At around 5:00 PM, Hussaina stepped out of her room fully prepared. She wore a beautifully tailored, brown atamfa gown designed in a simple yet elegant silhouette. Her shoes perfectly complemented the rich, earthy tones of her dress, and she had draped a large, modest hijab over herself to cover her frame. She walked with slow, calculated steps, each movement dripping with a deep sense of vulnerability, until she stood directly before her father. Bowing her head in absolute respect, she murmured, "I am ready, Daddy." "Okay. Let’s move," he replied curtly, gesturing toward the main entrance. Watching her walk with an agonizingly slow pace—like a hen carrying cracked eggs inside its belly—Daddy’s impatience flared. Without waiting another second, he stormed ahead, stepping out into the courtyard and climbing into the car to wait for her. The moment her father cleared the room, Hussaina seized the brief window of privacy to turn to her mother. Her voice trembled with intense anxiety. "Momy, please... where exactly are we going?" Momy shook her head, her face carrying a mixture of helplessness and exhaustion. "You are asking a chicken the way to the river, my daughter. I am as blind to this situation as you are. I have absolutely no idea what is truly happening. All I know is that from the moment your father woke up today, he has been consumed by frantic, nonstop preparations. He didn't even have the patience to sit down and eat his meal." Hassana, who was sitting close by on the sofa, sighed softly, her eyes filled with deep concern. "May Allah make it an absolute path of goodness. Honestly, it completely baffles me how Daddy explicitly ordered Hussaina to get ready and step out with him alone, entirely excluding me. For as long as I can remember, wherever we go, we always travel together as one." "Well, only the Almighty truly knows the mystery behind this today," Momy stated, gently nudging Hussaina toward the door. "Hurry up and follow him out. Do not let him lose his temper or feel like you are deliberately wasting his precious time." Without uttering another word, Hussaina turned on her heel and exited the living room. When she reached the driveway, she found Daddy sitting behind the wheel, his grip tight on the steering wheel as he waited. She instinctively walked toward the front passenger side, extending her hand to pull the car door open. Suddenly, Daddy turned and flashed her a sharp, terrifyingly venomous glare. "Get in the back!" he snapped. Her entire body shivered with fear. Retreating instantly, her hands trembling, she opened the rear door and slipped into the back seat. Daddy started the engine, shifting the vehicle into gear. At the edge of the compound, the old gateman, Mallam Bala, swung the iron gates wide open, waving a respectful farewell to his employer as the car pulled out onto the main street. Securing the heavy gates once more, Mallam Bala walked back to his small wooden bench, easing himself onto the seat with a deep, knowing nod. "Wallahi, Alhaji truly knows exactly how to handle a wayward child," the old man muttered to himself. "If Alhaji hadn't acted with this extreme urgency to marry this girl off, she would have undoubtedly brought a massive, irreversible shame upon his household. Although, to be honest... I don't even know if it was her or her twin sister who caused the trouble. I can never tell those two apart anyway." Shaking his head, he reached over, switched on his small radio, and quietly immersed himself in the broadcast.
Chapter 11: The Arrival at Malali
Daddy drove through the city streets in grim, unyielding silence. He didn't stop until he reached the upscale neighborhood of Dutsin Safe, Malali Quarters, pulling up directly outside the grand, sprawling estate belonging to Jabeer. He tapped the horn twice. Within seconds, the security guard rushed forward, throwing the gates wide open. Daddy drove into the pristine compound, parking the vehicle smoothly within the designated carport. Stepping out of the vehicle, he turned toward the back seat and commanded, "Get out of the car." Without a single word of hesitation, Hussaina stepped out. From the moment they had passed through the front gates, her eyes had been wide with quiet awe. The sheer architectural beauty and flawless design of the estate completely captivated her. Whose beautiful house is this? she wondered silently. Could it belong to one of Daddy's elite business associates that we've never visited? And why on earth did Daddy choose to bring me here all by myself, leaving Hassana behind when we always go everywhere together? Daddy abruptly shattered her train of thought, his stern voice cutting through the air. "Follow me inside." Obeying his command, she trailed closely behind him. He pushed open a magnificent, heavy door that led directly into a massive formal living room. The space was furnished with colossal, ultra-modern luxury sofas positioned perfectly in the center. To the side, a short flight of elegant steps led to an elevated dining area featuring an expansive table surrounded by high-end dining chairs. Directly across from the seating arrangement, a massive plasma television was mounted flawlessly onto the wall, flanked by a powerful, high-end home theater speaker system. Beautiful, eye-catching floral arrangements occupied the corners of the room, adding a touch of sophisticated vibrance. Every piece of furniture, the decor, and even the premium paint on the walls carried a deep, cohesive shade of royal purple. Daddy stopped in the center of the room, turning around to face her. His voice was calm, yet it carried an unshakeable weight. "Hussaina, look around you. This grand house you see does not belong to a stranger. This is the home of your husband." Thud! Her heart dropped into her stomach with a violent, terrifying jolt. Her eyes snapped up to look at her father, searching his face for any sign of a joke. Seeing nothing but absolute, ironclad seriousness, she instantly averted her gaze, staring down at the floor as her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. "I chose to marry you off immediately rather than sit back and watch you bring public disgrace and ruin upon my name," Daddy continued, his voice cold and resolute. "This is your matrimonial home. You will remain here, submit entirely to your husband, and obey his every command. Never forget that your paradise now lies directly beneath the soles of his feet. If you follow his path and honor him, you will find peace; but if you choose to rebel and go astray, then only Allah knows the severe punishment that awaits you." He stepped closer, his tone softening slightly as he delivered a deeply moving, soul-stirring counsel on the sanctity of marriage and the absolute necessity of preserving her dignity. "I command you to be a deeply submissive and respectful daughter to me, your father, and an honorable wife to your husband. Live in peace, and protect your home." Reaching into his traditional robes, Daddy pulled out a thick, heavy bundle of crisp one-thousand-Naira notes and placed them on the table beside her. "Keep this currency. If you ever find yourself in need of any personal item, use this. I do not ever want to hear that you are placing financial stress or making unnecessary demands on your husband." With those final words, Daddy turned around and walked out of the house, leaving her behind.
Chapter 12: The Depths of Despair
For a long time after her father’s departure, Hussaina remained frozen on the spot, utterly unable to move. Her mind was a chaotic storm of agonizing questions. What kind of a marriage is this? she wept silently. Daddy has married me off as if this entire life is a mere child’s game! When exactly was this wedding even solemnized? And who on earth is this mysterious husband? Where did Daddy find a man willing to blindly agree to a marriage within the span of a single day? She ran through a thousand questions, but the walls offered no answers. Overwhelmed by the sheer isolation, she collapsed onto the floor and burst into a fit of violent, hysterical sobbing. "It’s over," she wailed into the empty room. "Now I know for a fact that Daddy doesn't love me at all! What did I do... what could I have possibly done to deserve such a brutal, merciless punishment?!"
The Architecture of a Hidden Sanctuary
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Room | Dominant Theme & Aesthetic |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Primary Living Room | Royal Purple, Ultra-Modern Dubai |
| Secondary Lounge | Deep Emerald Green, Cozy Media |
| Master Bedroom | Elite Dubai Luxury, Gold Accents |
| Guest Suite | Premium Nigerian Craftsmanship |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
Chapter 13: The Discovery of the Sanctuary
She wept until her strength was completely spent, her voice turning hoarse in the empty house. Realizing that no one was coming to rescue her, she slowly pushed herself up from the floor and began to wander through the vast property. She stepped into a second, smaller living room. This lounge was also beautifully furnished with premium sofas and an entertainment system, though it was slightly more intimate than the grand primary parlor. Here, every single element—from the upholstery to the accents—was styled in a rich, soothing shade of emerald green. Moving down the wide hallway, she pushed open the door to the master bedroom. She gasped softly; the room was adorned with breathtaking, high-end furniture imported directly from Dubai, looking incredibly beautiful and luxurious. Exiting the master suite, she moved to the adjacent bedroom. Pushing the door open, she found another beautifully decorated bedroom. This room was furnished entirely with top-tier, custom-made Nigerian furniture, yet the sheer craftsmanship and aesthetic layout were so flawless that it almost rivaled the imported luxury of the Dubai suite. After exploring every corner of the house, Hussaina walked back into the master bedroom. She sat down directly in the center of the large bed, burying her face in her hijab. Instantly, the image of Hafiz flooded her mind. A fresh wave of agonizing grief tore through her soul, and she began to weep bitterly. It’s over, she thought, her heart breaking into a million pieces. I have been permanently severed from Hafiz—the only man I have ever truly loved, the one who holds my entire heart. How am I supposed to live under the same roof with a stranger when my soul belongs to Hafiz? What am I going to do with my life? Who did Daddy even force me to marry? she wondered, resting her chin in her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks. Can I truly survive living with him? Ironically, even in her wildest dreams, the image of Jabeer never once crossed her mind; she had absolutely no inkling that her father's humble assistant was the man who had been wedded to her that afternoon. As she sat there, she began to recall the sweet, intoxicating words and the passionate affection Hafiz had showered upon her during their secret encounters. They have torn us apart, she panicked, her mind racing. He will never hold me again, never pour the sweetness of his love into my life. Suddenly, as if stung by a viper, she snapped to her feet. Her eyes flashed with defiance. "No! This cannot happen!" she declared aloud to the empty room. "I will never accept a permanent separation from Hafiz, no matter what happens! Hafiz is the only man I will ever marry to find true happiness in this world! Whoever this fool is who foolishly agreed to marry me within a day is about to learn a bitter lesson. I will make sure he regrets the very day he brought me into his house!"
Chapter 14: The Bitter Fallout at Home
Meanwhile, back at the family estate, Momy and Hassana had spent the last few hours trapped in a state of absolute, agonizing suspense. They had spun a thousand different theories, completely unable to comprehend why Daddy would abruptly take Hussaina away while entirely excluding her identical twin. The heavy front door clicked open, and Daddy stepped into the living room. Momy and Hassana immediately locked their eyes onto him, their breath catching when they realized he had returned completely alone. Momy summoned every ounce of her courage, her voice trembling as she asked, "Alhaji... where is Hussaina? I see you have returned alone, yet you left this house together." "She is currently in her husband's house," he replied with icy brevity. Without offering another syllable of explanation, he marched past them and entered his private quarters. Momy stood frozen, her mind spinning in absolute bewilderment as she trailed after him into his room. Hassana sat on the sofa, the words echoing in her ears like a physical blow. She slowly rose to her feet, walking back to their shared bedroom in a daze. "Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un... Her husband's house?!" she whispered, her voice cracking with shock. When on earth did my sister get married without us knowing? It is completely obvious that even Momy was kept entirely in the dark about this. "Ya Salam!" Hassana cried out, clutching her head with both hands as a sharp, agonizing migraine began to throb behind her eyes, threatening to split her skull in two. She collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow as hot, heavy tears began to flow uncontrollably. Inside the master bedroom, a furious confrontation was unfolding. Momy’s voice was laced with deep, unbridled anger. "Haba, Alhaji! I completely fail to understand the meaning of this absurd behavior!" Daddy turned around slowly, a cold, mocking smile playing on his lips. "Maryam, I have absolutely no intention of repeating what I just said. I am entirely certain you heard me perfectly clear the first time." "This is unbelievable, Alhaji! You have officially proven to me that you harbor nothing but pure hatred for Hussaina!" Momy shouted, her voice rising in pitch. "How could you subject her to such a brutal, unconventional judgment? Rushing a marriage within forty-eight hours as if she were a worthless piece of stray wood! For God's sake, Alhaji, I am her biological mother! I had a fundamental right to be informed, yet I was left completely completely oblivious! You simply carted my daughter away and dropped her at a stranger's house! I will never accept this! Tell me exactly where my daughter is right now so I can go and bring her back! If you don't want her in this house, I want her! She is my flesh and blood!" "Silence, Maryam!" Daddy roared, his voice booming like thunder through the suite. "This marriage was orchestrated by my hand, it has been legally and religiously binding, and absolutely no force on this earth has the power to dissolve it! Let me ask you this—if that girl had succeeded in bringing a massive, public scandal of pregnancy or disgrace upon our heads, do you honestly think the society would mock you even half as much as they would mock me? My decision is final! If you find my executive judgment within this household unacceptable, the front gates are wide open; you are fully free to pack your bags and leave! But as for my children, they belong to me, and I possess absolute authority over their lives!" Momy froze, looking at her husband in absolute shock. The raw, unyielding ferocity in his eyes made her realize that he was completely serious. If she pushed him any further, he would dissociate from her without a single shred of regret. Realizing she had to change her strategy, she took a deep breath, bowing her head in sudden humility as she stepped closer to him. "Haba, Alhaji... please forgive me," she murmured softly, her voice dropping into a gentle, submissive tone. "Why must we let anger drive a wedge between us like this? If this is how you have decided to handle the matter, then may the Almighty Allah let it be the absolute best path for Hussaina’s destiny. And as for her twin sister, Hassana, we pray that Allah sends her an honorable, righteous suitor when the time is right." "Amen," Daddy replied, his tension finally easing. He turned and walked into his private bathroom to take a refreshing shower, preparing to perform his ablutions as the call for the Maghrib prayer was beginning to echo across the neighborhood. Momy returned to her own room, quickly performing her ablutions and laying out her prayer mat. After completing her prayers, she remained seated on the mat for a long time, pouring her heart out in desperate, emotional supplications for the protection and survival of her twin daughters.
