I swear to you, I distinctly spoke to a young girl who called herself Juma. I know it's an old woman's name, but by Allah, Daddy, I spoke to a fresh, young girl! I genuinely believe a spirit woman wants to marry me. I cannot live in this house anymore... not until the day Allah blesses me with a real family..."
The sheer vulnerability and distress in his son's voice broke Dr. Mansur's heart. Moved by a profound wave of emotion, he pulled Ibrahim close, cradling him against his shoulder.
"Who exactly is this Juma girl?"
"The nurse at your office."
"Did she explicitly tell you she works in my office? When did this happen?"
Ibrahim explained, "I called your personal phone and she answered it. After that, we spoke again. She even asked me, for Allah's sake, if I was truly Ibrahim! Before I could answer her, her phone battery died. And I swear, Daddy, it was on your specific phone line."
At that moment, the entire picture became crystal clear to the doctor. He remembered the specific day he had accidentally left his phone behind at the residence. He realized that Rayhanah was the one who had answered Ibrahim's call, using the name of her grandmother, Juma, as a cover. He also recalled seeing Ibrahim's missed calls later but hadn't thought much of it at the time.
Daddy turned to Ibrahim and said, "Give me one minute..."
He stepped into Rayhanah's bathroom, closed the door, and laughed until his stomach ached before finally composing himself and walking back out. Ibrahim stood there, pouting and visibly bloated with frustration, realizing his father was treating his existential terror like a giant joke. Seeing the genuine distress on his son's face, Dr. Mansur quickly wiped the amusement from his expression and became deadly serious.
"Calm your heart, Ibrahim... There is no spirit woman named Juma. RAYHANAH IS YOUR WIFE!!!"
The Ultimatum
Ibrahim instantly snapped his pale eyes upward, staring blankly at his father. There was not a single trace of humor left on Dr. Mansur's face. The doctor continued firmly:
This time, absolute terror gripped Ibrahim as he looked at his father. "Her grandmother is the one named Juma?"
Daddy nodded slowly. "And this specific bedroom is where she lived for a full year, patiently waiting for you to honor your marriage."
Ibrahim stared intently at his father, his voice shaking. "Why on earth have you decided to dissolve the marriage, Daddy? Not once did a single word leave my mouth saying I didn't want her."
"Are you trying to humiliate me now?" Daddy countered sharply. "We spoke clearly face-to-face. You explicitly gave me your consent to marry you to whomever my heart approved of, stating you had no personal preference for your first marriage. That wedding was conducted with immense honor, respect, and in defiance of many disgruntled relatives. Yaya Abdulkadir and I personally brought that young girl to your home with the utmost dignity and reverence.
From that exact day, Ibrahim, you completely stopped looking for me. Whenever I tried to reach out to you, your phone lines were completely disconnected. That poor girl endured the isolation patiently until her grandmother couldn't take it anymore and demanded a divorce.
Yet, Rayhanah chose to sever ties with her own grandmother permanently, choosing instead to stay right here and wait for your return for the rest of her natural life—even if she were destined to never look upon your face for as long as she lived.
She didn't do it for your sake. She doesn't know you, and she doesn't love you. She did it out of sheer, unadulterated respect for my honor! To make matters worse, Khalipha was originally supposed to marry her before your mother completely dismantled the arrangement.
I am a father who believed with absolute certainty that I had a son I could rely on—a son who would wipe away my tears whenever I faced distress. I gifted you Rayhanah's hand in marriage because I preferred you for her above all else, knowing your identical temperaments and personalities meant you would live together in perfect harmony.
Tell me, Ibrahim, what did I gain from granting you this immense favor? Nothing but absolute shame and embarrassment! I have spent months trying to figure out how to ease her loneliness, even though she never complained—only her grandmother did. So, what is the point of forcing it any longer?
Rayhanah is not short of suitors. The only reason she isn't married to someone else is because I locked her down. You couldn't even manage to visit just once, or even ask me about your wife's well-being. Were you waiting for me to market her to you? To display her on a silver platter and beg you to take her?
You have severely underestimated me, and your mother has underestimated me. Take this...!"
