He was dressed in a men’s Moroccan *jalabiya*, which made him look remarkably handsome and further illuminated his striking complexion. His skin was neither intensely fair to the point of piercing the eyes, nor was it dark; it varied slightly from the typical complexion of the native Oromo tribe.
His soft, smooth black hair—distinctive of the Oromo people—shone with a subtle luster, flowing neatly across his head down to the sides of his face and jawline. On his head sat a small Moroccan-Arab style cap, which did not hide his rich black hair that framed his face so beautifully.
He was entirely alone in the room, which was instantly recognizable as a exceptionally well-designed and captivating library. He was surrounded by massive bookshelves packed with a countless number of books that defied enumeration, covering every wall from top to bottom. There were books written in various languages—ranging from English, French, and Oromo—while Islamic religious books in Arabic dominated the largest section of the library.
Everything about the library created a tranquil and alluring atmosphere. It was the one place in the world that brought him the absolute peace of mind... he felt deep down that nothing he owned surpassed this library in importance.
He could easily live his life alone there... spending all his daytime hours in isolation. Religious study was his soul, his skin, and his very life, and he had found it; nothing brought him joy quite like moments like this. This was his time to be secluded in absolute silence and a beautiful state of calmness inside his study, researching and extracting numerous complex legal and religious matters from various Islamic schools of thought and different scholars.
He had designed the space perfectly to match his routine, his mood, and his personal preferences. The area was adorned with elegant chairs and plush carpets, while a separate section of the library was arranged with another set of desks and chairs tailored specifically for a researcher's posture.
Slightly further ahead was a modest table equipped with small cabinets containing nothing but various kinds of coffee... along with two coffee makers and an assortment of highly attractive mugs and trays.
In the Jimma region, and among the Oromo tribe as a whole, coffee is a deeply rooted cultural staple. They routinely set aside vast plots of land spanning many hectares solely for coffee cultivation. For them, every single day is a day to drink coffee, in addition to the special days specifically dedicated to it; nothing holds greater importance to them than coffee. This lineage and culture ran deeply through his veins; even among avid coffee lovers, he was in a league of his own.
Stretching his long legs over the ottoman sofa in front of him, he let out a soft breath. He was thoroughly enjoying his time here on this Sunday morning, even though half of his attention was anchored on a small warning device next to him.
The blinking of a green light caused him to slowly raise his head. His hooded eyes looked at the light with an even deeper sense of calm, monitoring its movement to verify it. It flashed a solid green color once more... so he lowered his legs slowly, closed the book after placing a bookmark inside, and stood up with absolute composure. He took off his cap, placed it on the ottoman, and then picked up a specialized Bluetooth earpiece, pressed it, and fit it into his ear. He then walked toward a specific bookshelf that differed entirely in design and nature from all the others in the room. His smooth, distinctively colored lips parted slightly as he spoke in a husky voice, its usual boldness softened:
“Assalamu alaikum warahmatullah.”
The exact moment he pressed a mechanism on the body of the bookshelf, it smoothly rotated, transforming from a bookshelf into a door. He turned the handle, walked through, and then restored it back to its original appearance.
"Wa'alaikumussalam... did you wake up well, Haisam?" requested the elder man, whose voice alone radiated profound calmness and maturity.
"Alhamdulillah, Bobbo (Uncle)," he replied as he flicked the room's light switch, instantly illuminating the entire space.
It was a sophisticated, high-security room. From its very construction, it was evident that it was built with advanced architectural planning and a high level of secrecy, as even the windows were not regular, everyday windows. The room was packed with various types of electronic equipment... heavily secured phones, display monitors, blueprint boards, and other specialized gear whose names one wouldn't even easily recognize. However, despite the abundance of equipment, everything was meticulously organized and kept strictly in its designated place. At first glance, the first thought that would cross your mind is that it was a highly specialized computer science or cybersecurity laboratory.
“I tried reaching you repeatedly yesterday... so I left a message with Omari. Check your email right this second.”