Chapter 15: The Confession to Zuby
Inside her new, silent bedroom, Hussaina sat on the edge of the mattress, completely consumed by an overwhelming sense of isolation. Desperate for a lifeline, she reached for her mobile device, scrolled through her contacts until she found Zuby’s name, and dialed the number. Zuby answered on the very first ring. "Hello, my friend! You’ve been completely scarce these past couple of days." "Hmm... just leave it alone, Zuby," Hussaina sighed heavily. "You know what they say—when prayers are active, conversation ceases." Zuby sat up, her interest instantly piqued. "I don't understand, my friend. Has something happened to you?" "So many things have happened, Zuby. In fact, as I am speaking to you on this phone right now, I am currently sitting inside my own matrimonial home." Zuby bolted upright from her bed, her heart instantly leaping into her throat. "What do you mean your home, Hussaina? Do you mean your family home, or your husband’s house?!" "Hmm... my husband's house, Zuby. Daddy forced me into a sudden marriage, and I was officially moved in today." "A marriage?! Hussaina?!" Zuby gasped, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. A sudden, terrifying panic seized her soul. Dear God, please don't let her say she married Hafiz! she screamed internally. If Hussaina has somehow married Hafiz, I swear a bloody war will erupt between us! Suppressing her frantic anxiety, Zuby forced her voice to remain steady. "But... who is the groom, Hussaina?" "Wallahi, Zuby, to this very second, I have absolutely no idea who my husband is," Hussaina confessed. "But I desperately need you to come over tomorrow." "Okay... I will definitely come, my friend. But what neighborhood are you in?" Hussaina carefully read out the full address of the Malali Quarters estate. After exchanging brief pleasantries, they ended the call. The moment the line went dead, Zuby fell into a state of absolute, frenzied madness. She began pacing frantically across her bedroom floor like a lunatic. "If my suspicions turn out to be true, and Hussaina has actually married Hafiz, I swear by everything I hold dear, I will find a way to tear them apart! Even if it means ending her life, I will do it! I love Hafiz with every fiber of my being, and I will never survive seeing him in the arms of another woman!" Hot, angry tears streamed down her face. Wiping them away aggressively, she marched over to her bedside drawer, yanked it open, and pulled out a bottle of Codeine syrup. She uncapped it, tilting her head back as she greedily chugged the liquid down until the bottle was completely empty. Tossing the glass aside, she collapsed onto her bed, gasping for air as the heavy narcotic slowly took over her senses, dragging her into a deep, drug-induced slumber.
Chapter 16: The Unmasking of the Groom
Back in her room, Hussaina kept her eyes locked onto the bedroom door, her anxiety spiking with every passing second as she awaited the arrival of her mysterious groom. Suddenly, her phone began to ring. She glanced down, expecting to see Zuby calling back with more questions, but her heart violently skipped a beat when Hafiz’s name lit up the screen. Her chest tightened with absolute panic. She stared at the vibrating device until the call timed out. Within seconds, the phone began to ring a second time. She couldn't bring herself to answer it; the mere sight of his name sent waves of intense guilt and terror through her body. Yet, Hafiz remained relentlessly persistent, dialing a third time. With her hands shaking violently, she forced herself to slide the screen to accept the call, lifting the device to her ear. She remained completely silent, waiting for him to break the ice. "Hello, my baby," Hafiz’s smooth, seductive voice echoed through the speaker. "Are you okay?" Hussaina gripped the phone tighter, her entire body trembling as the mere sound of his voice triggered a chaotic flood of complex emotions within her soul. "Hello, baby? Can you hear me?" he repeated. Steeling her nerves, she forced her voice into a low, strained whisper. "I can hear you." "Why did you keep me waiting like that? Do you have any idea how frantic I’ve been about you? I’ve been completely miserable these past two days without you by my side..." "Stop it, Hafiz!" Hussaina suddenly erupted, her voice cracking with pure rage and venom. "Save your disgusting, sweet-talking lies! You have completely ruined me! You destroyed my life and robbed me of the single most precious virtue that every honorable woman protects and prides herself on in this world!" Tears of pure bitterness overflowed from her eyes. "But it's fine. It is entirely my fault because I foolishly trusted you and handed my virtue over to you completely. And look at me now—I am currently trapped inside my husband's house, stripped of any shred of value or dignity with which he will ever look at me!" "Hold on, Hussaina," Hafiz interrupted, his tone shifting into smooth confusion. "I have absolutely no idea what you are rambling about—" "Don't lie to me!" she screamed. "You systematically deceived me! You lured me to your house under the pretense of introducing me to your mother, but it was all an elaborate, sickening trap to violate my body—" Suddenly, a loud, clear Islamic greeting echoed from the front living room. “Assalamu Alaikum!” The voice was clear and distinct. In a state of absolute panic, Hussaina abruptly cut the call, shoved the phone beneath her pillow, and frantically yanked her large hijab over her face, trembling as she awaited the intruder. She heard firm, measured footsteps approaching the master bedroom. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Assalamu Alaikum warahmatullah," the voice repeated softly as the bedroom door swung open. The man stepped into the room, calmly easing himself onto the edge of the mattress. The moment the sound of his voice hit her ears, a sharp jolt of recognition ran through her. Then, the distinct, familiar scent of his premium cologne—Story of Love—hit her senses, completely confirming her suspicions. She frantically pulled the hijab away from her face, her eyes widening in absolute horror as she came face-to-face with Jabeer. "Jabeer?!" she shrieked, pointing a shaking, accusing finger directly at his face. "So you are the monster who orchestrated this trap against me?! You deliberately severed me from the man I love! You manipulated my father into forcing me into this ridiculous, child-like marriage within forty-eight hours! I explicitly told you long ago that my heart belongs to someone else, not you! I swear by the Almighty, you will bitterly regret marrying me! If you did this to bring joy into your life, you have failed miserably, because I will turn your existence into a living hell!" Jabeer looked at her, his expression remarkably calm and gentle. "Hussaina... please calm down. I did not do this to bring misery into your life. And if I didn't truly love you from the depths of my soul, I would have never taken you as my wife. I need you to understand that this union is our divine destiny (Kaddara). Let us embrace it and pray that Allah fills our path with absolute goodness." Hearing his calm, gentle words, Hussaina suddenly collapsed onto the bed, bursting into a fresh fit of violent weeping. A terrifying wave of realization hit her—she was completely powerless, stripped of her virtue, and trapped in a marriage where her secret could be exposed at any moment. Realizing that throwing a tantrum would only hasten her ruin, she decided her best course of action was to play along, submit quietly, and hope that Allah would shield her secret from exposure. Wiping her tears, she took a shaky breath and whispered, "May Allah guide our steps... and may He grant us absolute goodness in this marriage." Jabeer’s face instantly lit up with a profound, heartfelt smile. He was deeply relieved and quite amazed by how quickly her intense rage had dissolved into sweet submission. "Amen," he replied warmly.
Chapter 17: The Sacred Consumption
Jabeer gently instructed her to prepare for their marital prayers so they could offer gratitude to the Creator, exactly as prescribed by Islamic tradition. Without a single word of resistance, Hussaina walked into the bathroom, performed her ablutions, and stepped out. Jabeer followed suit, completing his ablutions before leading them both in a beautiful, serene nafila prayer. After concluding the prayers, he spent a long time reciting powerful, emotional supplications over her, asking for divine protection, peace, and eternal love in their home. Once the prayers were finished, Jabeer reached for a large bag he had brought into the room, placing it in the center of the plush carpet. He walked into the kitchen, returning with clean plates and cups. He unpeeled the foil to reveal three perfectly golden, roasted chickens, pairing the meal with chilled fresh milk and 5alive juice. He turned toward Hussaina, who was sitting curled up on the edge of the bed, looking small, vulnerable, and completely subdued as she quietly watched his movements. Deep down in her soul, a cold dread was paralyzing her; she was utterly consumed by the terrifying thought of what would happen the moment Jabeer came close to her and discovered that she was no longer a virgin. Lost in her dark thoughts, a few silent tears slipped down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand, hoping he hadn't noticed. Jabeer walked over to her, a warm, tender smile on his face. "Bismillah, my beautiful queen," he said softly, breaking her out of her trance. "I know for a fact that you must be starving. You need to eat something substantial before you sleep." She shook her head gently. "No... I’m really not hungry." "I don't believe you for a second," Jabeer teased gently, reaching over and playfully resting his palm against her stomach. "This stomach looks like it has been deprived of food for far too long." She gently pushed his hand away. "I told you, I’m not hungry." "Alright, even if you aren't starving, I won't allow you to sleep on an empty stomach. I suppose your royal stubbornness is just acting up tonight, my beautiful wife," he joked warmly. Using his fingers, he neatly tore off a tender piece of chicken breast, lifting it toward her lips. Hussaina instinctively turned her head away. "Haba, Hussaina," Jabeer pleaded gently, his eyes filled with sincere affection. "Please do not reject food from my hands. It would truly break my heart if you refuse to eat. For my sake, please accept it." Slowly, she turned her head back toward him. Jabeer patiently fed her piece by piece, ensuring she ate her fill before pouring a glass of chilled fresh milk, which she managed to finish with some effort. Jabeer then ate a few bites of the chicken himself, washing it down with juice. He cleared the plates, walked into his own quarters, changed out of his traditional wear, and took a refreshing shower. The moment he left the room, Hussaina walked over to the massive wardrobe. Opening the doors, she found it packed to the brim with beautiful, expensive clothing. She wasn't surprised; Daddy had already made it clear that everything she could ever need had been provided. She selected a stunning, sheer nightgown—the kind of alluring attire designed to leave very little to the imagination. Slipping into it, she misted her skin with a soft, captivating fragrance. She climbed into the large bed, leaving all the bedroom lights fully illuminated. She was gripped by a deep, unsettling fear; the unfamiliar silence of the house made her feel incredibly isolated, and she desperately missed the comforting presence of Hassana, who had slept by her side every night of her life. Convinced that Jabeer would be sleeping in his own bedroom since he had left her alone, she pulled the duvet over her frame and allowed exhaustion to drag her into a deep sleep. A short while later, Jabeer stepped back into the master bedroom. He was dressed in a pair of pristine white shorts and a matching vest, carrying the intoxicating scent of his premium Story of Love cologne. Noticing that the bedroom lights were fully turned on, he initially assumed Hussaina was still awake. Stepping softly into the room, he closed the door securely behind him. As he approached the bed, his breath caught in his throat. Hussaina was fast asleep, her breathing slow and even. The sheer nightgown she wore left her flawless, breathtaking silhouette completely visible beneath the light. An intense, overwhelming wave of raw passion and desire instantly surged through Jabeer's entire being. He quietly dimmed the main lights, leaving only a soft, warm bedside lamp illuminated. He climbed onto the mattress, sliding beneath the duvet, and gently pulled her beautiful, soft body into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest.