Dr. Mansur reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a document along with a pen clipped to his suit, and thrust them directly into Ibrahim's hands.
Ibrahim's eyes instantly welled up with thick tears. "Daddy, please don't do this to us... don't do this... at least hear my side of the story first..."
"I will only listen to you after you have written Rayhanah at least one declaration of divorce. What valid excuse could you possibly have? As far as I'm concerned, I am leaving. Don't you dare step foot in my house unless you are delivering Rayha's divorce papers. I will not have an irresponsible bachelor lounging around my home; my daughters are grown young women now. That is final! May Allah grant us what is best."
He turned on his heel and marched out, tossing one last bitter remark over his shoulder:
"If it really is a spirit woman that wants to marry you, go right ahead and marry her! You clearly suit each other anyway, considering you are an aging bachelor. You are well over thirty years old and nobody can even call you a young suitor anymore—unlike Khalipha, whose beautiful family is an absolute pride to look at."
The Awakening of Ibrahim
Ibrahim tossed and turned on the medium-sized bed, tightly wrapped inside Rayhanah’s cotton wrapper. Only now did he recognize the exact fragrance lingering in the room: it wasn't just any perfume, it was Makhmariyyah wa Lamsa Nectar, a custom luxury blend mixed at a specific boutique in Jeddah.
Sapna had actually introduced him to it one day; while holding her close, he had asked her what kind of incredibly soothing, calming perfume she had applied to her clothes.
Why on earth does Rayhanah use the exact same things as Sapna? Is it a pure coincidence or what? he wondered. Does she inherently know the specific things that draw him to Sapna, including these subtle sensory details? Sapna's sense of style was effortlessly elegant and composed—never loud or overwhelming. She was a true designer baby.
But more importantly, who exactly is Rayhanah? He knew the name carried a heavy weight in his memory, but he had completely forgotten where he first encountered it. Even if Daddy decided to disown him, he knew with absolute certainty that he would never write that divorce paper.
It wasn't just because he had realized she was the captivating "Jumah" whose voice had thoroughly ensnared his soul over the phone. It was because of her profound declaration: that she would willingly preserve his marriage vows and wait for him forever out of pure reverence for his father, even if she never saw his face. To Ibrahim, anyone who held his father in such high esteem deserved nothing less than absolute love and protection.
He resolved to teach his own heart to be honorable. He would love her and stand by her side forever for his father's sake, even if her physical appearance turned out not to be his typical preference. If it came down to it in the future, he could always marry Sapna as a second wife if Rayhanah lacked the emotional depth to fully satisfy his desires in marriage.
Ibrahim carried an immense emotional capacity reserved for whichever woman ventured to become his wife. At thirty-three years old, he had never intimately known a woman. He had consciously preserved his purity, saving himself entirely for his wedded wife, whom he prayed would become the absolute foundation of his future family.
He was entirely willing to grant this grand, elevated status to Rayhanah—a girl he didn't even know—simply because she was his father's chosen choice. He found himself praying aloud that Rayhanah wouldn't turn out to be one of those delicate, overly high-maintenance women like his brother Khalipha's demanding wife.
He deeply desired a dark-skinned woman—a sister who was fully, authentically Nigerian. He wanted none of the artificial allure of hair extensions or chemically bleached skin. Suddenly, he burst into a quiet laugh at his own expense, despite the immense tension his father had placed on him regarding the divorce papers. The amusement stemmed from a sobering question posed by his own conscience:
Human beings are inherently flawed, and it is incredibly rare to find a single individual who possesses every single one of these virtues. In Ibrahim's philosophy, if a marriage faced such deficiencies, divorce was never the solution. You simply married a second wife who possessed the virtues the first one lacked, balancing them out so that life, understanding, and love could endure.
These deep analytical thoughts consumed Ibrahim's mind until a heavy, peaceful sleep finally claimed him, sending him into vivid dreams of what Rayhanah would look like in reality.
Reconciliation & The Journey to Singapore
At dawn, after performing his prayers at the local mosque near the residence around six in the morning, Ibrahim sat down and carefully drafted a long, heartfelt text message to his father, pleading for forgiveness and understanding. He wrote:
Dr. Mansur was just stepping out of the hospital mosque after his overnight shift when his phone buzzed, alerting him to the incoming text. He pulled it out and read the message, a profound softness washing through his body. However, he deliberately chose not to reply.
