The traffic gridlock on Central Park Road was chaotic, causing an absolute standstill. Vehicles weren't moving even an inch. Some drivers were stepping out of their cars, craning their necks to see what was happening ahead, as a massive crowd gathered on the tarmac with more onlookers rushing to the scene. I pushed and shoved my way through the dense crowd, determined to satisfy my curiosity and see exactly what was at the center of this commotion... Wow. Oh my God. Masha Allah. Lying there on the ground in a pool of blood was a breathtakingly handsome young guy. Despite the blood completely washing over his face and chest, it couldn't hide his striking good looks. Even a blind man could feel him and know that this guy possessed an extraordinary, unparalleled beauty. I thought to myself: “Wow, our society is something else. Look at all these people, and not a single soul is stepping forward to help him.” Before I could even finish that thought, another guy rushed into the circle at breakneck speed, panting heavily. Without stopping anywhere else, he collapsed right in front of the bleeding youth. Bursting into tears, he shook him violently and pleaded with the surrounding crowd: "For Allah's sake, someone help me get him to the hospital! I can't lift him alone... Please, look at the condition he's in! He isn't even breathing!" But due to pure malice and apathy, nobody paid him any attention. Instead, they just gossiped, whispering that he should move the body out of their way because they had places to be. An elderly man among them looked down and scoffed: "Wait, isn't that Alhaji Mainah’s son? Why should we help this cursed boy? He is completely useless! If the very parents who gave birth to him have disowned him and cast him out, who would dare risk getting involved in his mess? It's better to leave him to die. Death is exactly what a cursed boy of his character deserves." Everyone began throwing in their own bitter insults at the unconscious youth, who was completely oblivious to the world. The guy holding him continued to weep, begging for assistance, but the crowd remained cold. With immense effort, he dragged the bleeding youth to the shoulder of the road, crying out: "Allah is with you, Alfah. Insha Allah, you will not die today. Every living soul has their own trials, and this just happens to be yours. May Allah give you the strength to overcome it." He laid him down gently and rushed back to the roadside to hail a taxi. By God’s grace, one stopped. The driver rushed out, and together they lifted Alfah into the car and sped straight to the hospital.
Part 2: The Hospital Emergency
The medical team received him immediately, scolding Malik for not bringing him sooner. Malik, completely speechless, could only focus on one thing: seeing his best friend regain consciousness. He quickly paid for the medical card and went to the pharmacy counter with his ATM card to purchase all the required emergency supplies. After delivering the items to the nurses, he sat down in the hallway, holding his head. Tears streamed down his face as he began talking to himself like a man losing his mind: "Nothing will happen to you, Alfah. You will pull through. Insha Allah, nothing bad will happen. No matter how much you crave death right now, if your time isn't up, you won't die. You’ll only suffer through this pain. I just don't know when you will finally understand what I've been trying to show you. Even if you die, Alfah, you have no guarantee that the afterlife will grant you the peace and comfort you lacked in this world. Have patience; everything is fleeting. No condition is permanent. I feel it deep in my heart that one day, everything will be alright." He wept out of pure compassion for his friend. He had no one else but Alfah in this entire world; Alfah was his guardian and his everything. They shared every joy and every sorrow together. Suddenly, a hand tapped his shoulder. Malik looked up, his face stained with tears, to find a doctor standing over him. He quickly stood up, wiping his face, and asked in a trembling voice: "Doctor, is he awake? Has he regained consciousness? Is he going to be okay?" The doctor smiled gently. "Don't worry, your brother is alive. But let’s go to my office. I need to talk to you about a very serious issue." Malik followed closely, almost pacing ahead of the doctor out of sheer anxiety. The doctor chuckled softly at his panic, patted his shoulder, and led him into the office.