Chapter 18: The Shocking Truth
As Jabeer’s warm hands began to tenderly caress her soft skin, Hussaina slowly stirred from her deep sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, coming face-to-face with Jabeer, who was completely lost in a deep ocean of passion, showering her with intense, breathless affection. A sudden, unexpected wave of profound pleasure rippled through her entire body—a sensation so intense and beautiful that she couldn't even comprehend it. Instantly surrendering to the moment, she wrapped her arms around his neck, fully relinquishing her body to his touch. As the night unfolded, Jabeer guided her through the intimacy with incredible patience, mastery, and profound tenderness. Hussaina found herself completely astonished by him. How on earth is Jabeer so passionate and incredibly skilled in love? she wondered in a daze. Before their marriage, he had always presented himself as a deeply conservative, strictly religious man who spoke of nothing but moral execution and spiritual lessons. Yet tonight, he was a completely different man. With those thoughts swirling in her mind, she completely surrendered her soul to him. On that unforgettable night, they fully consumed their marriage. And it was during those sacred, passionate moments that Jabeer discovered the ultimate truth: Hussaina was a completely untouched, pure, and flawless virgin. The realization filled his heart with an unshakeable, explosive wave of pure, unadulterated joy. He had met his wife at the pinnacle of her purity. However, Hussaina began to weep uncontrollably, the intense physical pain and overwhelming emotional shock of the experience causing tears to stream down her face. Jabeer immediately pulled her close, cradling her head against his chest and whispering sweet, comforting words of adoration into her ear, a fierce new wave of deep, unshakeable love wrapping around his heart for his beautiful bride. He gently stepped out of bed, walked into the bathroom, and performed his ritual bath. He then prepared a deep tub of warm, soothing water, walked back into the bedroom, and gently lifted Hussaina into his arms to carry her to the bathroom. Hussaina instinctively shied away, shrugging her shoulders and trying to break free from his grip in extreme shyness. Jabeer simply smiled, respecting her boundaries. He gently held her hand, supporting her slow, tender steps as they walked into the bathroom together. Once she had thoroughly soaked and completed her bath, Jabeer helped her back to the bed, tucking her comfortably beneath the sheets. He adjusted the air conditioning to a perfect, cool setting to counter the outside heat. Returning to the bathroom, he performed a fresh ablution, walked back into the room, and stepped onto his prayer mat. He began to perform continuous, beautiful cycles of voluntary nafila prayers, pouring out his infinite gratitude to the Almighty Allah until drowsiness finally began to settle over his eyelids.
Progress to Next Episode
Next Episode Reveal: Will Zuby discover that Jabeer is the groom, and how far will her obsession with Hafiz drive her?
The Twin's Connection: How will Hassana survive the devastating separation from her identical sister?
Did you enjoy this chapter? Let me know if you would like me to adjust the pacing, emotional tone, or vocabulary for the next part of your digital publication project!
THE PRICE OF MODERNITY (PART 2)
BY MARYAM ABDULLAHI K/MASHI
The weight of his toxic statement struck my physical frame with the absolute velocity of a localized lightning bolt; my entire nervous system instantly froze into deep emotional numbness. Moving with rigid, deliberate speed, I stood up from my vanity mirror, migrated back toward the mattress, and collapsed onto the bed in a state of absolute existential agony. It felt as though my very lower limbs lacked the structural capacity to anchor my weight in a seated posture; consequently, I leaned back completely against the headboard and tightly closed my eyelids. Despite every single conscious output my intellect deployed to block the cascade of tears from clearing my eyelids, the emotional pressure overrode my somatic controls. The hot droplets rolled down the corners of my eyes, while the structural alignment of my left eye forced a steady stream of tears down the bridge of my nose. A cruel, calculated smirk played across Abubakar Sadeek’s lips. Deep within his psychological blueprint, he harbored a persistent, twisted desire to witness the absolute emotional destabilization of Hafsat—notwithstanding the profound, unyielding love his heart silently carried for my womanhood. Whenever his memory retrieved the vivid data of how I had historically stood before his gaze, proudly articulating the defensive lie that I was a functional prostitute, a profound wave of acute masculine humiliation would suffocate his soul, making him wish the earth would swallow his frame alive. He swiveled his gaze toward my collapsed form, his voice cutting through the silence. "Arise from that mattress immediately! Why on earth have you chosen to assume a paralyzed posture like a clinical patient?" I released a ragged, heavy sigh from my chest, keeping my vocal decibels entirely low and controlled. "Had my intellect processed the data that this journey was fundamentally organized to execute a competitive beauty pageant, I would have absolutely zeroed out the time I squandered decorating my anatomy for this departure. Proceed immediately to her estate, Sadeek, and award her the grand trophy of total surrender that your heart has engineered for her presence." He fell into a brief, heavy silence, his mind likely executing a structural analysis of the sharp metaphors I had just deployed. Without delivering a verbal counter, he pivoted and marched toward the exit, dropping a final icy clause: "The exact microsecond your systems complete their preparations, you will find my coordinate waiting inside the vehicle—assuming my status still commands the legal authority to issue a structural mandate across your life." Every single fiber of my being screamed to remain permanently anchored in that bedroom, completely defying his itinerary. However, recognizing that my current reality granted me zero structural leverage to execute a total rebellion, I was forced to return to the vanity mirror. I pulled on a premium black jalabiya adorned with sharp, crimson-red geometric patterns and featuring tightly tailored wrists. I wrapped my head in a matching black chiffon veil lined with identical red highlights. The footwear paired with the luxury handbag were both selected in a striking, uniform shade of crimson red. I heavily saturated my frame with an array of high-grade perfumes; upon executing a final visual sweep of my reflection in the glass, a soft, involuntary smile played on my lips—the raw aesthetic data confirmed that my womanhood looked entirely breathtaking. Yet, deep within my chest, my spiritual core remained heavily weighed down by the toxic remarks he had just hurled against my character. I marched out of the compound, approached the front passenger side of the luxury vehicle where he sat behind the wheel, and spoke in a muted, submissive tone: "Permit me a brief chronological window to execute formal farewell salutations to Gwaggo and the elder household matriarchs." He snapped his head up, his deep eyes locking onto mine, establishing a high-tension optical connection. I rapidly broken the gaze, tilting my head downwards as I folded my arms securely across my chest to block his view of my form. "Proceed immediately then," he uttered with cool impatience. "What exact variable is holding your frame completely stationary before my vision like an obstacle?" I kept my eyes anchored to the floor. "I was simply waiting for the release of your official patriarchal command before moving my coordinates." I systematically circled through the entire estate, interfacing with every single female elder to deliver my departure greetings, assuring them of our imminent return. A deep wave of collective satisfaction rippled through their ranks; my operational intelligence immediately decoded that the family network harbored an intense, protective desire for their biological daughter, Fadi, to be treated with absolute high-status deference. I returned to the vehicle and smoothly transitioned into the front passenger seat that he had mechanically unlocked. We crawled through the city traffic until we arrived at her private compound. The estate was a spectacular masterpiece of architectural design, flanked by rows of breathtaking, precisely manicured floral arrangements. I maintained a submissive posture, trailing directly behind his footsteps until we breached the threshold of an ultra-luxurious, expansive living room. The absolute first visual asset that confronted a visitor's consciousness was a massive, high-density custom portrait of the couple, intentionally resting on the floor and leaning against the main accent wall. A single optical sweep was all my intellect required to evaluate the image before I violently averted my gaze; their sharp, aristocratic features mirrored the elite genetic phenotypes of high-caste Arabs or premium Bollywood actors. He looked down at my quiet form, his voice dripping with casual domestic comfort. "Assume a seated posture on the sofa. Let me rapidly call her down from the upper quarters." As his footsteps ascended the staircase, his voice echoed through the rafters, singing out: "Sweety..." I felt a sudden, violent urge to jam my fingers directly into my ear canals to permanently deafen my hearing against that sonic display of romantic intimacy; the venom of absolute kaddara-driven jealousy was actively corroding my internal systems. I forced my body to sink deeply into a premium leather sofa finished in a sleek, cement-grey palette. My eyes initiated a continuous, anxious sweep of the luxury interior layout; a vast array of the high-end avant-garde decors scattered across the perimeter were completely foreign to my peasant background—assets my eyes had never historically intersected. Ultimately, I chose to anchor my visual focus onto a massive wall-mounted smart television screen, where a troop of Bollywood actors were executing a complex, synchronized dance sequence. Let me be entirely transparent with the record: it was absolutely not the artistic choreography of the Indian dancers that held my gaze prisoner; rather, it was a desperate psychological defense mechanism deployed to numb the burning, absolute humiliation that was actively devouring my soul from within. I continuously breathed internal incantations to stabilize my heart: Enforce absolute patience across your nervous system, Hafsat. You possess the data that time is an unbending river; a calendar day will inevitably manifest when this entire agonizing matrix will transform into a mere historical footnote. Suddenly, their hands tightly locked together in an intricate, palm-to-palm embrace, the couple smoothly glided into the living room. Her genetic markers presented an absolute, near-identical symmetry to his aristocratic layout. A massive, suffocating block of raw emotional heat instantly wedged itself directly inside my throat; every single primal instinct screaming within my shadow self commanded me to leap off the sofa and violently assault their perfect, beautiful forms. Another hidden, dark compartment of my consciousness barked a terrifying instruction: Arise from that seat this exact microsecond and violently strangle her throat! A cold sweat broke across my skin. I rapidly whispered the sacred defensive incantations to purge the demonic entity from my mind: "A'uzubillahi minasshaidaninrrajim... A'uzubillahi minasshaidaninrrajim... A'uzubillahi minasshaidaninrrajim!" I completed the triple cycle and added a desperate spiritual plea: Oh Sovereign Creator, permanently dissolve this dark, suffocating blindness paralyzing my heart; grant my existence the absolute fortitude to execute dignified endurance, and ensure my rationality reigns supreme over the primitive storms of my ego. The exact microsecond their footsteps finalized their transit to my coordinate, I stood up completely erect. An extraordinary, miraculous wave of total psychological peace instantly swept through my systems, completely clearing the toxic static. I unleashed a dazzling, radiant, and profoundly warm smile across my features—an elegant social mask I was entirely unaware my womanhood even possessed—and extended my right hand toward her position in absolute grace. "May the absolute peace of the Almighty, alongside His boundless mercies and infinite structural blessings, remain permanently anchored across your existence," I saluted beautifully. She smoothly extended her manicured hand to meet my grip, her features shifting into a polite expression. "Amen. May the identical peace of the Lord remain permanently anchored across your path as well." Our fingers locked in a firm, elegant social embrace. We released the grip, and I returned to my seat while she gracefully assumed a posture on the adjacent sofa. "My heart has harbored a long-standing desire for your presence to execute a transit to this estate so we could formalize our greetings," she initiated smoothly. "The matrix of time has validated that desire," I responded with immaculate poise. "Behold, my presence stands before you today." She rose to her feet and directed her coordinates toward an interior architectural archway that my intellect mapped as the culinary kitchen sector. Abubakar Sadeek casually snatched the remote control device, rapidly cycling through multiple global television networks before depositing the controller on the coffee table and vacating the parlor to enter his private bedroom suite. Within a brief chronological window, Fadi re-emerged from the kitchen corridor holding an elegant crystal glass paired with a premium carton of imported fruit juice. Let the record reflect that her facial expression carried a highly restricted, heavily budgeted level of genuine warmth—her smile was entirely superficial. She deposited the items onto an adjacent wooden stool, slid it directly before my perimeter, and returned to her seated posture. I took possession of the crystal glass, leaned my spine comfortably against the leather upholstery, and resumed watching the television screen while executing slow, elegant sips of the beverage. Within minutes, she rose once more and glided toward the exact same private master suite Abubakar had breached moments ago. It was his personal bedroom domain within the estate. They closed the door behind them, leaving my solitary frame completely abandoned in the vast, quiet parlor. I violently slammed the crystal glass back down onto the stool; the liquid juice that had tasted completely sweet mere seconds ago suddenly transformed into absolute, bitter gall across my palate, ruined by the sheer volume of silent, crushing humiliation choking my chest. They remained locked within the dark sanctuary of the bedroom for approximately ten continuous