All the information the D.C.O needed was obtained from the man’s phone network company. He therefore began a detailed review. It was a new line, activated just a month earlier. However, it had never been used to call anyone except Yaya Musaddiq’s number, which Samraah had called. There was also only one other number that sent him messages. All the messages were very brief, and there was no clear meaning anyone could understand except the people who exchanged them. Judging by the tone of the messages, there appeared to be no familiarity between the line’s user and the sender of the messages—the same person the evidence suggested was behind Samraah’s kidnapping. This troubled the D.C.O deeply. Still, he instructed them to also investigate the number that sent the messages and bring information about it. They said that would be available the next day. Because of this, the D.C.O ordered that the number be traced before the report arrived. Surprisingly, the line was no longer on the network at all. That meant the owner had either destroyed it or discarded it. In frustration, the D.C.O struck his desk. He realized the entire case involved extreme cleverness. Whoever planned the girl’s abduction was highly intelligent, having carefully mapped out every escape route to make identification extremely difficult. Still, no matter what, a mistake must have been made somewhere—and with just that small mistake, they would catch him, God willing.
That same day, the D.C.O personally went to Abba’s house, not sending his officers. Fortunately, everyone was home. Even Nabil had come for the weekend and hadn’t returned yet, since he lived in a hostel. Hafizullah had also returned, though reluctantly, due to Yaya Musaddiq’s insistence. Mum initially reacted with irritation. Truth be told, the Samraah issue had begun to overwhelm her. The constant visits by the police to their house were now getting on her nerves. The D.C.O, who had been observing her closely, said calmly, “I believe we are close to seeing Samraah again, God willing.”
Mum, filled with anger, replied, “So you people are the ones stressing yourselves. Wherever she is, she went there by herself. I know she followed her immoral friends to another town where they are busy with their foolishness. Yet all of you have disturbed yourselves and won’t let us rest. After all, Samraah is just Samraah—not a needle, nor gold jewelry, nor a diamond.”
“But Hajiya, if you knew all this, why didn’t you inform us from the beginning?”
“Me? I would rather die and be carried by men than women if I were to expose her. How could I tell you and accuse her? Anyone who shields wrongdoing only brings trouble. That girl has been chasing men and leaving town for years. Which hotel doesn’t she know in this town or outside it? I don’t separate the two—she has miscarried more than seven times. When she cries here complaining of stomach pain, with blood following her, if it’s not a miscarriage, then what is it?”
The D.C.O merely nodded, while Abba shot Mum a warning look for her to keep quiet. But she went on until she swallowed hard and finally paused. The D.C.O then turned to Abba after making some notes. “But Alhaji, as her father, you knew all this—yet you never took any action?”
Before Abba could speak, Mum interrupted again. “What action could he take? There’s no one in this house she fears. Even her brother knows everything she does, since he is her escort…”
“Hajiya, I am speaking to your husband. I want him to answer.” Mum turned away sulking. The D.C.O refocused on Abba, clearly displeased with Mum’s behavior, though he couldn’t reprimand her. “I’m listening, Alhaji.”
“Well, sir, what can I say? The matter is confusing. I try my best, but as men we are often outside the home, not always present—that’s why she knows more.”
The D.C.O remained silent, watching Abba’s uneasy glances. Yaya Musaddiq, his eyes filled with tears, spoke with a trembling voice: “Sir, Samraah has never committed immorality. Except for her work, I swear she has never stayed in a hotel. Her pains come every month due to women’s menstrual issues. Wherever she is, God willing, our prayers follow her. May Allah reveal her and protect her from all evil.”
Musaddiq’s words visibly affected Abba, who began sweating profusely, while Mum muttered under her breath, wishing she could attack Musaddiq—but the D.C.O’s presence restrained her. Satisfied with Musaddiq’s statement, the D.C.O stood up to leave. Musaddiq also stood without looking back at Abba and Mum, feeling an intense anger he had never felt before toward them.
★💫★💫★💫★💫★💫
The pain was overwhelming—far worse than before. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t taken medication for five months. I vaguely heard a door open, and then I lost consciousness.
The person who entered quickly stepped back upon seeing Samraah unconscious and shouted in alarm, “This girl looks like she’s dead!”
“Dead?” the others exclaimed in shock.
“Come and see!” he urged, and they rushed in. One of them, who sounded Hausa, said, “She’s probably just unconscious. Ayo, call the boss, please. You know his strict instructions—we can’t ignore this.”
“Exactly, you’re right,” he said, dialing quickly. Within two minutes, he returned and said the boss ordered everyone out of the room and that a doctor would arrive immediately. They all left, and Ayo locked the room as instructed. Less than thirty minutes later, the driver arrived with the doctor. She entered alone after Ayo opened the door. She examined Samraah carefully, then called Ayo to help move her onto the mattress. After administering first aid, Samraah regained consciousness—but immediately clutched her stomach with both hands, crying in severe pain. She could barely answer the doctor’s questions. Being experienced, the doctor quickly understood the problem. She called the person who hired her and requested immediate purchase of specific medicines and injections. He agreed. She sent the list and continued treatment. Soon after, Ayo knocked and brought the medicines. She thanked him, and he left.
Despite the pain, I panicked whenever an injection was about to be given. I hated injections and medicine. When she tried to calm me, I resisted violently, refusing to let any guard touch me. Thinking it was just pain-induced fear, she called someone to hold me. When he reached for me, I grabbed her handbag and nearly struck him. He jumped back, hands raised. She smiled slightly and told him to leave, then called someone. I overheard her explaining my fear of injections. Whatever response she got, she agreed. The pain overwhelmed me, and she injected me without my notice. Soon, I drifted into sleep.
Usually, after that injection, I wake up fine. But this time was different. I woke at night with even worse pain, fainting twice. When I opened my eyes again, the doctor was there—along with a familiar face I couldn’t quite place due to the pain. I knew I had seen him before and should remember where…
🥱 You really should remember, Samraatu—come out of confusion…
[Promotional message omitted for brevity]
…Once again, heavy sleep overtook me before I could identify the man. I didn’t wake until the next afternoon, still in pain. The doctor returned, clearly worried. After another injection, I fell asleep again, unaware of what followed…
Meanwhile, after sedating Samraah, the doctor’s caller arrived. He agreed to take her to a secure hospital. They went without issue. Tests revealed her condition late at night. She was treated and later returned to the house, placed on a drip, and guarded.
Upon entering the grand mansion, the doctor felt impressed. Inside, she saw Maash seated, typing intensely on his laptop. He didn’t look up even when they arrived. After several minutes, he finally asked quietly, “Any problems?”
Hayatu explained the situation. The doctor added that Samraah had severe menstrual complications, worsened by misuse of medication. Treatment would be expensive and rare. Maash remained silent. Hayatu concluded and guided the doctor out. She was disappointed—she had hoped for acknowledgment. Outside, Hayatu apologized, explaining Maash’s nature. Though upset, the doctor accepted it.
As they left, Hayatu comforted her, saying if Allah destined Maash to be her husband, it would happen. She smiled faintly, while Hayatu reflected on how Maash had never shown interest in women—only in business and worship.
All the information the D.C.O needed was obtained from the man’s phone network company. He therefore began a detailed review. It was a new line, activated just a month earlier. However, it had never been used to call anyone except Yaya Musaddiq’s number, which Samraah had called. There was also only one other number that sent him messages. All the messages were very brief, and there was no clear meaning anyone could understand except the people who exchanged them. Judging by the tone of the messages, there appeared to be no familiarity between the line’s user and the sender of the messages—the same person the evidence suggested was behind Samraah’s kidnapping. This troubled the D.C.O deeply. Still, he instructed them to also investigate the number that sent the messages and bring information about it. They said that would be available the next day. Because of this, the D.C.O ordered that the number be traced before the report arrived. Surprisingly, the line was no longer on the network at all. That meant the owner had either destroyed it or discarded it. In frustration, the D.C.O struck his desk. He realized the entire case involved extreme cleverness. Whoever planned the girl’s abduction was highly intelligent, having carefully mapped out every escape route to make identification extremely difficult. Still, no matter what, a mistake must have been made somewhere—and with just that small mistake, they would catch him, God willing.
That same day, the D.C.O personally went to Abba’s house, not sending his officers. Fortunately, everyone was home. Even Nabil had come for the weekend and hadn’t returned yet, since he lived in a hostel. Hafizullah had also returned, though reluctantly, due to Yaya Musaddiq’s insistence. Mum initially reacted with irritation. Truth be told, the Samraah issue had begun to overwhelm her. The constant visits by the police to their house were now getting on her nerves. The D.C.O, who had been observing her closely, said calmly, “I believe we are close to seeing Samraah again, God willing.”
Mum, filled with anger, replied, “So you people are the ones stressing yourselves. Wherever she is, she went there by herself. I know she followed her immoral friends to another town where they are busy with their foolishness. Yet all of you have disturbed yourselves and won’t let us rest. After all, Samraah is just Samraah—not a needle, nor gold jewelry, nor a diamond.”
“But Hajiya, if you knew all this, why didn’t you inform us from the beginning?”
“Me? I would rather die and be carried by men than women if I were to expose her. How could I tell you and accuse her? Anyone who shields wrongdoing only brings trouble. That girl has been chasing men and leaving town for years. Which hotel doesn’t she know in this town or outside it? I don’t separate the two—she has miscarried more than seven times. When she cries here complaining of stomach pain, with blood following her, if it’s not a miscarriage, then what is it?”