Part 3: Introduction to Sofiyyah (Fiyah)
"Assalamu Alaikum (Peace be upon you)." A breathtakingly beautiful young lady called out a greeting as she entered a house that could neither be described as rich nor poor. It was an average, decent house built with cement blocks, though one look told you the structure had aged and weathered over the years, with portions of the walls chipping away. The layout consisted of three rooms—a two-bedroom apartment with a parlor, and a single detached room. The kitchen sat right along the exit pathway, and there was a public toilet further inside. The concrete courtyard featured a large neem tree that provided a wide umbrella of shade; the flooring looked freshly cemented but lacked paint. The rooms inside, however, were neatly arranged. Off to the side of the entrance, a water well was visible, and a little further up was a small pen for livestock and poultry. In short, the owner of this house enjoyed a comfortable, independent life. On the outside of the building, facing the street, were two shops—one had been converted into a living room, and the other was a retail shop selling small household items. "Assalamu Alaikum!" The beautiful young lady repeated her greeting, screwing up her face in a slight frown, an expression that somehow made her look even more attractive. She was incredibly fair-skinned—almost an albino—with a vibrant, reddish-fair undertone that became obvious upon closer inspection. "Is nobody home? I keep greeting, and if I walk in and they say they didn't hear me, I'll have to shout again. Frankly, I'm just going to walk in. I'm tired of stretching my mouth until it hurts!" A middle-aged woman emerged from a corridor holding a plastic kettle (buta), clearly coming from the restroom. "By Allah, I was in the restroom when I heard you! I knew no one else would walk into this house screaming and causing a racket except Sofiyyah!" Sofiyyah pouted her lips and whined, "Oh my goodness, Mama! You were the one who told me never to just barge into the house without a proper greeting. Now I do it, and you say I'm causing a racket! Yasmeen is always the one who does everything right in your eyes. I just got back and you didn't even welcome me. I am starving, thirsty, and exhausted. Instead of asking why Fiyah is so late today, you just start scolding me..." She grumbled all the way into their bedroom. The mother smiled, following her inside. "May Allah guide you, Fiyah. You will never change." She entered the room, adding, "Alright, I'm sorry, lady of the house. Was everything okay today? Did your lectures run late?" Fiyah was already changing out of her clothes, her mouth still puckered like a little bird. "Mama, we actually finished early today! I was so happy because I thought I’d make it back in time for Islamic evening school. But Mama, the moment we reached the road near Central Park—the one that leads straight to the Alfah Store Shopping Mall—we got stuck in a massive traffic jam for over an hour! Apparently, someone had a terrible accident, but there was no one to help him. That's why I'm only just getting home." Stripped down to her undergarments, she kept chattering away to her mother. Turning around, she nudged her. "Mama, please unhook this for me." Her mother shook her head, unfastening her bra. "You will never grow up, Fiyah. Imagine a full-grown young lady like you always relying on me or Yasmeen to unhook your brassiere. You should be ashamed! I don't blame Yasmeen at all when she teases you." Fiyah just pouted even more. "Let me go check on the soup before you distract me and let it burn," the mother said, stepping out. Fiyah tied a small towel around herself, revealing her flawless, beautifully fair legs and an incredibly attractive, well-proportioned figure. Everything about Fiyah's body was a stunning marvel, complemented by long, rich hair that flowed down to the center of her back. She stepped into the attached bathroom. This was Fiyah—a vibrant young woman of exactly twenty years.
Part 4: The Confrontation and the Backstory
"Doctor, you called me in here but you're just writing things down. Please, I am desperate to know the condition of my brother." The doctor set his pen down. "Sorry, my friend. What is your name again?" "Malik," he answered briefly. "Nice name. Be patient, Malik. I am writing these prescriptions because the previous medications won't be strong enough for him." Malik rubbed his head, sighing heavily. "Doctor, I didn't ask about the drugs. I need to hear how he is doing right now. That is what matters most to me." The doctor took a deep breath. "Calm down. He has regained consciousness. We’ve stitched up his wounds and managed to stop the bleeding from the ruptured vein. Right now, he is receiving a blood transfusion." The doctor paused, looking intently at Malik. "But tell me... how could you allow your brother to abuse alcohol like this? And the strongest grade of liquor at that?" Malik lowered his head, a deep bitterness washing over his soul. What could he tell the doctor? Should he admit that he knew about Alfah's addiction? Or that he simply lacked the power to stop Alfah from doing whatever he pleased? He couldn't stop him in the past, let alone now when Alfah’s mind was completely fractured and volatile. No one could predict or control Alfah anymore. Malik knew with absolute certainty that the moment Alfah fully woke up and realized he was in a hospital, a massive storm would break out. "Why are you silent, my friend?" the doctor asked. Malik shifted in his seat. "I know, Doctor. But I am completely helpless when it comes to him. He is beyond my control. I have tried every possible way to get him to stop, but it all failed." The doctor’s expression turned stern. "What do you mean by that? That is no excuse. Where are his parents? Where is his mother while he destroys himself? And you kept this from them? Do you know what you've done? You have betrayed their trust! Allah will hold you accountable because you knew the danger their son was in and failed to inform them so they could intervene. Look at the damage it has caused. He is incredibly lucky; I have never seen anyone abuse this specific type of wine without it killing them on the spot. He survived by a miracle, but you must inform his parents so they can take drastic measures, since he doesn't listen to you." The doctor handed him the prescription sheet. "Go buy these at an outside pharmacy; we don't have them in stock here." Malik walked out, his mind heavily weighed down by the doctor's words. “Oh, Malik, what am I going to do with Alfah?” he thought desperately. “How can I force him to stop drinking? I don’t even have the right to bring up the topic to him. Prayers are my only weapon. I wouldn’t dare step foot near Maitama Estate, let alone barge into Alhaji Mainah’s mansion to tell him his son is in crisis. If I try that, I’ll spend the rest of my life rotting in a prison cell. I will just keep praying for Alfah. May the Almighty bring someone into his life who can save him and pull him out of this dark, broken existence.”