minutes (10\text{ min}) before she finally materialized back in the living room, followed closely by his tall frame. She immediately migrated into her separate private bedroom wing to execute a wardrobe change, while his footsteps directly targeted my coordinate. I swiveled my head to audit the luxury custom wall clock, which featured their premium engagement photograph printed across the dial face. I spoke in a flat, decisive register: "Given that our identities have successfully finalized the administrative protocol of formal greetings, I am executing an immediate departure to return to my residence." He pinned his deep eyes onto my face. "Let me correct your geographical data: these exact coordinates you occupy also constitute your legitimate matrimonial home." At that precise microsecond, her domestic housemaid emerged from the interior wings and began systematically deploying a massive spread of luxury culinary dishes across the formal dining table. Fadi exited her suite and glided toward our position, her voice a high-pitched, affectionate chirp: "Honey... migrate your coordinates to the dining table immediately so we can consume our meal." He looked down at my face. "Arise from that seat and join our vector at the dining table." "My physiological systems completed a full nutritional intake prior to this transit," I lied coldly. Fadi stepped forward, her voice laced with sharp, patronizing authority. "I deliver an absolute veto against that excuse! Your status possesses zero sovereignty to reject food in this house; you are structurally mandated to eat!" She and I marched side-by-side to the dining suite, assuming adjacent seats, while Abubakar Sadeek took a commanding position directly opposite her coordinate. She looked at me, her voice casual: "Shall I execute the physical portioning of the meals onto our plates?" "I am entirely ignorant of the specific volumetric capacity of your internal digestive systems," I shot back with icy politeness. "Portion the meals according to your own parameters." Abubakar smoothly hauled a premium ceramic plate toward his vector, systematically serving a lavish spread for their joint consumption. He then looked directly at my plate. "Execute the portioning of your own meal, Hafsat." He rapidly swiveled his gaze back to Fadi’s face, arching his eyebrow in a highly intimate masculine gesture while executing a slow, deliberate wink with one eye. Fadi released a soft, playful giggle and delivered a light, flirtatious mock swat against his shoulder. Sadeek smoothly intercepted her wrist mid-air with absolute predatory grace, lifting her palm and planting a deep, romantic kiss directly onto the center of her hand. She let out a soft, ecstatic squeal. I violently ripped my visual focus away from their stomach-turning romantic display, plunging my hand deep into my handbag as my smartphone suddenly erupted into a loud, vibrating ring. I bolted off the dining chair and sprinted back toward the living room sofas where my luxury handbag had been resting. His sharp voice sliced through the air, tracking my flight: "What exact variable is causing your frame to flee the dining sector?!" "I am simply moving to answer an incoming digital call," I threw back over my shoulder. I retrieved the device and swiped the screen; the incoming data stream identified the caller as my elder brother, Yaya Umar. I dropped my vocal decibels to their lowest, most submissive register as we completed our initial family greetings. "I am routing this connection to your line because our biological mother, Inna, is currently standing inside my parlor," Umar briefed me with rapid, blue-collar efficiency. "They have finalized their packing protocols, and my transit is scheduled to drive down to the local service station to refuel the commercial Bus before permanently escorting their frames back to their rural base." "Lafiya, Yaya Umar," I responded, my heart dropping. "Transfer the digital line to her custody immediately." The connection shifted, and Inna’s familiar, weathered voice filled my ear. We executed our emotional greetings before I spoke: "Is it an absolute reality that your journey back to the village is manifesting this exact afternoon?" "Indeed, Hafsatu," she validated with deep maternal gravity. "Our logistics are fully locked in, and our departure is imminent. However, my soul harbored a burning, non-negotiable mandate to unleash a final, sacred layer of spiritual counsel across your consciousness before my presence vanishes from this sector! Hafsatu!! I command your womanhood to remain permanently anchored inside your matrimonial room; practice absolute, unyielding endurance (Hakuri) for the sake of the Living God! I am laying a profound maternal plea before your destiny: regardless of how terrifying the domestic storms become, or how bitter the sting of co-wife warfare tastes, I deliver an absolute maternal restriction against your feet ever executing an act of marital flight (Yaji) from Abubakar’s estate! Secure the preservation of your moral honor and protect my maternal dignity before society. You have audited with your own eyes the extraordinary, elite protective sanctuary the Lord of the Worlds has showered upon your broken life—He has blessed your destiny with a pristine, profoundly honorable, high-status gentleman as a husband! For the sake of the Almighty, do not execute a single action that will expose my maternal name to public shame!" An absolute, violent flood of hysterical weeping violently erupted from my throat. The sheer magnitude of my grief caused me to entirely forget the high-status coordinates I occupied. In a blinding psychological flash, the dark corridors of my historical past collapsed into the present layout of my mind; my memory vividly replayed the tragic era when our biological mother had historically kneeled before my reckless youth, weeping and begging my identity to guard my virginity and protect my moral honor—a sacred mandate my arrogant, modern-minded youth had completely thrown into the dirt. Even though the trauma of my past was absolutely not engineered by my own conscious will, the crushing weight of her words broke my defenses. "Inna..." I gasped out through a storm of suffocating, choked tears, keeping my voice as low as humanly possible, "I swear an unassailable oath before the throne of the Living God... only the absolute cold hand of mortality will ever possess the structural capacity to separate my physical frame from the matrimonial house of Abubakar Sadeek. I deliver an absolute maternal promise to your soul: regardless of the magnitude of domestic warfare or emotional torture I encounter within these walls, I will absolutely never, under any circumstances, execute an act of marital flight." From his stationary coordinate at the dining table, Abubakar Sadeek’s deep, calculating eyes were completely pinned onto my weeping frame; his masculine face was positioned in a direct line of sight to my profile. Slowly, deliberately, he vacated his seat and began marching directly toward my coordinate, arriving at my side at the exact microsecond I finalized the farewell salutations, wishing my family a safe transit back to their rural sectors. I buried my tear-stained face deeply between my knees, curled up on the sofa as a massive storm of bitter existential sorrow completely overwhelmed my mind. What exact variable across the canvas of agony am I expected to prioritize first? my soul screamed in pitch-black desolation. Am I to calculate the continuous, ruthless humiliation Abubakar Sadeek hurls at my character, or am I to endure the burning fire of absolute kaddara-driven jealousy as he operates with his elite co-wife? And to compound the structural torment, my own biological mother delivers an iron mandate that locks my body into this prison forever! The deep resonance of his masculine voice suddenly manifested mere millimeters from my ear. "Decode the absolute cause of this psychological breakdown immediately," he demanded. "What exact variable has transpired?" I rapidly lifted my head, deploying my sleeve to violently wipe the cascade of tears from my features, forced a cold, blank mask over my face, and stared directly into his eyes. "Absolutely zero variables have transpired across this sector." Without asking for permission, his hand aggressively snatched my smartphone out of my grip. His fingers rapidly navigated the interface, auditing the raw metadata logs of the cellular connection I had just finalized. He instantly hit the redial protocol while the device was still actively synced to Inna’s cellular network. The line connected, and Inna answered. Sadeek projected a smooth, high-status register: "Salamu alaikum, Umar." "This is not Umar," Inna’s voice crackled across the speaker. "His identity has executed a brief transit to the local service station to purchase fuel. This is his biological mother speaking." Abubakar Sadeek immediately dropped his vocal decibels, assuming an posture of deep, respectful humility as he seated his frame on the adjacent sofa cushions. "May your afternoon be saturated in absolute tranquility, Inna. This is Abubakar speaking—the legal husband of Hafsat." "Masha-Allah! May your life be blessed with endless peace, my son! Are your household systems running with absolute success?" Inna’s voice radiated deep maternal warmth. "With absolute structural success, Inna," Sadeek validated smoothly. "I am executing this rapid digital sweep because my eyes just audited Hafsat completing her phone call with your status, and her entire frame instantly dissolved into a massive storm of heavy weeping. Consequently, my intellect mobilized this line to audit the data and ensure your coordinates are completely free of an existential crisis or emergency." Inna let out a soft, relieved chuckle over the speaker line. "Our coordinates are entirely safe and tranquil, my son. We were merely executing our final farewell protocols prior to our rural transit, and my maternal voice chose to deliver a standard layer of marital counsel across her ears. That is the solitary variable that triggered her emotional tears." She paused for a brief chronological window before continuing her discourse, her voice dripping with profound patriarchal reverence: "As for your own noble status, my son... for the sake of the Living God, I am laying an absolute maternal plea before your authority: exercise an infinite reservoir of philosophical endurance (Hakuri) when dealing with her flaws. Execute absolute, unbending justice and equity (Adalci) between the legal wives anchored to your name. May the Sovereign Lord fortify your hands to successfully carry the massive weight of this patriarchal custodian role." "I extend my profound gratitude for your sacred maternal blessings, Inna," Sadeek responded with immaculate grace. "I swear an iron oath before the Heavens: my masculine authority will aggressively protect and monitor her welfare with absolute devotion." He severed the cellular connection, swiveled his posture to face my curled form, and hurled a heavy, judgmental look directly at my face. "Given that your stubborn character harbors an absolute, genetic intolerance for the implementation of truth, your ego instantly mounted an emotional tantrum—dissolving into pathetic tears simply because a maternal authority delivered a baseline layer of moral counsel across your ears!" he barked with cool disdain. "Proceed to execute your life exactly according to the whims of your primitive desires, Hafsat! Since your intellect holds an absolute hatred for traditional guidance, feel entirely free to wreck your path. After all, this is absolutely not the primary chronological index where her voice has commanded your identity to execute rectitude and abandon deviance, only for your arrogant ego to violently reject her mandates! Go ahead—live like a lawless rebel, precisely as your history has always done." He violently tossed the smartphone back onto my lap, turned his back on my weeping form, and smoothly migrated his coordinates back to the dining suite to rejoin his elite wife, Fadi. Throughout the entire confrontation, Fadi’s analytical gaze had been completely locked onto our position from the dining table. However, my psychological tracking confirmed that she lacked the acoustic proximity to decode the specific linguistic variables we were trading. They finalized their luxury culinary consumption and resumed an expansive domestic dialogue, speaking entirely in their native Fulfulde tongue, punctuated by frequent bursts of elite, harmonious laughter. The sonic resonance of their laughter ignited an intense wave of paranoid self-consciousness across my mind; my intellect calculated that their high-status discourse was actively focusing on my pathetic, peasant background, treating my existence as a joke. I leaned my head heavily back against the sofa cushions, tightly sealed my eyelids, and screamed a silent, desperate prayer to the Heavens: Oh Lord of the Universe... I beg of Your sovereignty, identify a single contemporary bride across the entire global matrix who has harvested a catastrophic lack of marital alignment and total emotional desolation matching my dimensions on her wedding week! I have a calculated certainty that no such specimen exists on this earth! Oh God... inject an absolute, superhuman capacity for silent endurance and unyielding fortitude into my soul to survive this living hell. I remained trapped within that living room prison until the exact chronological hour when the afternoon call to prayer (Al-Asr) echoed through the air. Abubakar Sadeek smoothly glided past my sofa, completely ignoring my presence as his footsteps targeted the local neighborhood mosque. Fadi also stood up, marching directly back into her private master suite without casting a single optical glance toward my coordinate. An intense, reckless impulse flared within my mind: Bolt out of this front gate this exact microsecond and execute a total escape back to your sector! Even though my geographical database possessed absolutely zero mapping coordinates regarding the roadway networks of this high-class zone, my pride command me to run. Yet, I violently clamped down on the panic, gritting my teeth to maintain structural control. The domestic housemaid materialized from the kitchen wings, and I intercepted her vector: "Identify the exact location engineered for the execution of ritual ablutions within this estate." "The legal wives execute their spiritual washings exclusively within the luxury en-suite bathrooms anchored inside their private bedroom wings," the maid responded politely. "Does this layout possess absolutely zero external water distribution valves or outdoor taps?" I presse
Chapter 10: The Forced Exodus
At around 5:00 PM, Hussaina stepped out of her room fully prepared. She wore a beautifully tailored, brown atamfa gown designed in a simple yet elegant silhouette. Her shoes perfectly complemented the rich, earthy tones of her dress, and she had draped a large, modest hijab over herself to cover her frame.