"Okay, Bobbo," he answered respectfully. Pressing the button on his Bluetooth earpiece, he walked slowly toward a compact computer system, pulled out the chair in front of it, and sat down.
With a mere wave of his hand across the screen, the system automatically booted up. He leaned forward and began operating it, inputting a massive sequence of complex passwords before gaining access—passwords that would make anyone wonder how they remained so perfectly memorized in his brain.
He gave the device his undivided attention, scanning each message one by one with sharp focus. His sheer composure reflected just how vital his work was to him, and how perfectly his line of duty aligned with his mindset and desires. The glow of the screen illuminated his white eyes as they shifted smoothly across the text until he finished reviewing the message. He leaned his back against the chair, relaxing fully, though his eyes remained fixed on the monitor. He rolled three fingers slowly through the beard along his jawline, gently grooming it.
As his lips moved silently to read the final paragraph of the message Bobbo had written to him in English, he muttered the words: **Operation into AGADEZ.**
He locked his eyes onto those words, letting his thoughts travel back. *Through all this time? Through all these years? Why hadn't their theories and investigations reached that far until now?*
If he remembered correctly, he was the one who initially proposed the idea of spreading their dragnet across the entire African continent. He hadn't forgotten that Osama was one of the people who heavily challenged him at the time... purely because they questioned how someone who had only recently joined the National Intelligence and Security Service (NISS) could achieve such prominence. He had barely been working with them for a few months, yet he had successfully made it into their elite team of seasoned secret agents... and had even picked up the high-profile assassination case of Ajani Ahmed's father. Although a deep and powerful friendship existed between Haisam's father—His Royal Highness Abba Jifar—and the deceased, Osama viewed that connection as an entirely separate matter. He had looked down on Haisam's insights back then, viewing him as an inexperienced novice who knew nothing about the job—an opportunist who had bypassed the ranks. Osama had been quite smug when the investigation initially expanded to other African countries and yielded absolutely nothing... instead nearly causing a diplomatic incident between Ethiopia and its neighbors.
In the end, Bobbo had called for the investigation to be shelved and only revisited periodically. However, Haisam possessed one definitive trait in his life that always served as the secret to his success: **unyielding resilience and dedication** to whatever goal he set before himself, provided he was thoroughly convinced it was the right path. He never approached any mission blindly; he would first perform the *Istikhara* (guidance prayer) exactly as the Prophet taught his companions, and follow it with intense prayers. Sometimes he would even fast. Once he completed these steps and attained absolute inner peace and conviction, then no matter what the task was or how dangerous it seemed, he wouldn't feel even a shred of fear. He knew Allah had granted him a choice, and had already chosen the best outcome for him... hence, he harbored no lingering doubts, fear, or hesitation.
Since those early years, he had never allowed his heart or body to rest regarding the case of Ajani Ahmed... especially since he had become close friends with Mooti Abba Jifar. This reality stirred his heart every single time a conversation with His Royal Highness brought up the late Ajani Ahmed.
Everything that has a beginning must have an end... just as it is said that no matter how high a stone is thrown, it must eventually return to the earth, and no matter how vast a farm is, it ends at its boundary ridgeline. During the past month, right in the middle of his independent investigation into the prime suspect their entire agency was focusing on, he found a breakthrough.
He uncovered a piece of clarity that kept him up for hours, reviewing data and cross-referencing it with information stored deep in his own memory. He archived the files, securing them safely... then he stood up, performed ablution, and prayed. During his final prostration, he spent a long time communing with his Lord, reciting: *"La ilaha illa anta, subhanaka inni kuntu minaz-zalimin" (There is no deity except You; exalted are You. Indeed, I have been of the wrongdoers).* Throughout that entire day, he strictly adhered to seeking forgiveness (*Istighfar*) and reciting: *"Ya Hayyu Ya Qayyumu bi-rahmatika astagheeth" (O Living, O Sustaining, in Your mercy I seek relief).*
It was an incredibly hazardous assignment, but one whose success he knew would mark a monumental, independent victory for the Ethiopian government. The assassination of Abba Ajani Ahmed had nearly thrown the entire Ethiopian administration into jeopardy... given that Abba Ajani Ahmed's father was originally an American citizen, and he himself was born there, making him a legal citizen of that country. Business had brought his parents to Ethiopia many decades ago, where they lived until they passed away, leaving him with his own large family until his own demise caught up with him too. Haisam had no doubts about Bobbo's stance on the case... but the prayers he offered gave him the reassurance that Bobbo needed to know the truth.