Part 5: The Awakening
Malik took a taxi, his mind in complete turmoil. He dreaded Alfah waking up because he alone knew the terrifying rage his friend was capable of. If it weren't for the immense patience and endurance Allah had blessed him with, living with Alfah would have been an absolute impossibility. When the rest of the world abandoned Alfah, Malik could have easily walked away too. But he could never bite the hand that once fed him, nor could he break the sacred vow he had made. He had to keep enduring, hoping that one day, this dark storm would pass. He arrived at a magnificent, ultra-modern pharmacy that looked too grand to be in Nigeria. He purchased the medication and headed back, praying that Alfah would willingly take them—even though he knew it was a long shot. Alfah would rather let a disease kill him than take medicine, unless Malik broke down in tears before him. Over time, Alfah had realized Malik only cried out of desperation to save him, so whenever Malik started weeping, Alfah would just storm out of the room. Malik held his head and sighed deeply.
Flashback: The Incident Before the Crash
Alfah was working out in his private home gym. Malik never joined him, as he had no interest in it. Alfah had been running on the treadmill for over an hour before stepping off to lift a massive, heavy iron bar. He hoisted the heavy weights effortlessly, lifting them as though they were mere sticks. Malik walked into the gym holding a breakfast tray. Setting it down beside him, he said, "You've been in here since seven this morning, and it's almost noon. Put the weights down and get some food into your system." Alfah completely ignored him, treating him like a mute stone. But Malik never took offense at Alfah's coldness, bound by the heavy promise he had made to Alfah's mother and to his own conscience. Malik repeated his words, but Alfah continued to ignore him. Malik walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Alfah, punishing your body like this changes nothing, and it never will. You have to accept destiny. There are people out there facing far worse misery who still surrender their affairs to Allah. Why do you refuse to submit to Allah's decree? I gave Momi a solemn promise that I would look after—" "MALIK!!!" Alfah unleashed a roar so terrifying that it shook Malik to his very core. He violently threw the iron bar to the floor, his eyes wild and bloodshot as his face distorted with pure, unbridled rage. He began advancing on Malik, forcing him backward until Malik’s spine hit the wall. With his hand trembling from adrenaline, Alfah slammed his fist directly into the wall. The wall was made of a specialized, solid concrete blend, and the impact instantly split Alfah's knuckles open, drawing blood. Lowering his voice into a deep, menacing, and chilling hiss, Alfah spoke with terrifying calmness: "By Allah, by Allah, by Allah—hear me well! If you ever dare mention any of their names to me again, I will end my own life. How many times do I have to warn you, huh?!" He exhaled sharply, panting like a wild animal, and stepped back to catch his breath. Despite Malik's absolute terror of Alfah's explosive temper, he refused to back down. He believed that if he kept walking on eggshells, Alfah would never listen to reason or find peace. "Wallahi, Alfah, no matter what you do to me, I will always tell you the truth! Right now, I am the only person left in your life who will speak the truth to you. You can choose to listen or ignore it, but I must fulfill the vow I made to your moth—" Alfah threw a brutal punch straight at Malik's face. Malik ducked just in time. The punch slammed into the solid wall instead, but in his blind rage, Alfah didn't even register the pain in his shattered hand. His wild eyes caught sight of the breakfast tray Malik had brought in. Spotting a small steak knife, he grabbed it without a second thought. Without a single moment of hesitation, he aimed the blade at his right wrist and slashed the vein open. Instantly, blood erupted from his wrist like a turned-on faucet. Malik let out a horrific scream and rushed forward, but Alfah backed away, raising the knife. "Don't you come near me! If you take one more step, wallahi, I will slash another vein! Get out of here, Malik! If you won't leave, I will!" Malik burst into tears, begging him, "Alfah, who told you that death brings peace? What good deeds have you prepared to meet Allah with? If you die right now, wallahi, hellfire will be your final destination! Don't run out, Alfah! Stop, I beg you!" But Alfah didn't listen. He bolted out of the room, leaving a heavy trail of blood behind him. He ran out of the house, completely blind to where his feet were taking him. Within five minutes of running out, he attempted to cross the highway. A speeding car hit him, throwing him high into the air before he crashed onto the asphalt, unconscious and breathless.