She walked with slow, calculated steps, each movement dripping with a deep sense of vulnerability, until she stood directly before her father. Bowing her head in absolute respect, she murmured, "I am ready, Daddy."
"Okay. Let’s move," he replied curtly, gesturing toward the main entrance.
Watching her walk with an agonizingly slow pace—like a hen carrying cracked eggs inside its belly—Daddy’s impatience flared. Without waiting another second, he stormed ahead, stepping out into the courtyard and climbing into the car to wait for her.
The moment her father cleared the room, Hussaina seized the brief window of privacy to turn to her mother. Her voice trembled with intense anxiety. "Momy, please... where exactly are we going?"
Momy shook her head, her face carrying a mixture of helplessness and exhaustion. "You are asking a chicken the way to the river, my daughter. I am as blind to this situation as you are. I have absolutely no idea what is truly happening. All I know is that from the moment your father woke up today, he has been consumed by frantic, nonstop preparations. He didn't even have the patience to sit down and eat his meal."
Hassana, who was sitting close by on the sofa, sighed softly, her eyes filled with deep concern. "May Allah make it an absolute path of goodness. Honestly, it completely baffles me how Daddy explicitly ordered Hussaina to get ready and step out with him alone, entirely excluding me. For as long as I can remember, wherever we go, we always travel together as one."
"Well, only the Almighty truly knows the mystery behind this today," Momy stated, gently nudging Hussaina toward the door. "Hurry up and follow him out. Do not let him lose his temper or feel like you are deliberately wasting his precious time."
Without uttering another word, Hussaina turned on her heel and exited the living room.
When she reached the driveway, she found Daddy sitting behind the wheel, his grip tight on the steering wheel as he waited. She instinctively walked toward the front passenger side, extending her hand to pull the car door open.
Suddenly, Daddy turned and flashed her a sharp, terrifyingly venomous glare. "Get in the back!" he snapped.
Her entire body shivered with fear. Retreating instantly, her hands trembling, she opened the rear door and slipped into the back seat.
Daddy started the engine, shifting the vehicle into gear. At the edge of the compound, the old gateman, Mallam Bala, swung the iron gates wide open, waving a respectful farewell to his employer as the car pulled out onto the main street.
Securing the heavy gates once more, Mallam Bala walked back to his small wooden bench, easing himself onto the seat with a deep, knowing nod. "Wallahi, Alhaji truly knows exactly how to handle a wayward child," the old man muttered to himself. "If Alhaji hadn't acted with this extreme urgency to marry this girl off, she would have undoubtedly brought a massive, irreversible shame upon his household. Although, to be honest... I don't even know if it was her or her twin sister who caused the trouble. I can never tell those two apart anyway." Shaking his head, he reached over, switched on his small radio, and quietly immersed himself in the broadcast.
Chapter 11: The Arrival at Malali
Daddy drove through the city streets in grim, unyielding silence. He didn't stop until he reached the upscale neighborhood of Dutsin Safe, Malali Quarters, pulling up directly outside the grand, sprawling estate belonging to Jabeer.
He tapped the horn twice. Within seconds, the security guard rushed forward, throwing the gates wide open. Daddy drove into the pristine compound, parking the vehicle smoothly within the designated carport.
Stepping out of the vehicle, he turned toward the back seat and commanded, "Get out of the car."
Without a single word of hesitation, Hussaina stepped out. From the moment they had passed through the front gates, her eyes had been wide with quiet awe. The sheer architectural beauty and flawless design of the estate completely captivated her.
Whose beautiful house is this? she wondered silently. Could it belong to one of Daddy's elite business associates that we've never visited? And why on earth did Daddy choose to bring me here all by myself, leaving Hassana behind when we always go everywhere together?
Daddy abruptly shattered her train of thought, his stern voice cutting through the air. "Follow me inside."
Obeying his command, she trailed closely behind him. He pushed open a magnificent, heavy door that led directly into a massive formal living room. The space was furnished with colossal, ultra-modern luxury sofas positioned perfectly in the center. To the side, a short flight of elegant steps led to an elevated dining area featuring an expansive table surrounded by high-end dining chairs.
Directly across from the seating arrangement, a massive plasma television was mounted flawlessly onto the wall, flanked by a powerful, high-end home theater speaker system. Beautiful, eye-catching floral arrangements occupied the corners of the room, adding a touch of sophisticated vibrance. Every piece of furniture, the decor, and even the premium paint on the walls carried a deep, cohesive shade of royal purple.
Daddy stopped in the center of the room, turning around to face her. His voice was calm, yet it carried an unshakeable weight. "Hussaina, look around you. This grand house you see does not belong to a stranger. This is the home of your husband."
Thud!
Her heart dropped into her stomach with a violent, terrifying jolt. Her eyes snapped up to look at her father, searching his face for any sign of a joke. Seeing nothing but absolute, ironclad seriousness, she instantly averted her gaze, staring down at the floor as her heart hammered wildly against her ribs.
"I chose to marry you off immediately rather than sit back and watch you bring public disgrace and ruin upon my name," Daddy continued, his voice cold and resolute. "This is your matrimonial home. You will remain here, submit entirely to your husband, and obey his every command. Never forget that your paradise now lies directly beneath the soles of his feet. If you follow his path and honor him, you will find peace; but if you choose to rebel and go astray, then only Allah knows the severe punishment that awaits you."
He stepped closer, his tone softening slightly as he delivered a deeply moving, soul-stirring counsel on the sanctity of marriage and the absolute necessity of preserving her dignity. "I command you to be a deeply submissive and respectful daughter to me, your father, and an honorable wife to your husband. Live in peace, and protect your home."
Reaching into his traditional robes, Daddy pulled out a thick, heavy bundle of crisp one-thousand-Naira notes and placed them on the table beside her. "Keep this currency. If you ever find yourself in need of any personal item, use this. I do not ever want to hear that you are placing financial stress or making unnecessary demands on your husband."
With those final words, Daddy turned around and walked out of the house, leaving her behind.
Chapter 12: The Depths of Despair
For a long time after her father’s departure, Hussaina remained frozen on the spot, utterly unable to move. Her mind was a chaotic storm of agonizing questions. What kind of a marriage is this? she wept silently. Daddy has married me off as if this entire life is a mere child’s game! When exactly was this wedding even solemnized? And who on earth is this mysterious husband? Where did Daddy find a man willing to blindly agree to a marriage within the span of a single day?
She ran through a thousand questions, but the walls offered no answers. Overwhelmed by the sheer isolation, she collapsed onto the floor and burst into a fit of violent, hysterical sobbing.
"It’s over," she wailed into the empty room. "Now I know for a fact that Daddy doesn't love me at all! What did I do... what could I have possibly done to deserve such a brutal, merciless punishment?!"
The Architecture of a Hidden Sanctuary
Chapter 13: The Discovery of the Sanctuary
She wept until her strength was completely spent, her voice turning hoarse in the empty house. Realizing that no one was coming to rescue her, she slowly pushed herself up from the floor and began to wander through the vast property.
She stepped into a second, smaller living room. This lounge was also beautifully furnished with premium sofas and an entertainment system, though it was slightly more intimate than the grand primary parlor. Here, every single element—from the upholstery to the accents—was styled in a rich, soothing shade of emerald green.
Moving down the wide hallway, she pushed open the door to the master bedroom. She gasped softly; the room was adorned with breathtaking, high-end furniture imported directly from Dubai, looking incredibly beautiful and luxurious.
Exiting the master suite, she moved to the adjacent bedroom. Pushing the door open, she found another beautifully decorated bedroom. This room was furnished entirely with top-tier, custom-made Nigerian furniture, yet the sheer craftsmanship and aesthetic layout were so flawless that it almost rivaled the imported luxury of the Dubai suite.
After exploring every corner of the house, Hussaina walked back into the master bedroom. She sat down directly in the center of the large bed, burying her face in her hijab.
Instantly, the image of Hafiz flooded her mind. A fresh wave of agonizing grief tore through her soul, and she began to weep bitterly. It’s over, she thought, her heart breaking into a million pieces. I have been permanently severed from Hafiz—the only man I have ever truly loved, the one who holds my entire heart. How am I supposed to live under the same roof with a stranger when my soul belongs to Hafiz? What am I going to do with my life?
Who did Daddy even force me to marry? she wondered, resting her chin in her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks. Can I truly survive living with him? Ironically, even in her wildest dreams, the image of Jabeer never once crossed her mind; she had absolutely no inkling that her father's humble assistant was the man who had been wedded to her that afternoon.
As she sat there, she began to recall the sweet, intoxicating words and the passionate affection Hafiz had showered upon her during their secret encounters. They have torn us apart, she panicked, her mind racing. He will never hold me again, never pour the sweetness of his love into my life.
Suddenly, as if stung by a viper, she snapped to her feet. Her eyes flashed with defiance. "No! This cannot happen!" she declared aloud to the empty room. "I will never accept a permanent separation from Hafiz, no matter what happens! Hafiz is the only man I will ever marry to find true happiness in this world! Whoever this fool is who foolishly agreed to marry me within a day is about to learn a bitter lesson. I will make sure he regrets the very day he brought me into his house!"
Chapter 14: The Bitter Fallout at Home
Meanwhile, back at the family estate, Momy and Hassana had spent the last few hours trapped in a state of absolute, agonizing suspense. They had spun a thousand different theories, completely unable to comprehend why Daddy would abruptly take Hussaina away while entirely excluding her identical twin.
The heavy front door clicked open, and Daddy stepped into the living room. Momy and Hassana immediately locked their eyes onto him, their breath catching when they realized he had returned completely alone.
Momy summoned every ounce of her courage, her voice trembling as she asked, "Alhaji... where is Hussaina? I see you have returned alone, yet you left this house together."
"She is currently in her husband's house," he replied with icy brevity. Without offering another syllable of explanation, he marched past them and entered his private quarters.
Momy stood frozen, her mind spinning in absolute bewilderment as she trailed after him into his room.
Hassana sat on the sofa, the words echoing in her ears like a physical blow. She slowly rose to her feet, walking back to their shared bedroom in a daze. "Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un... Her husband's house?!" she whispered, her voice cracking with shock. When on earth did my sister get married without us knowing? It is completely obvious that even Momy was kept entirely in the dark about this.
"Ya Salam!" Hassana cried out, clutching her head with both hands as a sharp, agonizing migraine began to throb behind her eyes, threatening to split her skull in two. She collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow as hot, heavy tears began to flow uncontrollably.
Inside the master bedroom, a furious confrontation was unfolding. Momy’s voice was laced with deep, unbridled anger. "Haba, Alhaji! I completely fail to understand the meaning of this absurd behavior!"
Daddy turned around slowly, a cold, mocking smile playing on his lips. "Maryam, I have absolutely no intention of repeating what I just said. I am entirely certain you heard me perfectly clear the first time."
"This is unbelievable, Alhaji! You have officially proven to me that you harbor nothing but pure hatred for Hussaina!" Momy shouted, her voice rising in pitch. "How could you subject her to such a brutal, unconventional judgment? Rushing a marriage within forty-eight hours as if she were a worthless piece of stray wood! For God's sake, Alhaji, I am her biological mother! I had a fundamental right to be informed, yet I was left completely completely oblivious! You simply carted my daughter away and dropped her at a stranger's house! I will never accept this! Tell me exactly where my daughter is right now so I can go and bring her back! If you don't want her in this house, I want her! She is my flesh and blood!"