Bobbo had gone completely silent, staring at Haisam for a long time after being presented with all the compiled intelligence. He was at a loss for words. He truly felt in his heart that a person like Haisam is only born once in a century—a resilient patriot devoted to his country, his people, and his parents. Resting a hand on Haisam's shoulder, Bobbo felt his heart swell with emotion.
“I congratulate Mooti once again on having a son like you, Haisam... you are an incredibly priceless asset. Even if you chose to retire your service today or at this very moment, our nation would forever remain proud of you.”
"O Most Merciful... make me better than what they think of me *(this is a beautiful prayer that the Prophet taught to be recited whenever one is praised),*" Haisam uttered quietly.
"I would very much like to execute this mission, Bobbo," Haisam stated firmly as Muhammad Dawud (Bobbo) granted him official clearance to carry out the operation.
Muhammad Dawud stared at him, consistently amazed by just how passionately Haisam loved his job. Without a doubt, the National Intelligence and Security Service had granted him a high rank... paying him an excellent salary that nearly rivaled that of their head of state, complete with a personal security detail. Yet, he already possessed all of these privileges from his family estate long before he ever joined NISS; the privilege and love he received at home far doubled this. He was a **Prince** who could, at any moment, become the King of Jimma—heir to the magnificent palace of **ABBA JIFAR**. Yet, he set all of that aside to embrace a grueling line of work where his rank placed him directly among active field agents.
Indeed... anyone looking at Haisam for the first time would immediately know that royal blood coursed through every vein of his body. He naturally carried that **regal aura (*Qasaita*) and commanding presence (*Izza*)**; royalty is unmistakable, and no matter how minor, its influence shows in the bloodline—let alone a grand, vastly wealthy, and prosperous empire like the Kingdom of Jimma. He possessed the intense charisma typical of royalty, along with a natural sense of dignity that was purely innate rather than an arrogant display to prove his superiority—for he was highly educated and well aware of the spiritual dangers of pride. Yet, his interactions with his superiors were deeply respectful, and his empathy and compassion toward the weak or less fortunate were entirely unmatched.
“You have been granted permission, Haisam... but this journey is a highly dangerous one. In fact, we cannot even allow the government of Niger or their local security agencies to know about your entry into the country. We will have to bypass certain international protocols to secure absolute intelligence... therefore, it is best you inform Mooti... and Nanay as well.”
Haisam agreed with the decision to inform His Royal Highness, but what about Nanay? He didn't even know where to begin to make her understand.
Inhaling deeply and letting it out, he repeated the name of the town under his breath. He couldn't say he had never heard the name before... but it was never among the places he considered relevant enough to host major operations or investigations. His entire focus had been generalized on the country of Niger; he had no idea how the case within Niger had narrowed down specifically to a town called **Agadez**.
With practiced technical expertise, he returned to the computer system, synchronized everything with Bobbo, and informed him that he and Omari would be landing in Addis Ababa by afternoon prayers, *In sha Allah*. After wrapping up the data transfer, he logged out of the system and shut it down completely.
He turned off every single light switch, restoring the secret room to its hidden state, before returning through the hidden mechanical door back into the main living room he had left earlier. He walked over to where his book and phone lay, retrieved them, and walked toward a bookshelf in the parlor where he kept the books he usually read in that area. He slipped the book inside and checked his phone screen.
His eyes widened slightly as he noticed three missed calls from Nanay. He checked the time, turned around, held his phone up near his head, and walked toward the exit door of the parlor.