Back to the Present
The doctor walked back into the room. "He hasn't woken up yet?" Malik took a deep breath. "No, Doctor. I see you've disconnected the blood transfusion, and the IV drip is almost empty. Is there another bag to put on?" "There are two bags of fluids left. We’ve given him two out of the four. Is there a problem?" Malik rubbed his head. "I just don't want him to wake up before the IV is finished. If he wakes up now, he won't sit still. He will rip the cannula out of his vein and storm out of here." The doctor nodded thoughtfully. "What kind of a man is he? I've noticed his intense, rigid nature. But looking at his face, I finally remember where I know him from. One day, I was leaving work in a massive hurry because my wife called to tell me there was a medical emergency at home. In my rush, I accidentally rammed my car into a man driving a luxury Anaconda, causing severe damage." "A crowd gathered instantly, and the car owner was furious, demanding immediate payment. I didn't have a single kobo in my pockets. The man grabbed me by my collar, completely deaf to my apologies. Suddenly, this young man—Alfah—pulled up in his car with his driver. He stepped out and asked what the problem was because the accident had blocked the entire road." "I explained my situation and the emergency at home. Malik, wallahi, this guy pulled out his checkbook and wrote a check of five hundred thousand Naira to the man, even though the total damage was only three hundred thousand! I thanked him profusely. It brought me so much joy, and ever since that day, I have prayed that Allah would bring us face to face again if he ever needed help, so I could return the favor." Malik sighed. "Doctor, his story is very long, and I cannot share it right now. Perhaps in the future. But right now, Alfah desperately needs help. Wallahi, I cannot save him on my own." The doctor stood up straight. "I understand, Malik. Don't worry. Here is my ID card with my home address and contact details. Insha Allah, I will do everything in my power to help. Don't give up; keep doing your best, and we will get through this..." Suddenly, they went silent. Alfah began rolling his head from side to side, screwing up his face. Slowly, his eyes cracked open, staring blankly at the ceiling. His gaze drifted down, locking onto Malik and the doctor. He was clearly piecing together what had happened to him. Malik’s heart hammered against his ribs, terrified of what was coming. Before Alfah could even fully process the scene, a primal rage took over. He lunged forward, grabbing Malik by his throat with terrifying strength and slamming him against the wall. His eyes burned with an intense, fiery fury, looking like hot coals. "Why did you bring me here, huh?! Didn't I warn you never to touch me again?! Why won't you just leave me alone so I can leave this miserable world?!" he roared at the top of his lungs. "Malik! You have ruined me! You have ruined my life!" He shook Malik violently before shoving him to the floor. Alfah looked down at the cannula taped to his hand. With a brutal, savage yank, he ripped it out of his vein. Blood instantly began to squirt from his hand. He marched toward the door, threw it open with absolute violence, and stormed out. The doctor and Malik bolted after him in a frantic chase. In the volatile state he was in, anything could happen. Yet, even in his manic escape, his long, calculated strides showed the undeniable grace of a wealthy, powerful gentleman. They ran as fast as they could, but they just couldn't catch up to him... Dear readers, we have only just begun! We haven't even dipped a finger into the true depth of this story. I hope you will stay with me as I gradually untangle the threads of this mystery. Adjust your seats, because ABDOUL-NASSER (ALFAH) IS COMING WITH A STORM OF UNEXPECTED EVENTS! BY MRS BB / MOM MUHSEEN
Key Vocabulary & Context Tips for the Next Chapters:
Alfah / Yaya Nas / Abdoul-Nasser: These are all names referring to the same main character.
Maitama Estate: A real, highly exclusive, ultra-expensive neighborhood in Abuja, Nigeria, where top politicians and billionaires live.
Zabaya: A Hausa term used to describe an exceptionally fair-skinned or albino-toned person.