"Silence, Maryam!" Daddy roared, his voice booming like thunder through the suite. "This marriage was orchestrated by my hand, it has been legally and religiously binding, and absolutely no force on this earth has the power to dissolve it! Let me ask you this—if that girl had succeeded in bringing a massive, public scandal of pregnancy or disgrace upon our heads, do you honestly think the society would mock you even half as much as they would mock me? My decision is final! If you find my executive judgment within this household unacceptable, the front gates are wide open; you are fully free to pack your bags and leave! But as for my children, they belong to me, and I possess absolute authority over their lives!"
Momy froze, looking at her husband in absolute shock. The raw, unyielding ferocity in his eyes made her realize that he was completely serious. If she pushed him any further, he would dissociate from her without a single shred of regret. Realizing she had to change her strategy, she took a deep breath, bowing her head in sudden humility as she stepped closer to him.
"Haba, Alhaji... please forgive me," she murmured softly, her voice dropping into a gentle, submissive tone. "Why must we let anger drive a wedge between us like this? If this is how you have decided to handle the matter, then may the Almighty Allah let it be the absolute best path for Hussaina’s destiny. And as for her twin sister, Hassana, we pray that Allah sends her an honorable, righteous suitor when the time is right."
"Amen," Daddy replied, his tension finally easing. He turned and walked into his private bathroom to take a refreshing shower, preparing to perform his ablutions as the call for the Maghrib prayer was beginning to echo across the neighborhood.
Momy returned to her own room, quickly performing her ablutions and laying out her prayer mat. After completing her prayers, she remained seated on the mat for a long time, pouring her heart out in desperate, emotional supplications for the protection and survival of her twin daughters.
Chapter 15: The Confession to Zuby
Inside her new, silent bedroom, Hussaina sat on the edge of the mattress, completely consumed by an overwhelming sense of isolation. Desperate for a lifeline, she reached for her mobile device, scrolled through her contacts until she found Zuby’s name, and dialed the number.
Zuby answered on the very first ring. "Hello, my friend! You’ve been completely scarce these past couple of days."
"Hmm... just leave it alone, Zuby," Hussaina sighed heavily. "You know what they say—when prayers are active, conversation ceases."
Zuby sat up, her interest instantly piqued. "I don't understand, my friend. Has something happened to you?"
"So many things have happened, Zuby. In fact, as I am speaking to you on this phone right now, I am currently sitting inside my own matrimonial home."
Zuby bolted upright from her bed, her heart instantly leaping into her throat. "What do you mean your home, Hussaina? Do you mean your family home, or your husband’s house?!"
"Hmm... my husband's house, Zuby. Daddy forced me into a sudden marriage, and I was officially moved in today."
"A marriage?! Hussaina?!" Zuby gasped, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. A sudden, terrifying panic seized her soul. Dear God, please don't let her say she married Hafiz! she screamed internally. If Hussaina has somehow married Hafiz, I swear a bloody war will erupt between us!
Suppressing her frantic anxiety, Zuby forced her voice to remain steady. "But... who is the groom, Hussaina?"
"Wallahi, Zuby, to this very second, I have absolutely no idea who my husband is," Hussaina confessed. "But I desperately need you to come over tomorrow."
"Okay... I will definitely come, my friend. But what neighborhood are you in?"
Hussaina carefully read out the full address of the Malali Quarters estate. After exchanging brief pleasantries, they ended the call.
The moment the line went dead, Zuby fell into a state of absolute, frenzied madness. She began pacing frantically across her bedroom floor like a lunatic. "If my suspicions turn out to be true, and Hussaina has actually married Hafiz, I swear by everything I hold dear, I will find a way to tear them apart! Even if it means ending her life, I will do it! I love Hafiz with every fiber of my being, and I will never survive seeing him in the arms of another woman!"
Hot, angry tears streamed down her face. Wiping them away aggressively, she marched over to her bedside drawer, yanked it open, and pulled out a bottle of Codeine syrup. She uncapped it, tilting her head back as she greedily chugged the liquid down until the bottle was completely empty. Tossing the glass aside, she collapsed onto her bed, gasping for air as the heavy narcotic slowly took over her senses, dragging her into a deep, drug-induced slumber.
Chapter 16: The Unmasking of the Groom
Back in her room, Hussaina kept her eyes locked onto the bedroom door, her anxiety spiking with every passing second as she awaited the arrival of her mysterious groom.
Suddenly, her phone began to ring. She glanced down, expecting to see Zuby calling back with more questions, but her heart violently skipped a beat when Hafiz’s name lit up the screen. Her chest tightened with absolute panic. She stared at the vibrating device until the call timed out.
Within seconds, the phone began to ring a second time. She couldn't bring herself to answer it; the mere sight of his name sent waves of intense guilt and terror through her body. Yet, Hafiz remained relentlessly persistent, dialing a third time.
With her hands shaking violently, she forced herself to slide the screen to accept the call, lifting the device to her ear. She remained completely silent, waiting for him to break the ice.
"Hello, my baby," Hafiz’s smooth, seductive voice echoed through the speaker. "Are you okay?"
Hussaina gripped the phone tighter, her entire body trembling as the mere sound of his voice triggered a chaotic flood of complex emotions within her soul.
"Hello, baby? Can you hear me?" he repeated.
Steeling her nerves, she forced her voice into a low, strained whisper. "I can hear you."
"Why did you keep me waiting like that? Do you have any idea how frantic I’ve been about you? I’ve been completely miserable these past two days without you by my side..."
"Stop it, Hafiz!" Hussaina suddenly erupted, her voice cracking with pure rage and venom. "Save your disgusting, sweet-talking lies! You have completely ruined me! You destroyed my life and robbed me of the single most precious virtue that every honorable woman protects and prides herself on in this world!"
Tears of pure bitterness overflowed from her eyes. "But it's fine. It is entirely my fault because I foolishly trusted you and handed my virtue over to you completely. And look at me now—I am currently trapped inside my husband's house, stripped of any shred of value or dignity with which he will ever look at me!"
"Hold on, Hussaina," Hafiz interrupted, his tone shifting into smooth confusion. "I have absolutely no idea what you are rambling about—"
"Don't lie to me!" she screamed. "You systematically deceived me! You lured me to your house under the pretense of introducing me to your mother, but it was all an elaborate, sickening trap to violate my body—"
Suddenly, a loud, clear Islamic greeting echoed from the front living room.
“Assalamu Alaikum!”
The voice was clear and distinct. In a state of absolute panic, Hussaina abruptly cut the call, shoved the phone beneath her pillow, and frantically yanked her large hijab over her face, trembling as she awaited the intruder.
She heard firm, measured footsteps approaching the master bedroom. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Assalamu Alaikum warahmatullah," the voice repeated softly as the bedroom door swung open. The man stepped into the room, calmly easing himself onto the edge of the mattress.
The moment the sound of his voice hit her ears, a sharp jolt of recognition ran through her. Then, the distinct, familiar scent of his premium cologne—Story of Love—hit her senses, completely confirming her suspicions.
She frantically pulled the hijab away from her face, her eyes widening in absolute horror as she came face-to-face with Jabeer.
"Jabeer?!" she shrieked, pointing a shaking, accusing finger directly at his face. "So you are the monster who orchestrated this trap against me?! You deliberately severed me from the man I love! You manipulated my father into forcing me into this ridiculous, child-like marriage within forty-eight hours! I explicitly told you long ago that my heart belongs to someone else, not you! I swear by the Almighty, you will bitterly regret marrying me! If you did this to bring joy into your life, you have failed miserably, because I will turn your existence into a living hell!"
Jabeer looked at her, his expression remarkably calm and gentle. "Hussaina... please calm down. I did not do this to bring misery into your life. And if I didn't truly love you from the depths of my soul, I would have never taken you as my wife. I need you to understand that this union is our divine destiny (Kaddara). Let us embrace it and pray that Allah fills our path with absolute goodness."
Hearing his calm, gentle words, Hussaina suddenly collapsed onto the bed, bursting into a fresh fit of violent weeping. A terrifying wave of realization hit her—she was completely powerless, stripped of her virtue, and trapped in a marriage where her secret could be exposed at any moment. Realizing that throwing a tantrum would only hasten her ruin, she decided her best course of action was to play along, submit quietly, and hope that Allah would shield her secret from exposure.
Wiping her tears, she took a shaky breath and whispered, "May Allah guide our steps... and may He grant us absolute goodness in this marriage."
Jabeer’s face instantly lit up with a profound, heartfelt smile. He was deeply relieved and quite amazed by how quickly her intense rage had dissolved into sweet submission. "Amen," he replied warmly.
Chapter 17: The Sacred Consumption
Jabeer gently instructed her to prepare for their marital prayers so they could offer gratitude to the Creator, exactly as prescribed by Islamic tradition. Without a single word of resistance, Hussaina walked into the bathroom, performed her ablutions, and stepped out. Jabeer followed suit, completing his ablutions before leading them both in a beautiful, serene nafila prayer. After concluding the prayers, he spent a long time reciting powerful, emotional supplications over her, asking for divine protection, peace, and eternal love in their home.
Once the prayers were finished, Jabeer reached for a large bag he had brought into the room, placing it in the center of the plush carpet. He walked into the kitchen, returning with clean plates and cups. He unpeeled the foil to reveal three perfectly golden, roasted chickens, pairing the meal with chilled fresh milk and 5alive juice.
He turned toward Hussaina, who was sitting curled up on the edge of the bed, looking small, vulnerable, and completely subdued as she quietly watched his movements. Deep down in her soul, a cold dread was paralyzing her; she was utterly consumed by the terrifying thought of what would happen the moment Jabeer came close to her and discovered that she was no longer a virgin.
Lost in her dark thoughts, a few silent tears slipped down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand, hoping he hadn't noticed.
Jabeer walked over to her, a warm, tender smile on his face. "Bismillah, my beautiful queen," he said softly, breaking her out of her trance. "I know for a fact that you must be starving. You need to eat something substantial before you sleep."
She shook her head gently. "No... I’m really not hungry."
"I don't believe you for a second," Jabeer teased gently, reaching over and playfully resting his palm against her stomach. "This stomach looks like it has been deprived of food for far too long."
She gently pushed his hand away. "I told you, I’m not hungry."
"Alright, even if you aren't starving, I won't allow you to sleep on an empty stomach. I suppose your royal stubbornness is just acting up tonight, my beautiful wife," he joked warmly.
Using his fingers, he neatly tore off a tender piece of chicken breast, lifting it toward her lips. Hussaina instinctively turned her head away.
"Haba, Hussaina," Jabeer pleaded gently, his eyes filled with sincere affection. "Please do not reject food from my hands. It would truly break my heart if you refuse to eat. For my sake, please accept it."
Slowly, she turned her head back toward him. Jabeer patiently fed her piece by piece, ensuring she ate her fill before pouring a glass of chilled fresh milk, which she managed to finish with some effort.
Jabeer then ate a few bites of the chicken himself, washing it down with juice. He cleared the plates, walked into his own quarters, changed out of his traditional wear, and took a refreshing shower.
The moment he left the room, Hussaina walked over to the massive wardrobe. Opening the doors, she found it packed to the brim with beautiful, expensive clothing. She wasn't surprised; Daddy had already made it clear that everything she could ever need had been provided.
She selected a stunning, sheer nightgown—the kind of alluring attire designed to leave very little to the imagination. Slipping into it, she misted her skin with a soft, captivating fragrance.
She climbed into the large bed, leaving all the bedroom lights fully illuminated. She was gripped by a deep, unsettling fear; the unfamiliar silence of the house made her feel incredibly isolated, and she desperately missed the comforting presence of Hassana, who had slept by her side every night of her life. Convinced that Jabeer would be sleeping in his own bedroom since he had left her alone, she pulled the duvet over her frame and allowed exhaustion to drag her into a deep sleep.
A short while later, Jabeer stepped back into the master bedroom. He was dressed in a pair of pristine white shorts and a matching vest, carrying the intoxicating scent of his premium Story of Love cologne.
Noticing that the bedroom lights were fully turned on, he initially assumed Hussaina was still awake. Stepping softly into the room, he closed the door securely behind him. As he approached the bed, his breath caught in his throat.
Hussaina was fast asleep, her breathing slow and even. The sheer nightgown she wore left her flawless, breathtaking silhouette completely visible beneath the light. An intense, overwhelming wave of raw passion and desire instantly surged through Jabeer's entire being.