He got into his car and drove straight to the Farm Center residence. Pulling into the driveway, he spotted Ibrahim’s car parked outside. His heart softened even more when he walked into the living room and found his son sitting slumped on a sofa, his fingers buried deep in his hair, his head bowed. He was still wearing his pajamas.
Ibrahim was so deeply lost in thought that he hadn't even heard his father walk in or offer a greeting. His entire mind was consumed by the image of Rayhanah, who had firmly taken root in the core of his heart.
Dr. Mansur walked over, placed his hands on his son's shoulders, and pulled him to his feet, wrapping him in a warm, tight embrace.
"Go and fetch your passport so we can get your visa sorted out to join Rayhanah. But I swear to you by Allah, Ibrahim, hold Rayhanah as a sacred trust for me. She is a trust placed by Allah in my hands. If it turns out you truly cannot love her, return my daughter to me safely. Do not dare humiliate or mistreat her the way your mother mistreated her...!"
Ibrahim quickly raised his hand, gently pressing it over his father's lips to prevent him from digging up the painful, bitter memories planted by Mami in the past.
"The past is the past, Daddy... let's focus entirely on the present!"
Dr. Mansur nodded slowly, a deep smile breaking across his face; he finally trusted his son's heart. Ibrahim, his speech slightly heavy with his distinct accent, asked softly, "Where exactly is Rayhanah right now?"
Daddy smiled, "Informatics – Singapore."
Ibrahim's eyes went wide with shock, a sight that thoroughly amused Dr. Mansur. "With whom, Daddy? While legally married to me?"
Daddy chuckled, "With your girlfriend, Juma, whom you've been romancing over the phone."
"I wish the earth would open up and swallow me whole!" Ibrahim groaned, instantly burying his face in his palms out of pure, unadulterated embarrassment.
Dr. Mansur simply laughed heartily and walked past him into the inner rooms. Whenever Ibrahim was around his father, he instinctively reverted back to behaving like an innocent, dependent child—and Daddy absolutely adored it. To this very day, whenever Dr. Mansur looked at Ibrahim and Khalipha, his mind still saw the little boys walking hand-in-hand to Al-Muntada and Al-Falah Islamic children's schools in the United Kingdom.
He could still picture the days when he would hold one boy's hand while Asma’u held the other to safely cross the busy streets and guide them into their classrooms. Because of this, they remained his precious boys. He never entirely relinquished the reins of their lives except to guide them along the straightest path—not out of a desire to control them, but through a perfectly balanced approach of deep affection and necessary discipline.
The Unseen Convergence in Singapore
Aboard the Turkish Airlines flight, Ibrahim Mansur Takai was completely consumed by an endless storm of thoughts. He couldn't even bring himself to take a single sip of the iced juice served in the delicate glass in his hand.
Who is this Rayhanah? What does she look like? What kind of reception will she give me? More importantly, how should I behave when I face her? Will I be able to love her? Can I truly accept her as my wife? Can I genuinely bind my destiny forever to a girl I don't know, have never seen, and have never shared a single interaction with to know her face or character?
These intense questions battered Ibrahim's brain relentlessly. Meanwhile, sitting right next to him in the first-class cabin, his father, Dr. Mansur Takai, looked completely unfazed. The doctor calmly sipped his juice, flipped through the pages of the Daily Tribune newspaper, and occasionally signaled the flight attendants to bring him whatever he needed.
From time to time, Dr. Mansur would steal a glance at Ibrahim from the corner of his eye. He was acutely aware of the existential crisis plaguing his son's mind, but he deliberately chose to say absolutely nothing, pretending to be completely oblivious to his state of distress.
When the cabin announcement ordered passengers to fasten their seatbelts as the aircraft prepared for its descent into Changi Airport, Ibrahim didn't even hear it. He only snapped out of it when he felt his father gently reaching over to click his seatbelt into place after fastening his own. It was only then that Ibrahim realized just how profoundly lost in thought he had been. He looked at his father, his father looked back at him, and they shared a quiet, knowing smile.