Buta: A plastic or metal kettle used traditionally in Hausa households for ablution (wudhu) or restroom hygiene. Would you like me to translate the next page for you as well?
King of Romance Book Compelet by oum Hairan
The Incident at Central Park
The traffic gridlock on Central Park Road was chaotic, causing an absolute standstill. Vehicles weren't moving even an inch. Some drivers were stepping out of their cars, craning their necks to see what was happening ahead, as a massive crowd gathered on the tarmac with more onlookers rushing to the scene.
I pushed and shoved my way through the dense crowd, determined to satisfy my curiosity and see exactly what was at the center of this commotion...
Wow. Oh my God. Masha Allah.
Lying there on the ground in a pool of blood was a breathtakingly handsome young guy. Despite the blood completely washing over his face and chest, it couldn't hide his striking good looks. Even a blind man could feel him and know that this guy possessed an extraordinary, unparalleled beauty.
I thought to myself: “Wow, our society is something else. Look at all these people, and not a single soul is stepping forward to help him.”
Before I could even finish that thought, another guy rushed into the circle at breakneck speed, panting heavily. Without stopping anywhere else, he collapsed right in front of the bleeding youth. Bursting into tears, he shook him violently and pleaded with the surrounding crowd:
"For Allah's sake, someone help me get him to the hospital! I can't lift him alone... Please, look at the condition he's in! He isn't even breathing!"
But due to pure malice and apathy, nobody paid him any attention. Instead, they just gossiped, whispering that he should move the body out of their way because they had places to be. An elderly man among them looked down and scoffed:
"Wait, isn't that Alhaji Mainah’s son? Why should we help this cursed boy? He is completely useless! If the very parents who gave birth to him have disowned him and cast him out, who would dare risk getting involved in his mess? It's better to leave him to die. Death is exactly what a cursed boy of his character deserves."
Everyone began throwing in their own bitter insults at the unconscious youth, who was completely oblivious to the world. The guy holding him continued to weep, begging for assistance, but the crowd remained cold. With immense effort, he dragged the bleeding youth to the shoulder of the road, crying out:
"Allah is with you, Alfah. Insha Allah, you will not die today. Every living soul has their own trials, and this just happens to be yours. May Allah give you the strength to overcome it."
He laid him down gently and rushed back to the roadside to hail a taxi. By God’s grace, one stopped. The driver rushed out, and together they lifted Alfah into the car and sped straight to the hospital.
Part 2: The Hospital Emergency
The medical team received him immediately, scolding Malik for not bringing him sooner. Malik, completely speechless, could only focus on one thing: seeing his best friend regain consciousness. He quickly paid for the medical card and went to the pharmacy counter with his ATM card to purchase all the required emergency supplies. After delivering the items to the nurses, he sat down in the hallway, holding his head.
Tears streamed down his face as he began talking to himself like a man losing his mind:
"Nothing will happen to you, Alfah. You will pull through. Insha Allah, nothing bad will happen. No matter how much you crave death right now, if your time isn't up, you won't die. You’ll only suffer through this pain. I just don't know when you will finally understand what I've been trying to show you. Even if you die, Alfah, you have no guarantee that the afterlife will grant you the peace and comfort you lacked in this world. Have patience; everything is fleeting. No condition is permanent. I feel it deep in my heart that one day, everything will be alright."
He wept out of pure compassion for his friend. He had no one else but Alfah in this entire world; Alfah was his guardian and his everything. They shared every joy and every sorrow together.
Suddenly, a hand tapped his shoulder. Malik looked up, his face stained with tears, to find a doctor standing over him. He quickly stood up, wiping his face, and asked in a trembling voice:
"Doctor, is he awake? Has he regained consciousness? Is he going to be okay?"
The doctor smiled gently. "Don't worry, your brother is alive. But let’s go to my office. I need to talk to you about a very serious issue."
Malik followed closely, almost pacing ahead of the doctor out of sheer anxiety. The doctor chuckled softly at his panic, patted his shoulder, and led him into the office.
Part 3: Introduction to Sofiyyah (Fiyah)
"Assalamu Alaikum (Peace be upon you)."
A breathtakingly beautiful young lady called out a greeting as she entered a house that could neither be described as rich nor poor. It was an average, decent house built with cement blocks, though one look told you the structure had aged and weathered over the years, with portions of the walls chipping away. The layout consisted of three rooms—a two-bedroom apartment with a parlor, and a single detached room. The kitchen sat right along the exit pathway, and there was a public toilet further inside. The concrete courtyard featured a large neem tree that provided a wide umbrella of shade; the flooring looked freshly cemented but lacked paint. The rooms inside, however, were neatly arranged. Off to the side of the entrance, a water well was visible, and a little further up was a small pen for livestock and poultry.
In short, the owner of this house enjoyed a comfortable, independent life. On the outside of the building, facing the street, were two shops—one had been converted into a living room, and the other was a retail shop selling small household items.
"Assalamu Alaikum!"
The beautiful young lady repeated her greeting, screwing up her face in a slight frown, an expression that somehow made her look even more attractive. She was incredibly fair-skinned—almost an albino—with a vibrant, reddish-fair undertone that became obvious upon closer inspection.
"Is nobody home? I keep greeting, and if I walk in and they say they didn't hear me, I'll have to shout again. Frankly, I'm just going to walk in. I'm tired of stretching my mouth until it hurts!"
A middle-aged woman emerged from a corridor holding a plastic kettle (buta), clearly coming from the restroom.
"By Allah, I was in the restroom when I heard you! I knew no one else would walk into this house screaming and causing a racket except Sofiyyah!"
Sofiyyah pouted her lips and whined, "Oh my goodness, Mama! You were the one who told me never to just barge into the house without a proper greeting. Now I do it, and you say I'm causing a racket! Yasmeen is always the one who does everything right in your eyes. I just got back and you didn't even welcome me. I am starving, thirsty, and exhausted. Instead of asking why Fiyah is so late today, you just start scolding me..." She grumbled all the way into their bedroom.
The mother smiled, following her inside. "May Allah guide you, Fiyah. You will never change." She entered the room, adding, "Alright, I'm sorry, lady of the house. Was everything okay today? Did your lectures run late?"
Fiyah was already changing out of her clothes, her mouth still puckered like a little bird. "Mama, we actually finished early today! I was so happy because I thought I’d make it back in time for Islamic evening school. But Mama, the moment we reached the road near Central Park—the one that leads straight to the Alfah Store Shopping Mall—we got stuck in a massive traffic jam for over an hour! Apparently, someone had a terrible accident, but there was no one to help him. That's why I'm only just getting home."
Stripped down to her undergarments, she kept chattering away to her mother. Turning around, she nudged her. "Mama, please unhook this for me."
Her mother shook her head, unfastening her bra. "You will never grow up, Fiyah. Imagine a full-grown young lady like you always relying on me or Yasmeen to unhook your brassiere. You should be ashamed! I don't blame Yasmeen at all when she teases you." Fiyah just pouted even more.
"Let me go check on the soup before you distract me and let it burn," the mother said, stepping out. Fiyah tied a small towel around herself, revealing her flawless, beautifully fair legs and an incredibly attractive, well-proportioned figure. Everything about Fiyah's body was a stunning marvel, complemented by long, rich hair that flowed down to the center of her back. She stepped into the attached bathroom. This was Fiyah—a vibrant young woman of exactly twenty years.
Part 4: The Confrontation and the Backstory
"Doctor, you called me in here but you're just writing things down. Please, I am desperate to know the condition of my brother."
The doctor set his pen down. "Sorry, my friend. What is your name again?"
"Malik," he answered briefly.
"Nice name. Be patient, Malik. I am writing these prescriptions because the previous medications won't be strong enough for him."
Malik rubbed his head, sighing heavily. "Doctor, I didn't ask about the drugs. I need to hear how he is doing right now. That is what matters most to me."
The doctor took a deep breath. "Calm down. He has regained consciousness. We’ve stitched up his wounds and managed to stop the bleeding from the ruptured vein. Right now, he is receiving a blood transfusion." The doctor paused, looking intently at Malik. "But tell me... how could you allow your brother to abuse alcohol like this? And the strongest grade of liquor at that?"
Malik lowered his head, a deep bitterness washing over his soul. What could he tell the doctor? Should he admit that he knew about Alfah's addiction? Or that he simply lacked the power to stop Alfah from doing whatever he pleased? He couldn't stop him in the past, let alone now when Alfah’s mind was completely fractured and volatile. No one could predict or control Alfah anymore. Malik knew with absolute certainty that the moment Alfah fully woke up and realized he was in a hospital, a massive storm would break out.
"Why are you silent, my friend?" the doctor asked.
Malik shifted in his seat. "I know, Doctor. But I am completely helpless when it comes to him. He is beyond my control. I have tried every possible way to get him to stop, but it all failed."
The doctor’s expression turned stern. "What do you mean by that? That is no excuse. Where are his parents? Where is his mother while he destroys himself? And you kept this from them? Do you know what you've done? You have betrayed their trust! Allah will hold you accountable because you knew the danger their son was in and failed to inform them so they could intervene. Look at the damage it has caused. He is incredibly lucky; I have never seen anyone abuse this specific type of wine without it killing them on the spot. He survived by a miracle, but you must inform his parents so they can take drastic measures, since he doesn't listen to you."
The doctor handed him the prescription sheet. "Go buy these at an outside pharmacy; we don't have them in stock here."
Malik walked out, his mind heavily weighed down by the doctor's words.
“Oh, Malik, what am I going to do with Alfah?” he thought desperately. “How can I force him to stop drinking? I don’t even have the right to bring up the topic to him. Prayers are my only weapon. I wouldn’t dare step foot near Maitama Estate, let alone barge into Alhaji Mainah’s mansion to tell him his son is in crisis. If I try that, I’ll spend the rest of my life rotting in a prison cell. I will just keep praying for Alfah. May the Almighty bring someone into his life who can save him and pull him out of this dark, broken existence.”
Part 5: The Awakening
Malik took a taxi, his mind in complete turmoil. He dreaded Alfah waking up because he alone knew the terrifying rage his friend was capable of. If it weren't for the immense patience and endurance Allah had blessed him with, living with Alfah would have been an absolute impossibility.
When the rest of the world abandoned Alfah, Malik could have easily walked away too. But he could never bite the hand that once fed him, nor could he break the sacred vow he had made. He had to keep enduring, hoping that one day, this dark storm would pass.
He arrived at a magnificent, ultra-modern pharmacy that looked too grand to be in Nigeria. He purchased the medication and headed back, praying that Alfah would willingly take them—even though he knew it was a long shot. Alfah would rather let a disease kill him than take medicine, unless Malik broke down in tears before him. Over time, Alfah had realized Malik only cried out of desperation to save him, so whenever Malik started weeping, Alfah would just storm out of the room. Malik held his head and sighed deeply.
Flashback: The Incident Before the Crash
Alfah was working out in his private home gym. Malik never joined him, as he had no interest in it. Alfah had been running on the treadmill for over an hour before stepping off to lift a massive, heavy iron bar. He hoisted the heavy weights effortlessly, lifting them as though they were mere sticks.
Malik walked into the gym holding a breakfast tray. Setting it down beside him, he said, "You've been in here since seven this morning, and it's almost noon. Put the weights down and get some food into your system."
Alfah completely ignored him, treating him like a mute stone. But Malik never took offense at Alfah's coldness, bound by the heavy promise he had made to Alfah's mother and to his own conscience.
Malik repeated his words, but Alfah continued to ignore him. Malik walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Alfah, punishing your body like this changes nothing, and it never will. You have to accept destiny. There are people out there facing far worse misery who still surrender their affairs to Allah. Why do you refuse to submit to Allah's decree? I gave Momi a solemn promise that I would look after—"
"MALIK!!!" Alfah unleashed a roar so terrifying that it shook Malik to his very core.
He violently threw the iron bar to the floor, his eyes wild and bloodshot as his face distorted with pure, unbridled rage. He began advancing on Malik, forcing him backward until Malik’s spine hit the wall. With his hand trembling from adrenaline, Alfah slammed his fist directly into the wall. The wall was made of a specialized, solid concrete blend, and the impact instantly split Alfah's knuckles open, drawing blood.
Lowering his voice into a deep, menacing, and chilling hiss, Alfah spoke with terrifying calmness:
"By Allah, by Allah, by Allah—hear me well! If you ever dare mention any of their names to me again, I will end my own life. How many times do I have to warn you, huh?!"
He exhaled sharply, panting like a wild animal, and stepped back to catch his breath. Despite Malik's absolute terror of Alfah's explosive temper, he refused to back down. He believed that if he kept walking on eggshells, Alfah would never listen to reason or find peace.
"Wallahi, Alfah, no matter what you do to me, I will always tell you the truth! Right now, I am the only person left in your life who will speak the truth to you. You can choose to listen or ignore it, but I must fulfill the vow I made to your moth—"
Alfah threw a brutal punch straight at Malik's face. Malik ducked just in time. The punch slammed into the solid wall instead, but in his blind rage, Alfah didn't even register the pain in his shattered hand.