He quietly dimmed the main lights, leaving only a soft, warm bedside lamp illuminated. He climbed onto the mattress, sliding beneath the duvet, and gently pulled her beautiful, soft body into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest.
Chapter 18: The Shocking Truth
As Jabeer’s warm hands began to tenderly caress her soft skin, Hussaina slowly stirred from her deep sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, coming face-to-face with Jabeer, who was completely lost in a deep ocean of passion, showering her with intense, breathless affection.
A sudden, unexpected wave of profound pleasure rippled through her entire body—a sensation so intense and beautiful that she couldn't even comprehend it. Instantly surrendering to the moment, she wrapped her arms around his neck, fully relinquishing her body to his touch.
As the night unfolded, Jabeer guided her through the intimacy with incredible patience, mastery, and profound tenderness. Hussaina found herself completely astonished by him. How on earth is Jabeer so passionate and incredibly skilled in love? she wondered in a daze. Before their marriage, he had always presented himself as a deeply conservative, strictly religious man who spoke of nothing but moral execution and spiritual lessons. Yet tonight, he was a completely different man.
With those thoughts swirling in her mind, she completely surrendered her soul to him. On that unforgettable night, they fully consumed their marriage. And it was during those sacred, passionate moments that Jabeer discovered the ultimate truth: Hussaina was a completely untouched, pure, and flawless virgin.
The realization filled his heart with an unshakeable, explosive wave of pure, unadulterated joy. He had met his wife at the pinnacle of her purity.
However, Hussaina began to weep uncontrollably, the intense physical pain and overwhelming emotional shock of the experience causing tears to stream down her face. Jabeer immediately pulled her close, cradling her head against his chest and whispering sweet, comforting words of adoration into her ear, a fierce new wave of deep, unshakeable love wrapping around his heart for his beautiful bride.
He gently stepped out of bed, walked into the bathroom, and performed his ritual bath. He then prepared a deep tub of warm, soothing water, walked back into the bedroom, and gently lifted Hussaina into his arms to carry her to the bathroom.
Hussaina instinctively shied away, shrugging her shoulders and trying to break free from his grip in extreme shyness. Jabeer simply smiled, respecting her boundaries. He gently held her hand, supporting her slow, tender steps as they walked into the bathroom together.
Once she had thoroughly soaked and completed her bath, Jabeer helped her back to the bed, tucking her comfortably beneath the sheets. He adjusted the air conditioning to a perfect, cool setting to counter the outside heat.
Returning to the bathroom, he performed a fresh ablution, walked back into the room, and stepped onto his prayer mat. He began to perform continuous, beautiful cycles of voluntary nafila prayers, pouring out his infinite gratitude to the Almighty Allah until drowsiness finally began to settle over his eyelids.
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THE PRICE OF MODERNITY (PART 2)
The weight of his toxic statement struck my physical frame with the absolute velocity of a localized lightning bolt; my entire nervous system instantly froze into deep emotional numbness. Moving with rigid, deliberate speed, I stood up from my vanity mirror, migrated back toward the mattress, and collapsed onto the bed in a state of absolute existential agony. It felt as though my very lower limbs lacked the structural capacity to anchor my weight in a seated posture; consequently, I leaned back completely against the headboard and tightly closed my eyelids.
Despite every single conscious output my intellect deployed to block the cascade of tears from clearing my eyelids, the emotional pressure overrode my somatic controls. The hot droplets rolled down the corners of my eyes, while the structural alignment of my left eye forced a steady stream of tears down the bridge of my nose.
A cruel, calculated smirk played across Abubakar Sadeek’s lips. Deep within his psychological blueprint, he harbored a persistent, twisted desire to witness the absolute emotional destabilization of Hafsat—notwithstanding the profound, unyielding love his heart silently carried for my womanhood. Whenever his memory retrieved the vivid data of how I had historically stood before his gaze, proudly articulating the defensive lie that I was a functional prostitute, a profound wave of acute masculine humiliation would suffocate his soul, making him wish the earth would swallow his frame alive.
He swiveled his gaze toward my collapsed form, his voice cutting through the silence. "Arise from that mattress immediately! Why on earth have you chosen to assume a paralyzed posture like a clinical patient?"
I released a ragged, heavy sigh from my chest, keeping my vocal decibels entirely low and controlled. "Had my intellect processed the data that this journey was fundamentally organized to execute a competitive beauty pageant, I would have absolutely zeroed out the time I squandered decorating my anatomy for this departure. Proceed immediately to her estate, Sadeek, and award her the grand trophy of total surrender that your heart has engineered for her presence."
He fell into a brief, heavy silence, his mind likely executing a structural analysis of the sharp metaphors I had just deployed. Without delivering a verbal counter, he pivoted and marched toward the exit, dropping a final icy clause: "The exact microsecond your systems complete their preparations, you will find my coordinate waiting inside the vehicle—assuming my status still commands the legal authority to issue a structural mandate across your life."
Every single fiber of my being screamed to remain permanently anchored in that bedroom, completely defying his itinerary. However, recognizing that my current reality granted me zero structural leverage to execute a total rebellion, I was forced to return to the vanity mirror. I pulled on a premium black jalabiya adorned with sharp, crimson-red geometric patterns and featuring tightly tailored wrists. I wrapped my head in a matching black chiffon veil lined with identical red highlights. The footwear paired with the luxury handbag were both selected in a striking, uniform shade of crimson red. I heavily saturated my frame with an array of high-grade perfumes; upon executing a final visual sweep of my reflection in the glass, a soft, involuntary smile played on my lips—the raw aesthetic data confirmed that my womanhood looked entirely breathtaking.
Yet, deep within my chest, my spiritual core remained heavily weighed down by the toxic remarks he had just hurled against my character. I marched out of the compound, approached the front passenger side of the luxury vehicle where he sat behind the wheel, and spoke in a muted, submissive tone: "Permit me a brief chronological window to execute formal farewell salutations to Gwaggo and the elder household matriarchs."
He snapped his head up, his deep eyes locking onto mine, establishing a high-tension optical connection. I rapidly broken the gaze, tilting my head downwards as I folded my arms securely across my chest to block his view of my form.
"Proceed immediately then," he uttered with cool impatience. "What exact variable is holding your frame completely stationary before my vision like an obstacle?"
I kept my eyes anchored to the floor. "I was simply waiting for the release of your official patriarchal command before moving my coordinates."
I systematically circled through the entire estate, interfacing with every single female elder to deliver my departure greetings, assuring them of our imminent return. A deep wave of collective satisfaction rippled through their ranks; my operational intelligence immediately decoded that the family network harbored an intense, protective desire for their biological daughter, Fadi, to be treated with absolute high-status deference.
I returned to the vehicle and smoothly transitioned into the front passenger seat that he had mechanically unlocked. We crawled through the city traffic until we arrived at her private compound. The estate was a spectacular masterpiece of architectural design, flanked by rows of breathtaking, precisely manicured floral arrangements. I maintained a submissive posture, trailing directly behind his footsteps until we breached the threshold of an ultra-luxurious, expansive living room.
The absolute first visual asset that confronted a visitor's consciousness was a massive, high-density custom portrait of the couple, intentionally resting on the floor and leaning against the main accent wall. A single optical sweep was all my intellect required to evaluate the image before I violently averted my gaze; their sharp, aristocratic features mirrored the elite genetic phenotypes of high-caste Arabs or premium Bollywood actors.
He looked down at my quiet form, his voice dripping with casual domestic comfort. "Assume a seated posture on the sofa. Let me rapidly call her down from the upper quarters." As his footsteps ascended the staircase, his voice echoed through the rafters, singing out: "Sweety..."
I felt a sudden, violent urge to jam my fingers directly into my ear canals to permanently deafen my hearing against that sonic display of romantic intimacy; the venom of absolute kaddara-driven jealousy was actively corroding my internal systems. I forced my body to sink deeply into a premium leather sofa finished in a sleek, cement-grey palette. My eyes initiated a continuous, anxious sweep of the luxury interior layout; a vast array of the high-end avant-garde decors scattered across the perimeter were completely foreign to my peasant background—assets my eyes had never historically intersected.
Ultimately, I chose to anchor my visual focus onto a massive wall-mounted smart television screen, where a troop of Bollywood actors were executing a complex, synchronized dance sequence. Let me be entirely transparent with the record: it was absolutely not the artistic choreography of the Indian dancers that held my gaze prisoner; rather, it was a desperate psychological defense mechanism deployed to numb the burning, absolute humiliation that was actively devouring my soul from within. I continuously breathed internal incantations to stabilize my heart: Enforce absolute patience across your nervous system, Hafsat. You possess the data that time is an unbending river; a calendar day will inevitably manifest when this entire agonizing matrix will transform into a mere historical footnote.
Suddenly, their hands tightly locked together in an intricate, palm-to-palm embrace, the couple smoothly glided into the living room. Her genetic markers presented an absolute, near-identical symmetry to his aristocratic layout. A massive, suffocating block of raw emotional heat instantly wedged itself directly inside my throat; every single primal instinct screaming within my shadow self commanded me to leap off the sofa and violently assault their perfect, beautiful forms. Another hidden, dark compartment of my consciousness barked a terrifying instruction: Arise from that seat this exact microsecond and violently strangle her throat!
A cold sweat broke across my skin. I rapidly whispered the sacred defensive incantations to purge the demonic entity from my mind: "A'uzubillahi minasshaidaninrrajim... A'uzubillahi minasshaidaninrrajim... A'uzubillahi minasshaidaninrrajim!" I completed the triple cycle and added a desperate spiritual plea: Oh Sovereign Creator, permanently dissolve this dark, suffocating blindness paralyzing my heart; grant my existence the absolute fortitude to execute dignified endurance, and ensure my rationality reigns supreme over the primitive storms of my ego.
The exact microsecond their footsteps finalized their transit to my coordinate, I stood up completely erect. An extraordinary, miraculous wave of total psychological peace instantly swept through my systems, completely clearing the toxic static. I unleashed a dazzling, radiant, and profoundly warm smile across my features—an elegant social mask I was entirely unaware my womanhood even possessed—and extended my right hand toward her position in absolute grace.
"May the absolute peace of the Almighty, alongside His boundless mercies and infinite structural blessings, remain permanently anchored across your existence," I saluted beautifully.
She smoothly extended her manicured hand to meet my grip, her features shifting into a polite expression. "Amen. May the identical peace of the Lord remain permanently anchored across your path as well." Our fingers locked in a firm, elegant social embrace.
We released the grip, and I returned to my seat while she gracefully assumed a posture on the adjacent sofa. "My heart has harbored a long-standing desire for your presence to execute a transit to this estate so we could formalize our greetings," she initiated smoothly.
"The matrix of time has validated that desire," I responded with immaculate poise. "Behold, my presence stands before you today."
She rose to her feet and directed her coordinates toward an interior architectural archway that my intellect mapped as the culinary kitchen sector. Abubakar Sadeek casually snatched the remote control device, rapidly cycling through multiple global television networks before depositing the controller on the coffee table and vacating the parlor to enter his private bedroom suite. Within a brief chronological window, Fadi re-emerged from the kitchen corridor holding an elegant crystal glass paired with a premium carton of imported fruit juice. Let the record reflect that her facial expression carried a highly restricted, heavily budgeted level of genuine warmth—her smile was entirely superficial.
She deposited the items onto an adjacent wooden stool, slid it directly before my perimeter, and returned to her seated posture. I took possession of the crystal glass, leaned my spine comfortably against the leather upholstery, and resumed watching the television screen while executing slow, elegant sips of the beverage.
Within minutes, she rose once more and glided toward the exact same private master suite Abubakar had breached moments ago. It was his personal bedroom domain within the estate. They closed the door behind them, leaving my solitary frame completely abandoned in the vast, quiet parlor.