He emerged into a beautiful courtyard filled with meticulously arranged plants. Moving gracefully, he passed a balcony and entered a sitting room before finally reaching a long veranda that would connect him directly to Nanay’s wing of the palace.
Abba Jifar's palace featured a highly unique architecture that closely resembled Chinese palace designs—so perfectly matching traditional Chinese structures that one might easily think they were in China. He walked with absolute poise, enjoying the pleasant morning air as his mind structured how to explain the upcoming trip to Nanay without causing her panic. He had stayed up late into the night discussing the matter with His Royal Highness, who fully understood the gravity of the situation and backed him one hundred percent, though he strongly emphasized that Haisam must maintain his prayers, remain extremely cautious, and avoid taking unnecessary risks.
Every palace servant he crossed paths with along the way greeted him with immense reverence. He never grew tired of responding, acknowledging them warmly, only raising his hand in a respectful nod to the women among them as he passed.
Slowly, he reached the courtyard of Nanay's primary quarters. Before he even stepped inside, the sweet sound of Quranic recitation reached his ears, delivered in a beautiful style that mirrored his own. He closed his eyes and opened them again, feeling a deep wave of emotion wash through him. In this world, there was no sound greater, nor any sound that brought him total tranquility, quite like the recitation of the Quran. Nothing could calm his anger or restore peace to his entire being like it. No story brought greater joy to his ears, eyes, and heart than opening the Quran to read the narratives revealed by Allah Almighty regarding past nations, the history of the prophets, and fundamental aspects of life.
Seated gracefully before her were her students, who were the domestic staff of Nanay's wing. Each of them wore a wide, floor-length hijab. Haisam had personally funded the contract to custom-sew a hundred of these beautiful hijabs, all in an elegant Sacramento green color.
Samee, who served as their instructor twice a week on days like this, sat on a low, flat cushion chair. She wore a pristine white hijab that looked completely untouched by dirt. Nothing of her form was visible except the perfect oval of her face and her large eyes moving across the verses of the Quran.
This setup was actually a long-term goal Haisam had once expressed to Nanay—the desire to educate all the domestic staff and servants in her quarters, and the entire palace at large, providing them with authentic knowledge of the Quran, its translation, and its deep meanings. He had brought up the idea on a weekend while Samee happened to be entering Nanay's living room. As it turned out, she had overheard the conversation, and before Haisam could even select an instructor for the program, she took the initiative during a subsequent weekend break to launch the classes herself.
If he claimed he wasn't deeply pleased by this, he would be lying; if he claimed her respect and status hadn't grown immensely in his eyes, he would be lying. Consequently, he had sponsored the contract for all the hijabs they wore, including their teacher's. He had also established a massive, fully funded Islamic school within the palace estate as a continuous charity (*Sadaqah Jariyah*) open to everyone, including children from outside the royal court. For the men of the estate, he hired a male scholar to conduct lessons on Fridays and Saturdays; on Saturdays, Haisam himself usually sat with them to teach two texts on jurisprudence (*Fiqh*) and Hadith to refine their worship. This inspired Samee to introduce a text on jurisprudence to the women as well, with plans to introduce a study of Hadith once they concluded it.
Instinctively, Samee felt a sharp, profound presence entering the space. Deep down, she felt an extraordinary individual had arrived. As she reached the end of the verse, her students began repeating it in unison, allowing her to slowly raise her eyes—where they locked directly into his.
She felt his powerful, magnetic gaze pull her in with incredible force. His sheer charisma caused beads of sweat to break out beneath her hijab. His striking beauty, which felt almost like a personal trial to her, captivated her eyes, leaving her deeply moved. This was especially true today, as she had the rare opportunity to see his entire face without his usual face veil, illuminated clearly by the soft, ambient morning sunlight.
"Subhanallah," she whispered to herself as he offered her a subtle, fleeting smile—a gentle movement of his lips indicating his profound appreciation—before he calmly turned toward the doorway leading to Nanay's personal chambers.