The D.C.O merely nodded, while Abba shot Mum a warning look for her to keep quiet. But she went on until she swallowed hard and finally paused. The D.C.O then turned to Abba after making some notes. “But Alhaji, as her father, you knew all this—yet you never took any action?”
Before Abba could speak, Mum interrupted again. “What action could he take? There’s no one in this house she fears. Even her brother knows everything she does, since he is her escort…”
“Hajiya, I am speaking to your husband. I want him to answer.” Mum turned away sulking. The D.C.O refocused on Abba, clearly displeased with Mum’s behavior, though he couldn’t reprimand her. “I’m listening, Alhaji.”
“Well, sir, what can I say? The matter is confusing. I try my best, but as men we are often outside the home, not always present—that’s why she knows more.”
The D.C.O remained silent, watching Abba’s uneasy glances. Yaya Musaddiq, his eyes filled with tears, spoke with a trembling voice: “Sir, Samraah has never committed immorality. Except for her work, I swear she has never stayed in a hotel. Her pains come every month due to women’s menstrual issues. Wherever she is, God willing, our prayers follow her. May Allah reveal her and protect her from all evil.”
Musaddiq’s words visibly affected Abba, who began sweating profusely, while Mum muttered under her breath, wishing she could attack Musaddiq—but the D.C.O’s presence restrained her. Satisfied with Musaddiq’s statement, the D.C.O stood up to leave. Musaddiq also stood without looking back at Abba and Mum, feeling an intense anger he had never felt before toward them.
★💫★💫★💫★💫★💫
The pain was overwhelming—far worse than before. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t taken medication for five months. I vaguely heard a door open, and then I lost consciousness.
The person who entered quickly stepped back upon seeing Samraah unconscious and shouted in alarm, “This girl looks like she’s dead!”
“Dead?” the others exclaimed in shock.
“Come and see!” he urged, and they rushed in. One of them, who sounded Hausa, said, “She’s probably just unconscious. Ayo, call the boss, please. You know his strict instructions—we can’t ignore this.”
“Exactly, you’re right,” he said, dialing quickly. Within two minutes, he returned and said the boss ordered everyone out of the room and that a doctor would arrive immediately. They all left, and Ayo locked the room as instructed. Less than thirty minutes later, the driver arrived with the doctor. She entered alone after Ayo opened the door. She examined Samraah carefully, then called Ayo to help move her onto the mattress. After administering first aid, Samraah regained consciousness—but immediately clutched her stomach with both hands, crying in severe pain. She could barely answer the doctor’s questions. Being experienced, the doctor quickly understood the problem. She called the person who hired her and requested immediate purchase of specific medicines and injections. He agreed. She sent the list and continued treatment. Soon after, Ayo knocked and brought the medicines. She thanked him, and he left.
Despite the pain, I panicked whenever an injection was about to be given. I hated injections and medicine. When she tried to calm me, I resisted violently, refusing to let any guard touch me. Thinking it was just pain-induced fear, she called someone to hold me. When he reached for me, I grabbed her handbag and nearly struck him. He jumped back, hands raised. She smiled slightly and told him to leave, then called someone. I overheard her explaining my fear of injections. Whatever response she got, she agreed. The pain overwhelmed me, and she injected me without my notice. Soon, I drifted into sleep.
Usually, after that injection, I wake up fine. But this time was different. I woke at night with even worse pain, fainting twice. When I opened my eyes again, the doctor was there—along with a familiar face I couldn’t quite place due to the pain. I knew I had seen him before and should remember where…
🥱 You really should remember, Samraatu—come out of confusion…
[Promotional message omitted for brevity]
…Once again, heavy sleep overtook me before I could identify the man. I didn’t wake until the next afternoon, still in pain. The doctor returned, clearly worried. After another injection, I fell asleep again, unaware of what followed…
Meanwhile, after sedating Samraah, the doctor’s caller arrived. He agreed to take her to a secure hospital. They went without issue. Tests revealed her condition late at night. She was treated and later returned to the house, placed on a drip, and guarded.
Upon entering the grand mansion, the doctor felt impressed. Inside, she saw Maash seated, typing intensely on his laptop. He didn’t look up even when they arrived. After several minutes, he finally asked quietly, “Any problems?”
Hayatu explained the situation. The doctor added that Samraah had severe menstrual complications, worsened by misuse of medication. Treatment would be expensive and rare. Maash remained silent. Hayatu concluded and guided the doctor out. She was disappointed—she had hoped for acknowledgment. Outside, Hayatu apologized, explaining Maash’s nature. Though upset, the doctor accepted it.
As they left, Hayatu comforted her, saying if Allah destined Maash to be her husband, it would happen. She smiled faintly, while Hayatu reflected on how Maash had never shown interest in women—only in business and worship.
They drove off, the gate opening behind them…