She let out a piercing, bone-chilling shriek that threw the entire house into immediate panic. The men sitting at the dining table having breakfast locked eyes for a split second before leaping up and racing upstairs. The housemaids scrambled out of their quarters, tripping over one another in a frantic race up the stairwell. Only one person remained entirely unmoved; she didn't bother to lift a single foot, let alone run like the rest of them. Instead, she simply hissed in annoyance and walked straight into her bedroom.
Meanwhile, the rest of them reached the door where the screaming was coming from. Finding it locked from the inside, they began pounding frantically. The eldest among them—who appeared to be the patriarch of the family—pressed himself against the door and pleaded, “My sweetheart, open the door, please.”
From inside the room, a muffled, somber voice whimpered, “Dad, have you seen my face? I don't want anyone to see me right now.”
The father exchanged amused glances with the two young men standing beside him, and they all smiled. The man she called 'Dad' turned to some white workers standing nearby—whose uniforms immediately gave them away as estate staff—and signaled them with a nod. “Get the spare key.”
"Right away, Sir," they replied quickly, turning on their heels.
It didn't take long before they hurried back and presented the key.
The youngest of the brothers, who looked to be the baby of the family, snatched the key and unlocked the door. The entire group swarmed into the room, only to find her sitting on the floor, burying her face inside her palms.
Dad smiled warmly, stepping closer to her. “My sweetheart, what on earth is going on? Won't you uncover your eyes and look at your Dad?”
Adopting her usual spoiled, whiny demeanor, she dropped her hands, twisted her mouth, and burst into dramatic tears. “Dad, just look at your Princess's face!”
The men instantly choked back bursts of laughter. The older brother, unable to contain himself, teased, "Oh my god! Seemah, have you actually looked at yourself? Honestly, I feel so sorry for you," he added, stifling a giggle.
Seemah glared at him. "Yaya Junaid, are you serious?" She turned back to her father, crying even harder. “Dad, see? I told you! This is exactly why I didn't want any of you to see me.”
The youngest brother laughed out loud. "Oh man, what am I going to do with you? My little sister just refuses to grow up." He leaned down, gently touching the area beneath her eye and smudging a black substance onto his finger. “Seemah, isn't this just mascara?”
Only then did she look up at him, blinking. “Do you really think so?”
He nodded in affirmation. Seemah scrambled to her feet and marched over to the maids. Stopping in front of one, she demanded, “Anna, is this because of the mascara I wore yesterday?”
Anna bowed her head apologetically. “I am so sorry, Madam. It is entirely my fault.”
Seemah rushed over to the vanity mirror. Catching sight of her reflection, she gasped; she looked like a literal ghost. She quickly covered her face again and turned to the youngest brother. “Ya Ammar, how did this even happen to me? Is it blood? Will it ever wash off?”
The entire room erupted into laughter. Dad gently took her by the hand, led her to the edge of the bed, and sat her down. “Anna, come over here and clean her face.”
"Right away, sir," Anna replied quickly.
Ammar crossed his arms, looking at Seemah. “But why did you go to sleep with makeup on anyway? Haven't I repeatedly told you not to do that?”
She pouted her lips. “It’s Anna’s fault! Usually, whenever I fall asleep, she’s the one who comes in and wipes it off for me. But she completely forgot to do it last night.”
Junaid chuckled. “It looks like when you performed ablution for the dawn (*Fajr*) prayer, the water washed all the makeup down your face. And since you are the undisputed queen of sleep, you didn't even notice before crawling straight back into bed.”
"I think you're right, Yaya," she admitted softly. The room filled with lighthearted laughter once more.
Dad checked his watch, stood up, and looked down at her. “Sweetheart, we are going to be late. We need to head out.”
She smiled up at him. “I have lectures today too. I'll get ready right away.”
He affectionately patted her head. “That's my baby.”
The moment the men left the room, Anna stepped forward and thoroughly cleaned Seemah's face before Seemah headed into the bathroom to shower.
## Part 2: Spoiled Routines and Cold Discontent
As soon as Dad and the boys made it downstairs, they ran into the woman from earlier just as she was stepping out of her bedroom. Dad’s expression instantly soured. Before he could utter a single word in anger, Ammar and Junaid grabbed their bags and quickly slipped out to the car. Dad fixed her with a fierce glare, and she visibly trembled, terrified of what he might say.
Forcing a calm demeanor, she asked, “Aren't you all having breakfast? I was stuck in the restroom and only just came out.”