She temporarily lost her breath for a few moments before regaining her composure, silently thanking Allah that the students were occupied with repeating the verses, allowing her
He was dressed in a men’s Moroccan *jalabiya*, which made him look remarkably handsome and further illuminated his striking complexion. His skin was neither intensely fair to the point of piercing the eyes, nor was it dark; it varied slightly from the typical complexion of the native Oromo tribe.
His soft, smooth black hair—distinctive of the Oromo people—shone with a subtle luster, flowing neatly across his head down to the sides of his face and jawline. On his head sat a small Moroccan-Arab style cap, which did not hide his rich black hair that framed his face so beautifully.
He was entirely alone in the room, which was instantly recognizable as a exceptionally well-designed and captivating library. He was surrounded by massive bookshelves packed with a countless number of books that defied enumeration, covering every wall from top to bottom. There were books written in various languages—ranging from English, French, and Oromo—while Islamic religious books in Arabic dominated the largest section of the library.
Everything about the library created a tranquil and alluring atmosphere. It was the one place in the world that brought him the absolute peace of mind... he felt deep down that nothing he owned surpassed this library in importance.
He could easily live his life alone there... spending all his daytime hours in isolation. Religious study was his soul, his skin, and his very life, and he had found it; nothing brought him joy quite like moments like this. This was his time to be secluded in absolute silence and a beautiful state of calmness inside his study, researching and extracting numerous complex legal and religious matters from various Islamic schools of thought and different scholars.
He had designed the space perfectly to match his routine, his mood, and his personal preferences. The area was adorned with elegant chairs and plush carpets, while a separate section of the library was arranged with another set of desks and chairs tailored specifically for a researcher's posture.
Slightly further ahead was a modest table equipped with small cabinets containing nothing but various kinds of coffee... along with two coffee makers and an assortment of highly attractive mugs and trays.
In the Jimma region, and among the Oromo tribe as a whole, coffee is a deeply rooted cultural staple. They routinely set aside vast plots of land spanning many hectares solely for coffee cultivation. For them, every single day is a day to drink coffee, in addition to the special days specifically dedicated to it; nothing holds greater importance to them than coffee. This lineage and culture ran deeply through his veins; even among avid coffee lovers, he was in a league of his own.
Stretching his long legs over the ottoman sofa in front of him, he let out a soft breath. He was thoroughly enjoying his time here on this Sunday morning, even though half of his attention was anchored on a small warning device next to him.
The blinking of a green light caused him to slowly raise his head. His hooded eyes looked at the light with an even deeper sense of calm, monitoring its movement to verify it. It flashed a solid green color once more... so he lowered his legs slowly, closed the book after placing a bookmark inside, and stood up with absolute composure. He took off his cap, placed it on the ottoman, and then picked up a specialized Bluetooth earpiece, pressed it, and fit it into his ear. He then walked toward a specific bookshelf that differed entirely in design and nature from all the others in the room. His smooth, distinctively colored lips parted slightly as he spoke in a husky voice, its usual boldness softened:
“Assalamu alaikum warahmatullah.”
The exact moment he pressed a mechanism on the body of the bookshelf, it smoothly rotated, transforming from a bookshelf into a door. He turned the handle, walked through, and then restored it back to its original appearance.
"Wa'alaikumussalam... did you wake up well, Haisam?" requested the elder man, whose voice alone radiated profound calmness and maturity.
"Alhamdulillah, Bobbo (Uncle)," he replied as he flicked the room's light switch, instantly illuminating the entire space.
It was a sophisticated, high-security room. From its very construction, it was evident that it was built with advanced architectural planning and a high level of secrecy, as even the windows were not regular, everyday windows. The room was packed with various types of electronic equipment... heavily secured phones, display monitors, blueprint boards, and other specialized gear whose names one wouldn't even easily recognize. However, despite the abundance of equipment, everything was meticulously organized and kept strictly in its designated place. At first glance, the first thought that would cross your mind is that it was a highly specialized computer science or cybersecurity laboratory.
“I tried reaching you repeatedly yesterday... so I left a message with Omari. Check your email right this second.”