His wild eyes caught sight of the breakfast tray Malik had brought in. Spotting a small steak knife, he grabbed it without a second thought. Without a single moment of hesitation, he aimed the blade at his right wrist and slashed the vein open.
Instantly, blood erupted from his wrist like a turned-on faucet.
Malik let out a horrific scream and rushed forward, but Alfah backed away, raising the knife. "Don't you come near me! If you take one more step, wallahi, I will slash another vein! Get out of here, Malik! If you won't leave, I will!"
Malik burst into tears, begging him, "Alfah, who told you that death brings peace? What good deeds have you prepared to meet Allah with? If you die right now, wallahi, hellfire will be your final destination! Don't run out, Alfah! Stop, I beg you!"
But Alfah didn't listen. He bolted out of the room, leaving a heavy trail of blood behind him. He ran out of the house, completely blind to where his feet were taking him. Within five minutes of running out, he attempted to cross the highway. A speeding car hit him, throwing him high into the air before he crashed onto the asphalt, unconscious and breathless.
Back to the Present
The doctor walked back into the room. "He hasn't woken up yet?"
Malik took a deep breath. "No, Doctor. I see you've disconnected the blood transfusion, and the IV drip is almost empty. Is there another bag to put on?"
"There are two bags of fluids left. We’ve given him two out of the four. Is there a problem?"
Malik rubbed his head. "I just don't want him to wake up before the IV is finished. If he wakes up now, he won't sit still. He will rip the cannula out of his vein and storm out of here."
The doctor nodded thoughtfully. "What kind of a man is he? I've noticed his intense, rigid nature. But looking at his face, I finally remember where I know him from. One day, I was leaving work in a massive hurry because my wife called to tell me there was a medical emergency at home. In my rush, I accidentally rammed my car into a man driving a luxury Anaconda, causing severe damage."
"A crowd gathered instantly, and the car owner was furious, demanding immediate payment. I didn't have a single kobo in my pockets. The man grabbed me by my collar, completely deaf to my apologies. Suddenly, this young man—Alfah—pulled up in his car with his driver. He stepped out and asked what the problem was because the accident had blocked the entire road."
"I explained my situation and the emergency at home. Malik, wallahi, this guy pulled out his checkbook and wrote a check of five hundred thousand Naira to the man, even though the total damage was only three hundred thousand! I thanked him profusely. It brought me so much joy, and ever since that day, I have prayed that Allah would bring us face to face again if he ever needed help, so I could return the favor."
Malik sighed. "Doctor, his story is very long, and I cannot share it right now. Perhaps in the future. But right now, Alfah desperately needs help. Wallahi, I cannot save him on my own."
The doctor stood up straight. "I understand, Malik. Don't worry. Here is my ID card with my home address and contact details. Insha Allah, I will do everything in my power to help. Don't give up; keep doing your best, and we will get through this..."
Suddenly, they went silent. Alfah began rolling his head from side to side, screwing up his face. Slowly, his eyes cracked open, staring blankly at the ceiling. His gaze drifted down, locking onto Malik and the doctor.
He was clearly piecing together what had happened to him. Malik’s heart hammered against his ribs, terrified of what was coming.
Before Alfah could even fully process the scene, a primal rage took over. He lunged forward, grabbing Malik by his throat with terrifying strength and slamming him against the wall. His eyes burned with an intense, fiery fury, looking like hot coals.
"Why did you bring me here, huh?! Didn't I warn you never to touch me again?! Why won't you just leave me alone so I can leave this miserable world?!" he roared at the top of his lungs. "Malik! You have ruined me! You have ruined my life!" He shook Malik violently before shoving him to the floor.
Alfah looked down at the cannula taped to his hand. With a brutal, savage yank, he ripped it out of his vein. Blood instantly began to squirt from his hand. He marched toward the door, threw it open with absolute violence, and stormed out.
The doctor and Malik bolted after him in a frantic chase. In the volatile state he was in, anything could happen. Yet, even in his manic escape, his long, calculated strides showed the undeniable grace of a wealthy, powerful gentleman. They ran as fast as they could, but they just couldn't catch up to him...
Dear readers, we have only just begun! We haven't even dipped a finger into the true depth of this story. I hope you will stay with me as I gradually untangle the threads of this mystery. Adjust your seats, because ABDOUL-NASSER (ALFAH) IS COMING WITH A STORM OF UNEXPECTED EVENTS!
BY MRS BB / MOM MUHSEEN
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