I violently slammed the crystal glass back down onto the stool; the liquid juice that had tasted completely sweet mere seconds ago suddenly transformed into absolute, bitter gall across my palate, ruined by the sheer volume of silent, crushing humiliation choking my chest. They remained locked within the dark sanctuary of the bedroom for approximately ten continuous minutes (10\text{ min}) before she finally materialized back in the living room, followed closely by his tall frame. She immediately migrated into her separate private bedroom wing to execute a wardrobe change, while his footsteps directly targeted my coordinate.
I swiveled my head to audit the luxury custom wall clock, which featured their premium engagement photograph printed across the dial face. I spoke in a flat, decisive register: "Given that our identities have successfully finalized the administrative protocol of formal greetings, I am executing an immediate departure to return to my residence."
He pinned his deep eyes onto my face. "Let me correct your geographical data: these exact coordinates you occupy also constitute your legitimate matrimonial home."
At that precise microsecond, her domestic housemaid emerged from the interior wings and began systematically deploying a massive spread of luxury culinary dishes across the formal dining table. Fadi exited her suite and glided toward our position, her voice a high-pitched, affectionate chirp: "Honey... migrate your coordinates to the dining table immediately so we can consume our meal."
He looked down at my face. "Arise from that seat and join our vector at the dining table."
"My physiological systems completed a full nutritional intake prior to this transit," I lied coldly.
Fadi stepped forward, her voice laced with sharp, patronizing authority. "I deliver an absolute veto against that excuse! Your status possesses zero sovereignty to reject food in this house; you are structurally mandated to eat!"
She and I marched side-by-side to the dining suite, assuming adjacent seats, while Abubakar Sadeek took a commanding position directly opposite her coordinate. She looked at me, her voice casual: "Shall I execute the physical portioning of the meals onto our plates?"
"I am entirely ignorant of the specific volumetric capacity of your internal digestive systems," I shot back with icy politeness. "Portion the meals according to your own parameters."
Abubakar smoothly hauled a premium ceramic plate toward his vector, systematically serving a lavish spread for their joint consumption. He then looked directly at my plate. "Execute the portioning of your own meal, Hafsat."
He rapidly swiveled his gaze back to Fadi’s face, arching his eyebrow in a highly intimate masculine gesture while executing a slow, deliberate wink with one eye. Fadi released a soft, playful giggle and delivered a light, flirtatious mock swat against his shoulder. Sadeek smoothly intercepted her wrist mid-air with absolute predatory grace, lifting her palm and planting a deep, romantic kiss directly onto the center of her hand.
She let out a soft, ecstatic squeal. I violently ripped my visual focus away from their stomach-turning romantic display, plunging my hand deep into my handbag as my smartphone suddenly erupted into a loud, vibrating ring. I bolted off the dining chair and sprinted back toward the living room sofas where my luxury handbag had been resting.
His sharp voice sliced through the air, tracking my flight: "What exact variable is causing your frame to flee the dining sector?!"
"I am simply moving to answer an incoming digital call," I threw back over my shoulder.
I retrieved the device and swiped the screen; the incoming data stream identified the caller as my elder brother, Yaya Umar. I dropped my vocal decibels to their lowest, most submissive register as we completed our initial family greetings.
"I am routing this connection to your line because our biological mother, Inna, is currently standing inside my parlor," Umar briefed me with rapid, blue-collar efficiency. "They have finalized their packing protocols, and my transit is scheduled to drive down to the local service station to refuel the commercial Bus before permanently escorting their frames back to their rural base."
"Lafiya, Yaya Umar," I responded, my heart dropping. "Transfer the digital line to her custody immediately."
The connection shifted, and Inna’s familiar, weathered voice filled my ear. We executed our emotional greetings before I spoke: "Is it an absolute reality that your journey back to the village is manifesting this exact afternoon?"
"Indeed, Hafsatu," she validated with deep maternal gravity. "Our logistics are fully locked in, and our departure is imminent. However, my soul harbored a burning, non-negotiable mandate to unleash a final, sacred layer of spiritual counsel across your consciousness before my presence vanishes from this sector! Hafsatu!! I command your womanhood to remain permanently anchored inside your matrimonial room; practice absolute, unyielding endurance (Hakuri) for the sake of the Living God! I am laying a profound maternal plea before your destiny: regardless of how terrifying the domestic storms become, or how bitter the sting of co-wife warfare tastes, I deliver an absolute maternal restriction against your feet ever executing an act of marital flight (Yaji) from Abubakar’s estate! Secure the preservation of your moral honor and protect my maternal dignity before society. You have audited with your own eyes the extraordinary, elite protective sanctuary the Lord of the Worlds has showered upon your broken life—He has blessed your destiny with a pristine, profoundly honorable, high-status gentleman as a husband! For the sake of the Almighty, do not execute a single action that will expose my maternal name to public shame!"
An absolute, violent flood of hysterical weeping violently erupted from my throat. The sheer magnitude of my grief caused me to entirely forget the high-status coordinates I occupied. In a blinding psychological flash, the dark corridors of my historical past collapsed into the present layout of my mind; my memory vividly replayed the tragic era when our biological mother had historically kneeled before my reckless youth, weeping and begging my identity to guard my virginity and protect my moral honor—a sacred mandate my arrogant, modern-minded youth had completely thrown into the dirt.
Even though the trauma of my past was absolutely not engineered by my own conscious will, the crushing weight of her words broke my defenses. "Inna..." I gasped out through a storm of suffocating, choked tears, keeping my voice as low as humanly possible, "I swear an unassailable oath before the throne of the Living God... only the absolute cold hand of mortality will ever possess the structural capacity to separate my physical frame from the matrimonial house of Abubakar Sadeek. I deliver an absolute maternal promise to your soul: regardless of the magnitude of domestic warfare or emotional torture I encounter within these walls, I will absolutely never, under any circumstances, execute an act of marital flight."
From his stationary coordinate at the dining table, Abubakar Sadeek’s deep, calculating eyes were completely pinned onto my weeping frame; his masculine face was positioned in a direct line of sight to my profile. Slowly, deliberately, he vacated his seat and began marching directly toward my coordinate, arriving at my side at the exact microsecond I finalized the farewell salutations, wishing my family a safe transit back to their rural sectors.
I buried my tear-stained face deeply between my knees, curled up on the sofa as a massive storm of bitter existential sorrow completely overwhelmed my mind. What exact variable across the canvas of agony am I expected to prioritize first? my soul screamed in pitch-black desolation. Am I to calculate the continuous, ruthless humiliation Abubakar Sadeek hurls at my character, or am I to endure the burning fire of absolute kaddara-driven jealousy as he operates with his elite co-wife? And to compound the structural torment, my own biological mother delivers an iron mandate that locks my body into this prison forever!
The deep resonance of his masculine voice suddenly manifested mere millimeters from my ear. "Decode the absolute cause of this psychological breakdown immediately," he demanded. "What exact variable has transpired?"
I rapidly lifted my head, deploying my sleeve to violently wipe the cascade of tears from my features, forced a cold, blank mask over my face, and stared directly into his eyes. "Absolutely zero variables have transpired across this sector."
Without asking for permission, his hand aggressively snatched my smartphone out of my grip. His fingers rapidly navigated the interface, auditing the raw metadata logs of the cellular connection I had just finalized. He instantly hit the redial protocol while the device was still actively synced to Inna’s cellular network.
The line connected, and Inna answered. Sadeek projected a smooth, high-status register: "Salamu alaikum, Umar."
"This is not Umar," Inna’s voice crackled across the speaker. "His identity has executed a brief transit to the local service station to purchase fuel. This is his biological mother speaking."
Abubakar Sadeek immediately dropped his vocal decibels, assuming an posture of deep, respectful humility as he seated his frame on the adjacent sofa cushions. "May your afternoon be saturated in absolute tranquility, Inna. This is Abubakar speaking—the legal husband of Hafsat."
"Masha-Allah! May your life be blessed with endless peace, my son! Are your household systems running with absolute success?" Inna’s voice radiated deep maternal warmth.
"With absolute structural success, Inna," Sadeek validated smoothly. "I am executing this rapid digital sweep because my eyes just audited Hafsat completing her phone call with your status, and her entire frame instantly dissolved into a massive storm of heavy weeping. Consequently, my intellect mobilized this line to audit the data and ensure your coordinates are completely free of an existential crisis or emergency."
Inna let out a soft, relieved chuckle over the speaker line. "Our coordinates are entirely safe and tranquil, my son. We were merely executing our final farewell protocols prior to our rural transit, and my maternal voice chose to deliver a standard layer of marital counsel across her ears. That is the solitary variable that triggered her emotional tears."
She paused for a brief chronological window before continuing her discourse, her voice dripping with profound patriarchal reverence: "As for your own noble status, my son... for the sake of the Living God, I am laying an absolute maternal plea before your authority: exercise an infinite reservoir of philosophical endurance (Hakuri) when dealing with her flaws. Execute absolute, unbending justice and equity (Adalci) between the legal wives anchored to your name. May the Sovereign Lord fortify your hands to successfully carry the massive weight of this patriarchal custodian role."
"I extend my profound gratitude for your sacred maternal blessings, Inna," Sadeek responded with immaculate grace. "I swear an iron oath before the Heavens: my masculine authority will aggressively protect and monitor her welfare with absolute devotion."
He severed the cellular connection, swiveled his posture to face my curled form, and hurled a heavy, judgmental look directly at my face.
"Given that your stubborn character harbors an absolute, genetic intolerance for the implementation of truth, your ego instantly mounted an emotional tantrum—dissolving into pathetic tears simply because a maternal authority delivered a baseline layer of moral counsel across your ears!" he barked with cool disdain. "Proceed to execute your life exactly according to the whims of your primitive desires, Hafsat! Since your intellect holds an absolute hatred for traditional guidance, feel entirely free to wreck your path. After all, this is absolutely not the primary chronological index where her voice has commanded your identity to execute rectitude and abandon deviance, only for your arrogant ego to violently reject her mandates! Go ahead—live like a lawless rebel, precisely as your history has always done."
He violently tossed the smartphone back onto my lap, turned his back on my weeping form, and smoothly migrated his coordinates back to the dining suite to rejoin his elite wife, Fadi.
Throughout the entire confrontation, Fadi’s analytical gaze had been completely locked onto our position from the dining table. However, my psychological tracking confirmed that she lacked the acoustic proximity to decode the specific linguistic variables we were trading. They finalized their luxury culinary consumption and resumed an expansive domestic dialogue, speaking entirely in their native Fulfulde tongue, punctuated by frequent bursts of elite, harmonious laughter.
The sonic resonance of their laughter ignited an intense wave of paranoid self-consciousness across my mind; my intellect calculated that their high-status discourse was actively focusing on my pathetic, peasant background, treating my existence as a joke. I leaned my head heavily back against the sofa cushions, tightly sealed my eyelids, and screamed a silent, desperate prayer to the Heavens: Oh Lord of the Universe... I beg of Your sovereignty, identify a single contemporary bride across the entire global matrix who has harvested a catastrophic lack of marital alignment and total emotional desolation matching my dimensions on her wedding week! I have a calculated certainty that no such specimen exists on this earth! Oh God... inject an absolute, superhuman capacity for silent endurance and unyielding fortitude into my soul to survive this living hell.
I remained trapped within that living room prison until the exact chronological hour when the afternoon call to prayer (Al-Asr) echoed through the air. Abubakar Sadeek smoothly glided past my sofa, completely ignoring my presence as his footsteps targeted the local neighborhood mosque. Fadi also stood up, marching directly back into her private master suite without casting a single optical glance toward my coordinate.
An intense, reckless impulse flared within my mind: Bolt out of this front gate this exact microsecond and execute a total escape back to your sector! Even though my geographical database possessed absolutely zero mapping coordinates regarding the roadway networks of this high-class zone, my pride command me to run. Yet, I violently clamped down on the panic, gritting my teeth to maintain structural control.
The domestic housemaid materialized from the kitchen wings, and I intercepted her vector: "Identify the exact location engineered for the execution of ritual ablutions within this estate."
"The legal wives execute their spiritual washings exclusively within the luxury en-suite bathrooms anchored inside their private bedroom wings," the maid responded politely.
"Does this layout possess absolutely zero external water distribution valves or outdoor taps?" I presse