"Okay, Bobbo," he answered respectfully. Pressing the button on his Bluetooth earpiece, he walked slowly toward a compact computer system, pulled out the chair in front of it, and sat down.
With a mere wave of his hand across the screen, the system automatically booted up. He leaned forward and began operating it, inputting a massive sequence of complex passwords before gaining access—passwords that would make anyone wonder how they remained so perfectly memorized in his brain.
He gave the device his undivided attention, scanning each message one by one with sharp focus. His sheer composure reflected just how vital his work was to him, and how perfectly his line of duty aligned with his mindset and desires. The glow of the screen illuminated his white eyes as they shifted smoothly across the text until he finished reviewing the message. He leaned his back against the chair, relaxing fully, though his eyes remained fixed on the monitor. He rolled three fingers slowly through the beard along his jawline, gently grooming it.
As his lips moved silently to read the final paragraph of the message Bobbo had written to him in English, he muttered the words: **Operation into AGADEZ.**
He locked his eyes onto those words, letting his thoughts travel back. *Through all this time? Through all these years? Why hadn't their theories and investigations reached that far until now?*
If he remembered correctly, he was the one who initially proposed the idea of spreading their dragnet across the entire African continent. He hadn't forgotten that Osama was one of the people who heavily challenged him at the time... purely because they questioned how someone who had only recently joined the National Intelligence and Security Service (NISS) could achieve such prominence. He had barely been working with them for a few months, yet he had successfully made it into their elite team of seasoned secret agents... and had even picked up the high-profile assassination case of Ajani Ahmed's father. Although a deep and powerful friendship existed between Haisam's father—His Royal Highness Abba Jifar—and the deceased, Osama viewed that connection as an entirely separate matter. He had looked down on Haisam's insights back then, viewing him as an inexperienced novice who knew nothing about the job—an opportunist who had bypassed the ranks. Osama had been quite smug when the investigation initially expanded to other African countries and yielded absolutely nothing... instead nearly causing a diplomatic incident between Ethiopia and its neighbors.
In the end, Bobbo had called for the investigation to be shelved and only revisited periodically. However, Haisam possessed one definitive trait in his life that always served as the secret to his success: **unyielding resilience and dedication** to whatever goal he set before himself, provided he was thoroughly convinced it was the right path. He never approached any mission blindly; he would first perform the *Istikhara* (guidance prayer) exactly as the Prophet taught his companions, and follow it with intense prayers. Sometimes he would even fast. Once he completed these steps and attained absolute inner peace and conviction, then no matter what the task was or how dangerous it seemed, he wouldn't feel even a shred of fear. He knew Allah had granted him a choice, and had already chosen the best outcome for him... hence, he harbored no lingering doubts, fear, or hesitation.
Since those early years, he had never allowed his heart or body to rest regarding the case of Ajani Ahmed... especially since he had become close friends with Mooti Abba Jifar. This reality stirred his heart every single time a conversation with His Royal Highness brought up the late Ajani Ahmed.
Everything that has a beginning must have an end... just as it is said that no matter how high a stone is thrown, it must eventually return to the earth, and no matter how vast a farm is, it ends at its boundary ridgeline. During the past month, right in the middle of his independent investigation into the prime suspect their entire agency was focusing on, he found a breakthrough.
He uncovered a piece of clarity that kept him up for hours, reviewing data and cross-referencing it with information stored deep in his own memory. He archived the files, securing them safely... then he stood up, performed ablution, and prayed. During his final prostration, he spent a long time communing with his Lord, reciting: *"La ilaha illa anta, subhanaka inni kuntu minaz-zalimin" (There is no deity except You; exalted are You. Indeed, I have been of the wrongdoers).* Throughout that entire day, he strictly adhered to seeking forgiveness (*Istighfar*) and reciting: *"Ya Hayyu Ya Qayyumu bi-rahmatika astagheeth" (O Living, O Sustaining, in Your mercy I seek relief).*
It was an incredibly hazardous assignment, but one whose success he knew would mark a monumental, independent victory for the Ethiopian government. The assassination of Abba Ajani Ahmed had nearly thrown the entire Ethiopian administration into jeopardy... given that Abba Ajani Ahmed's father was originally an American citizen, and he himself was born there, making him a legal citizen of that country. Business had brought his parents to Ethiopia many decades ago, where they lived until they passed away, leaving him with his own large family until his own demise caught up with him too. Haisam had no doubts about Bobbo's stance on the case... but the prayers he offered gave him the reassurance that Bobbo needed to know the truth.