After clearing customs, the shuttle from the hotel his father had booked prior to their departure—Mandarin Orchard Singapore—was already waiting for them. The vehicle swept them and their light luggage away, heading straight toward the luxury hotel.
All through the drive from the airport, Daddy repeatedly dialed Rayhanah’s phone number, but the automated operator continuously informed him that the line was switched off. At that exact moment, Rayhanah was locked inside a lecture hall undergoing a mock examination, as their final year-end examinations were rapidly approaching. Her accelerated program was strictly a two-year course, given that she had already arrived with an advanced diploma.
At exactly six o'clock in the evening, she finally walked out of the institute grounds and began her commute home. She made a quick stop to buy some roasted KFC for Inna, while purchasing some Wanton Mee (wonton noodles), Chili Crab, and Fried Hokkien Mee for herself—all famous dishes featured on the definitive list of classic Singaporean staples. She had explicitly instructed Inna not to cook anything today, promising to bring home takeout since she had woken up feeling slightly under the weather. Her primary focus was to get home quickly so she could take Inna to a local clinic for a medical checkup.
As she neared her neighborhood, an unexplainable, heavy sense of apprehension suddenly gripped her chest. The feeling became so intense that she had to pause on a small incline, sitting down momentarily to rest and placing her shopping bags on the ground. From her vantage point, she could see the front gate of their residence—and parked right outside was a pristine, stark-white luxury shuttle bearing the prominent logo of the Mandarin Orchard Hotel.
Knowing that this was the exact hotel her father always patronized whenever he visited the country, her intuition instantly shouted that Daddy had arrived.
But what on earth was the meaning of this sudden, violent pounding in her chest? She instinctively reached out to switch on her mobile phone, only to remember that she had left it charging back inside the house.
Gathering her resolve, she stood up and dusted herself off, thinking: Let me just get to the house. It's true we haven't spoken in days, to the point where Inna keeps asking me why Baba Likita hasn't called and if everything is alright. I kept reassuring her that everything was perfectly fine and reminding her that her son is a highly sought-after, busy medical director.
Inna had grumbled back, "I don't care if he is busy or a businessman, just get him on the phone for me!"
Rayhanah had laughed, teasing her, "Inna, I genuinely do not have the luxury to keep my phone switched on right now with these grueling tests shoved in my face. I have tried over and over again to teach you how to operate the phone yourself so you don't have to keep pestering me to dial this person or that person, but you simply refuse to learn. Maybe now you'll find the motivation to learn!"
Inna had playfully swiped at her, and Rayhanah had bolted out the door laughing. That was how they had parted ways that morning.
She picked up her pace, walking steadily along the sidewalk. She was incredibly hungry, and the heavy plastic bags and her purse felt like an immense burden against her arms—especially the boxed KFC containing two whole chickens. She forced herself to keep moving forward, even as the heavy drumming inside her chest grew increasingly intense.
She wasn't wearing an ounce of makeup or any elaborate clothing, yet the moment anyone laid eyes on her, they would instantly perceive...
2. Character Alignment & Narrative Progressions
1. Ibrahim’s Internal Evolution
This chapter marks a massive turning point in Ibrahim's character. Initially driven by a logical, Westernized mindset, he is entirely unhinged by the domestic traces of a woman in his home, interpreting it through the lens of local folklore (Aljanu).
However, his shift from refusing the marriage to fiercely defending it—vowing never to sign the divorce papers—shows a deep alignment with the core values of respect and parental honor. His internal monologue regarding the true qualities of a wife reveals a deeply analytical, mature character who values emotional and spiritual compatibility over mere physical attraction.
2. The Multi-Layered Dynamics of Dr. Mansur
Dr. Mansur’s character shines brightly as both a commanding professional and a deeply affectionate, traditional father.
The Protector: His emotional breakdown when recalling how his wife (Mami) mistreated Rayhanah highlights his role as Rayhanah's ultimate shield, elevating her status from an impoverished orphan to his most cherished child.
3. Structural Breakdown: Ibrahim’s Ideal vs. Reality
The author uses Ibrahim’s internal reflections to set up a powerful thematic contrast for the impending meeting in Singapore: