She was completely immersed in her studies and deeply in love with learning. This was largely because her teacher was highly skilled and truly understood the art of teaching. Within just three months, she had improved beyond her own expectations. Still, it helped that she already had a fairly solid foundation from the primary school she attended in Gembu.
As usual, they finished their lessons shortly before sunset. With sleep weighing heavily on her, she carried Amna on her back as they entered the house. She met Laila and the others already back home, freshly bathed and neatly groomed, their hair beautifully styled. Each of them had that moderate Fulani beauty—simple, balanced, and graceful.
No matter how hard they tried to take Amna from her, the little girl refused to go to anyone else. Everyone used different tricks to lure her, but she wouldn’t budge. Maimunatu smiled again, her white teeth showing.
“Give up, today she chose me,” she said teasingly.
They laughed and joked as she carried the child into her room and laid her gently on the bed. By then, Amna was already fast asleep.
The next morning, while Amna was still sleeping, Maimunatu left for Islamiyya school. When Amna woke up and didn’t find her, she caused an uproar. Everyone tried to calm her down, but she refused—even Anni and Amma couldn’t soothe her that day. Earlier, Hisham had given her an injection before leaving for work, and she hadn’t been herself since. Nothing worked until Maimunatu returned.
Amna ran to her from the doorway. Maimunatu lifted her and touched her body, realizing her fever had subsided. Amna pushed out her lips in a spoiled child’s voice.
“It wasn’t Uncle Hisham who gave me the injection.”
“Oh dear… sorry, okay? Be patient,” Maimunatu said softly, rubbing her back. She lay down with her, telling her stories until they went inside the house.
Over the following days, an intense bond formed between Amna and Maimunatu. Amna treated her like her own mother. There was no one in the house she clung to more than Maimunatu, and everyone noticed. Eventually, she moved almost all her belongings into Maimunatu’s room.
This made Maimunatu very happy, because Amna was most relaxed with her. They would sit together chatting, and you’d think Amna was talking to an adult. She listened attentively and truly loved Maimunatu. Amna was a bright, talkative child, and she often told her stories about her mother and her twin sister who had died.
“Ummu (Mama Shaheeda), Amma and Anni said they went somewhere. They’ll come back, right? They’ll bring me lots of treats, won’t they?”
Maimunatu would nod, her heart full of pity.
“But why didn’t Mommy take me with her? Why did she take Amra and leave me?”
Those were the words that broke Maimunatu’s heart. They deepened her love and compassion for the child. Often, she would turn her face away and wipe her tears. Both she and the child were orphans in their own way—though Amna was more fortunate, surrounded by love and care. Everyone wanted to carry her, to hold her close. But what about Maimunatu?
After that, Amna would talk about her father—someone Maimunatu didn’t know. It was clear the child missed him terribly. In her heart, Maimunatu felt that since he was alive, he shouldn’t be so distant. Amna needed him close. On days when she managed to speak to him on the phone, all her stories revolved around him. Maimunatu would patiently listen, spending time with her, strengthening their bond even more.
The evening was heavy with clouds, the kind that made you think the rainy season was about to begin—though in reality, it was the heat that would arrive first.
At such times, the house was usually quiet. There was no school, neither Islamiyya nor formal school. The girls would either sleep or attend to their tasks. At night, they gathered to chat. The kitchen staff worked in both sections—the one belonging to Dr. Marwan and that of Hajiya Anni.
Maimunatu headed to the small sitting room where Anni usually rested, carrying a cup of zobo she had prepared specially for her. It had no sugar or additives—only cinnamon and cloves. She often prepared it for Anni because of its health benefits, especially for blood pressure. Anni loved it and felt its positive effects.
Anni sat up, smiling warmly as she returned the greeting, her eyes resting on Maimunatu. Every time she looked at her, she felt pleased by the changes she saw. Deep down, she felt it was time to reveal her intentions to Maimunatu.
“Welcome, Anni.”
“Welcome, Maimunatu. You’re the one who deserves the greeting,” Anni replied with a smile.
She poured the drink and handed it to her. Anni thanked her and took a sip as they chatted casually.
“Maimunatu… plug the phone into the socket and bring it to me,” Anni said.
She did as instructed.
“Good girl. Look for Ja’afar’s number.”
She scrolled through the contacts until she found the name.
“Here it is, Anni.”
“Good. Call him.”
She pressed the call icon. The call went through immediately. A foreign number appeared—TURKEY.
TURKEY
TURKEY CAPITAL – ANKARA
Green Forest Mahalle
Inside a large apartment building, on the second floor, was a spacious living room—simple yet elegant. Turkish-style sofas, a fine carpet, ash-colored curtains, matching wallpaper, side tables, and a dining area beside the fridge all reflected refined taste.
Leaning against the fridge was a tall, well-built young man holding a cup of freshly blended fruit juice. He wore a long-sleeved shirt and trousers, one hand in his pocket, the other lifting the cup to his lips. His posture showed deep thought.
Two men sat in the room. One was a fair-skinned European—Mr. Denis Evoy from Belarus. The other was dark-skinned, strikingly handsome, with a rich chocolate complexion: Captain Ja’afar Marwan Khalid Akko—a renowned pilot turned successful businessman, owner of major construction companies responsible for impressive buildings, universities, roads, and estates.
He was exceptionally handsome, powerfully built like an athlete, with calm, intense eyes and a dignified presence. His well-groomed beard, sharp features, and Fulani hair texture added to his appeal. Everything about him spoke of wealth, comfort, and masculinity.
Yet, two things were missing in his life. First, he was emotionally withdrawn—an unusual trait that surprised many. Second, the devastating loss of his wife and beloved daughter had plunged him deeper into isolation.
He leaned back calmly, watching Mr. Denis, as though the world held no threat to his peace.
This was his nature—everything he did was controlled and orderly. Recently, he had refocused entirely on his business. Jabir, watching him, noticed a significant change. He wondered if this time it would last.
Jabir smiled just as Mr. Denis complained,
“Sir, you haven’t said anything since we started the negotiation.”
Before Jabir could reach them, Ja’afar’s phone rang—it was Anni.
He glanced at the screen, then answered calmly.
“Excuse me,” he said in his deep, husky yet gentle voice.
He greeted Anni respectfully. She responded with relief.
“Are you really okay, my big man?”
“Peace be upon you, Anni.”
They exchanged pleasantries. She asked about his well-being, then sighed heavily.
“Has something happened?” he asked, concerned.
“What hasn’t happened, Ja’afar? Is this how life will continue?”
He sighed deeply. He knew he was hurting those who loved him, but Shaheeda’s absence weighed heavily on his soul.
“Keep praying for me. Everything will be fine, In Sha Allah.”
She sighed again.
“We never stop praying. When are you coming home?”
“I’m not ready yet, Anni.”
She frowned.
“Why, Ja’afar? Your staying there has no benefit anymore.”
“I’m waiting for your call. We need to discuss something important.”
“In Sha Allah.”
They ended the call. He wondered what she wanted—though he suspected it had to do with marriage.
When he tried calling Amma, Anni called Jabir instead. Jabir stepped out to answer.
Later, Amma received Ja’afar’s call. As always, he greeted her respectfully. She asked about him but couldn’t say much before he asked about Amna.
“She’s with Maimunatu.”
“Maimunatu? Who is she?”
His heart stirred. He longed to hear Amna’s voice. He missed her deeply—but seeing her always weakened him, reminding him of her mother and twin sister.
The last time he called, Amna had been with Maimunatu repeatedly. He felt an unfamiliar irritation.
Turning to Mr. Denis, he said,
“I heard everything. I need time to think. I’ll contact you.”
They shook hands and parted.
He exhaled deeply, mint-scented breath filling the room, glanced at the clock, then stood up. Today was one of those days he usually visited Istanbul’s historical Islamic sites—a tradition Shaheeda had taught him.
He headed to his room. Jabir followed shortly after.
Meanwhile, Maimunatu walked toward Anni’s section with Amna on her back, laughing as she told her stories. Nearly ten minutes after Ja’afar arrived home, he stood by his car, answering a call.
A soft, gentle voice reached him. He looked up and saw them approaching.
Maimunatu wore a high-waisted skirt and a modest blouse. A peach-colored mini hijab covered her head, highlighting her beauty. He found himself watching her. Her soft lips moved as she spoke, her calm beauty captivating him—something he had noticed since the first day.
Haisam’s voice broke the moment, teasing her about carrying Amna. Their eyes met briefly. She smiled shyly and looked away.
Amna hid behind Maimunatu when he tried to carry her.
Maimunatu greeted him politely and walked on. He watched until she disappeared.
Inside, Anni watched them too. Happiness spread across her face. Seeing Amna laugh again filled her heart with hope. Confidence and resolve grew within her—but she chose to wait until she spoke to Ja’afar about his return.
She was completely immersed in her studies and deeply in love with learning. This was largely because her teacher was highly skilled and truly understood the art of teaching. Within just three months, she had improved beyond her own expectations. Still, it helped that she already had a fairly solid foundation from the primary school she attended in Gembu.
As usual, they finished their lessons shortly before sunset. With sleep weighing heavily on her, she carried Amna on her back as they entered the house. She met Laila and the others already back home, freshly bathed and neatly groomed, their hair beautifully styled. Each of them had that moderate Fulani beauty—simple, balanced, and graceful.
No matter how hard they tried to take Amna from her, the little girl refused to go to anyone else. Everyone used different tricks to lure her, but she wouldn’t budge. Maimunatu smiled again, her white teeth showing.
“Give up, today she chose me,” she said teasingly.
They laughed and joked as she carried the child into her room and laid her gently on the bed. By then, Amna was already fast asleep.
The next morning, while Amna was still sleeping, Maimunatu left for Islamiyya school. When Amna woke up and didn’t find her, she caused an uproar. Everyone tried to calm her down, but she refused—even Anni and Amma couldn’t soothe her that day. Earlier, Hisham had given her an injection before leaving for work, and she hadn’t been herself since. Nothing worked until Maimunatu returned.
Amna ran to her from the doorway. Maimunatu lifted her and touched her body, realizing her fever had subsided. Amna pushed out her lips in a spoiled child’s voice.
“It wasn’t Uncle Hisham who gave me the injection.”
“Oh dear… sorry, okay? Be patient,” Maimunatu said softly, rubbing her back. She lay down with her, telling her stories until they went inside the house.
Over the following days, an intense bond formed between Amna and Maimunatu. Amna treated her like her own mother. There was no one in the house she clung to more than Maimunatu, and everyone noticed. Eventually, she moved almost all her belongings into Maimunatu’s room.
This made Maimunatu very happy, because Amna was most relaxed with her. They would sit together chatting, and you’d think Amna was talking to an adult. She listened attentively and truly loved Maimunatu. Amna was a bright, talkative child, and she often told her stories about her mother and her twin sister who had died.
“Ummu (Mama Shaheeda), Amma and Anni said they went somewhere. They’ll come back, right? They’ll bring me lots of treats, won’t they?”
Maimunatu would nod, her heart full of pity.
“But why didn’t Mommy take me with her? Why did she take Amra and leave me?”
Those were the words that broke Maimunatu’s heart. They deepened her love and compassion for the child. Often, she would turn her face away and wipe her tears. Both she and the child were orphans in their own way—though Amna was more fortunate, surrounded by love and care. Everyone wanted to carry her, to hold her close. But what about Maimunatu?
After that, Amna would talk about her father—someone Maimunatu didn’t know. It was clear the child missed him terribly. In her heart, Maimunatu felt that since he was alive, he shouldn’t be so distant. Amna needed him close. On days when she managed to speak to him on the phone, all her stories revolved around him. Maimunatu would patiently listen, spending time with her, strengthening their bond even more.
The evening was heavy with clouds, the kind that made you think the rainy season was about to begin—though in reality, it was the heat that would arrive first.
At such times, the house was usually quiet. There was no school, neither Islamiyya nor formal school. The girls would either sleep or attend to their tasks. At night, they gathered to chat. The kitchen staff worked in both sections—the one belonging to Dr. Marwan and that of Hajiya Anni.
Maimunatu headed to the small sitting room where Anni usually rested, carrying a cup of zobo she had prepared specially for her. It had no sugar or additives—only cinnamon and cloves. She often prepared it for Anni because of its health benefits, especially for blood pressure. Anni loved it and felt its positive effects.
Anni sat up, smiling warmly as she returned the greeting, her eyes resting on Maimunatu. Every time she looked at her, she felt pleased by the changes she saw. Deep down, she felt it was time to reveal her intentions to Maimunatu.
“Welcome, Anni.”
“Welcome, Maimunatu. You’re the one who deserves the greeting,” Anni replied with a smile.
She poured the drink and handed it to her. Anni thanked her and took a sip as they chatted casually.
“Maimunatu… plug the phone into the socket and bring it to me,” Anni said.
She did as instructed.
“Good girl. Look for Ja’afar’s number.”
She scrolled through the contacts until she found the name.
“Here it is, Anni.”
“Good. Call him.”
She pressed the call icon. The call went through immediately. A foreign number appeared—TURKEY.
TURKEY
TURKEY CAPITAL – ANKARA
Green Forest Mahalle
Inside a large apartment building, on the second floor, was a spacious living room—simple yet elegant. Turkish-style sofas, a fine carpet, ash-colored curtains, matching wallpaper, side tables, and a dining area beside the fridge all reflected refined taste.
Leaning against the fridge was a tall, well-built young man holding a cup of freshly blended fruit juice. He wore a long-sleeved shirt and trousers, one hand in his pocket, the other lifting the cup to his lips. His posture showed deep thought.
Two men sat in the room. One was a fair-skinned European—Mr. Denis Evoy from Belarus. The other was dark-skinned, strikingly handsome, with a rich chocolate complexion: Captain Ja’afar Marwan Khalid Akko—a renowned pilot turned successful businessman, owner of major construction companies responsible for impressive buildings, universities, roads, and estates.
He was exceptionally handsome, powerfully built like an athlete, with calm, intense eyes and a dignified presence. His well-groomed beard, sharp features, and Fulani hair texture added to his appeal. Everything about him spoke of wealth, comfort, and masculinity.
Yet, two things were missing in his life. First, he was emotionally withdrawn—an unusual trait that surprised many. Second, the devastating loss of his wife and beloved daughter had plunged him deeper into isolation.
He leaned back calmly, watching Mr. Denis, as though the world held no threat to his peace.
This was his nature—everything he did was controlled and orderly. Recently, he had refocused entirely on his business. Jabir, watching him, noticed a significant change. He wondered if this time it would last.
Jabir smiled just as Mr. Denis complained,
“Sir, you haven’t said anything since we started the negotiation.”
Before Jabir could reach them, Ja’afar’s phone rang—it was Anni.
He glanced at the screen, then answered calmly.
“Excuse me,” he said in his deep, husky yet gentle voice.
He greeted Anni respectfully. She responded with relief.
“Are you really okay, my big man?”
“Peace be upon you, Anni.”
They exchanged pleasantries. She asked about his well-being, then sighed heavily.
“Has something happened?” he asked, concerned.
“What hasn’t happened, Ja’afar? Is this how life will continue?”
He sighed deeply. He knew he was hurting those who loved him, but Shaheeda’s absence weighed heavily on his soul.
“Keep praying for me. Everything will be fine, In Sha Allah.”
She sighed again.
“We never stop praying. When are you coming home?”
“I’m not ready yet, Anni.”
She frowned.
“Why, Ja’afar? Your staying there has no benefit anymore.”
He rubbed his head.
“Where is Amna?”
“Maimunatu just took her to Aishatu.”
“Okay… please keep praying for me. I’m busy now. I’ll call you.”
“Ja’afar!” she called sharply.
“Yes.”
“I’m waiting for your call. We need to discuss something important.”
“In Sha Allah.”
They ended the call. He wondered what she wanted—though he suspected it had to do with marriage.
When he tried calling Amma, Anni called Jabir instead. Jabir stepped out to answer.
Later, Amma received Ja’afar’s call. As always, he greeted her respectfully. She asked about him but couldn’t say much before he asked about Amna.
“She’s with Maimunatu.”
“Maimunatu? Who is she?”
His heart stirred. He longed to hear Amna’s voice. He missed her deeply—but seeing her always weakened him, reminding him of her mother and twin sister.
The last time he called, Amna had been with Maimunatu repeatedly. He felt an unfamiliar irritation.
Turning to Mr. Denis, he said,
“I heard everything. I need time to think. I’ll contact you.”
They shook hands and parted.
He exhaled deeply, mint-scented breath filling the room, glanced at the clock, then stood up. Today was one of those days he usually visited Istanbul’s historical Islamic sites—a tradition Shaheeda had taught him.
He headed to his room. Jabir followed shortly after.
Meanwhile, Maimunatu walked toward Anni’s section with Amna on her back, laughing as she told her stories. Nearly ten minutes after Ja’afar arrived home, he stood by his car, answering a call.
A soft, gentle voice reached him. He looked up and saw them approaching.
Maimunatu wore a high-waisted skirt and a modest blouse. A peach-colored mini hijab covered her head, highlighting her beauty. He found himself watching her. Her soft lips moved as she spoke, her calm beauty captivating him—something he had noticed since the first day.
Haisam’s voice broke the moment, teasing her about carrying Amna. Their eyes met briefly. She smiled shyly and looked away.
Amna hid behind Maimunatu when he tried to carry her.
Maimunatu greeted him politely and walked on. He watched until she disappeared.
Inside, Anni watched them too. Happiness spread across her face. Seeing Amna laugh again filled her heart with hope. Confidence and resolve grew within her—but she chose to wait until she spoke to Ja’afar about his return.