Bobbo had gone completely silent, staring at Haisam for a long time after being presented with all the compiled intelligence. He was at a loss for words. He truly felt in his heart that a person like Haisam is only born once in a century—a resilient patriot devoted to his country, his people, and his parents. Resting a hand on Haisam's shoulder, Bobbo felt his heart swell with emotion.
“I congratulate Mooti once again on having a son like you, Haisam... you are an incredibly priceless asset. Even if you chose to retire your service today or at this very moment, our nation would forever remain proud of you.”
"O Most Merciful... make me better than what they think of me *(this is a beautiful prayer that the Prophet taught to be recited whenever one is praised),*" Haisam uttered quietly.
"I would very much like to execute this mission, Bobbo," Haisam stated firmly as Muhammad Dawud (Bobbo) granted him official clearance to carry out the operation.
Muhammad Dawud stared at him, consistently amazed by just how passionately Haisam loved his job. Without a doubt, the National Intelligence and Security Service had granted him a high rank... paying him an excellent salary that nearly rivaled that of their head of state, complete with a personal security detail. Yet, he already possessed all of these privileges from his family estate long before he ever joined NISS; the privilege and love he received at home far doubled this. He was a **Prince** who could, at any moment, become the King of Jimma—heir to the magnificent palace of **ABBA JIFAR**. Yet, he set all of that aside to embrace a grueling line of work where his rank placed him directly among active field agents.
Indeed... anyone looking at Haisam for the first time would immediately know that royal blood coursed through every vein of his body. He naturally carried that **regal aura (*Qasaita*) and commanding presence (*Izza*)**; royalty is unmistakable, and no matter how minor, its influence shows in the bloodline—let alone a grand, vastly wealthy, and prosperous empire like the Kingdom of Jimma. He possessed the intense charisma typical of royalty, along with a natural sense of dignity that was purely innate rather than an arrogant display to prove his superiority—for he was highly educated and well aware of the spiritual dangers of pride. Yet, his interactions with his superiors were deeply respectful, and his empathy and compassion toward the weak or less fortunate were entirely unmatched.
“You have been granted permission, Haisam... but this journey is a highly dangerous one. In fact, we cannot even allow the government of Niger or their local security agencies to know about your entry into the country. We will have to bypass certain international protocols to secure absolute intelligence... therefore, it is best you inform Mooti... and Nanay as well.”
Haisam agreed with the decision to inform His Royal Highness, but what about Nanay? He didn't even know where to begin to make her understand.
Inhaling deeply and letting it out, he repeated the name of the town under his breath. He couldn't say he had never heard the name before... but it was never among the places he considered relevant enough to host major operations or investigations. His entire focus had been generalized on the country of Niger; he had no idea how the case within Niger had narrowed down specifically to a town called **Agadez**.
With practiced technical expertise, he returned to the computer system, synchronized everything with Bobbo, and informed him that he and Omari would be landing in Addis Ababa by afternoon prayers, *In sha Allah*. After wrapping up the data transfer, he logged out of the system and shut it down completely.
He turned off every single light switch, restoring the secret room to its hidden state, before returning through the hidden mechanical door back into the main living room he had left earlier. He walked over to where his book and phone lay, retrieved them, and walked toward a bookshelf in the parlor where he kept the books he usually read in that area. He slipped the book inside and checked his phone screen.
His eyes widened slightly as he noticed three missed calls from Nanay. He checked the time, turned around, held his phone up near his head, and walked toward the exit door of the parlor.
He emerged into a beautiful courtyard filled with meticulously arranged plants. Moving gracefully, he passed a balcony and entered a sitting room before finally reaching a long veranda that would connect him directly to Nanay’s wing of the palace.
Abba Jifar's palace featured a highly unique architecture that closely resembled Chinese palace designs—so perfectly matching traditional Chinese structures that one might easily think they were in China. He walked with absolute poise, enjoying the pleasant morning air as his mind structured how to explain the upcoming trip to Nanay without causing her panic. He had stayed up late into the night discussing the matter with His Royal Highness, who fully understood the gravity of the situation and backed him one hundred percent, though he strongly emphasized that Haisam must maintain his prayers, remain extremely cautious, and avoid taking unnecessary risks.
Every palace servant he crossed paths with along the way greeted him with immense reverence. He never grew tired of responding, acknowledging them warmly, only raising his hand in a respectful nod to the women among them as he passed.
Slowly, he reached the courtyard of Nanay's primary quarters. Before he even stepped inside, the sweet sound of Quranic recitation reached his ears, delivered in a beautiful style that mirrored his own. He closed his eyes and opened them again, feeling a deep wave of emotion wash through him. In this world, there was no sound greater, nor any sound that brought him total tranquility, quite like the recitation of the Quran. Nothing could calm his anger or restore peace to his entire being like it. No story brought greater joy to his ears, eyes, and heart than opening the Quran to read the narratives revealed by Allah Almighty regarding past nations, the history of the prophets, and fundamental aspects of life.
Seated gracefully before her were her students, who were the domestic staff of Nanay's wing. Each of them wore a wide, floor-length hijab. Haisam had personally funded the contract to custom-sew a hundred of these beautiful hijabs, all in an elegant Sacramento green color.
Samee, who served as their instructor twice a week on days like this, sat on a low, flat cushion chair. She wore a pristine white hijab that looked completely untouched by dirt. Nothing of her form was visible except the perfect oval of her face and her large eyes moving across the verses of the Quran.
This setup was actually a long-term goal Haisam had once expressed to Nanay—the desire to educate all the domestic staff and servants in her quarters, and the entire palace at large, providing them with authentic knowledge of the Quran, its translation, and its deep meanings. He had brought up the idea on a weekend while Samee happened to be entering Nanay's living room. As it turned out, she had overheard the conversation, and before Haisam could even select an instructor for the program, she took the initiative during a subsequent weekend break to launch the classes herself.
If he claimed he wasn't deeply pleased by this, he would be lying; if he claimed her respect and status hadn't grown immensely in his eyes, he would be lying. Consequently, he had sponsored the contract for all the hijabs they wore, including their teacher's. He had also established a massive, fully funded Islamic school within the palace estate as a continuous charity (*Sadaqah Jariyah*) open to everyone, including children from outside the royal court. For the men of the estate, he hired a male scholar to conduct lessons on Fridays and Saturdays; on Saturdays, Haisam himself usually sat with them to teach two texts on jurisprudence (*Fiqh*) and Hadith to refine their worship. This inspired Samee to introduce a text on jurisprudence to the women as well, with plans to introduce a study of Hadith once they concluded it.
Instinctively, Samee felt a sharp, profound presence entering the space. Deep down, she felt an extraordinary individual had arrived. As she reached the end of the verse, her students began repeating it in unison, allowing her to slowly raise her eyes—where they locked directly into his.
She felt his powerful, magnetic gaze pull her in with incredible force. His sheer charisma caused beads of sweat to break out beneath her hijab. His striking beauty, which felt almost like a personal trial to her, captivated her eyes, leaving her deeply moved. This was especially true today, as she had the rare opportunity to see his entire face without his usual face veil, illuminated clearly by the soft, ambient morning sunlight.
"Subhanallah," she whispered to herself as he offered her a subtle, fleeting smile—a gentle movement of his lips indicating his profound appreciation—before he calmly turned toward the doorway leading to Nanay's personal chambers.
She temporarily lost her breath for a few moments before regaining her composure, silently thanking Allah that the students were occupied with repeating the verses, allowing her