Dad scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “So if something genuinely serious had happened to Seemah, you would have just stayed tucked away in the restroom?”
She hardened her stance slightly. “Well, it’s a relief to know it wasn't anything serious after all.”
"Oh, so now you want to play dumb and act like you didn't hear a thing? How very convenient of you," he muttered with a look of pure disdain before turning on his heel and walking out of the house.
She watched his retreating figure, whispering under her breath, "Fine! Do whatever you want to me today. Heaven forbid anyone touches the precious golden child." She shook her head in frustration. They had completely ruined the girl with pampering. Anytime she tried to speak up, her husband would aggressively remind her that he only married her in the first place so she could look after Seemah. Hissing in annoyance, she turned and strode into the kitchen.
Upstairs, the moment Seemah stepped out of the shower, she blasted music on her stereo and began dancing around the room as she dressed. Anna assisted her as usual. She put on a top and trousers, threw a long, stylish sweater over it, and wrapped a small shawl casually over her head. Grabbing her compact handbag, she structuralized her exit.
She glided downstairs and headed toward the dining table. Just as the staff had been strictly instructed, a beautiful breakfast spread had been laid out exclusively for her. She opened the dishes one by one, inspecting the food. Glancing over at the woman sitting nearby enjoying her own breakfast, Seemah casualized, "Small Mom, I don’t think I have an appetite today. If Dad calls to ask, please just tell him that I ate." Without waiting for a response, she spun around and walked out, swaying her head.
The woman’s blood boiled with intense frustration. "Small Mom?" she muttered angrily to herself. “Why can't you just call me by my actual name, Sadiya?!”
The Cold Climate and A Longing for Home
The moment Seemah stepped outside, she found the chauffeur standing by the car, having just finished wiping it down. He bowed respectfully, awaiting her orders. She looked at the vehicle and asked, “Is this the car we are taking today?”
He quickly pointed to the sedan parked before them. Seemah hissed in disapproval. "No, I don't like this one. The seats inside aren't soft enough at all. Let's take that one instead," she ordered, gesturing toward a more luxurious vehicle.
"Right away, Madam," the chauffeur replied without hesitation.
Glancing up at the sky, she observed, "It's snowing." She slid into the plush backseat, and the car smoothly exited the estate gates.
The United Kingdom was experiencing a heavy snowfall that morning. The locals, entirely accustomed to the biting winter climate, went about their daily hustle seamlessly. I, on the other hand, could do absolutely nothing but shiver uncontrollably from the freezing cold, thinking to myself, *Good grief! How could I ever survive living in a place like this?* I looked over at Seemah, who seemed completely unfazed by the sub-zero temperatures. Well, of course she was fine—she was practically born and raised here.
Suddenly, the sharp ring of her phone broke my train of thought. Seemah glanced down at the screen, and her face lit up when she saw the caller ID read: *Big Bros.*
She answered in her signature sweet, affectionate voice. “Yaya Habib!”
"Princess! I hope you slept well and woke up in good health?" his warm voice resonated.
"I'm perfectly fine, Bros. But why did you refuse to come visit us?" she pouted.
Habib glanced over at his wife sitting right beside him before replying, “Ah, traveling down there would be far too difficult for me right now. Dad’s branch company here requires my absolute attention.”
Seemah sighed heavily. “I wish they would just let me come over to Nigeria to see you. Honestly, Yaya, I have never even visited my own parents' homeland. Now you've moved back there, and while Ya Junaid, Ammar, and Dad get to travel down every five months, I'm always left behind.”
Habib smiled warmly. “You make a very fair point. Have you guys closed for the school holidays yet?”
"We are finishing our very last exams today!" she squealed with excitement. “You know how it is—once we hand in these papers, we are entirely done until next term.”
"Excellent," Habib noted. “I will speak with Dad tonight and convince him to let you come visit me, even if it's just for a single month.”
"YESSSS!" she cheered loudly. "Oh my god, Bros, this is exactly why you are my absolute favorite!" They shared a few more warm pleasantries before hanging up, agreeing that he would handle Dad.
High School Drama and High Standards
Seemah arrived at the university campus bubbling with pure joy, completely ecstatic at the prospect of finally seeing what Nigeria looked like. The moment the car pulled up, she stepped out and walked onto the campus grounds. But just as she took a few steps toward her lecture hall, a loud cheer erupted, and her friends began spraying party string all over her.
Startled and confused, she opened her mouth to protest, but stopped when her classmate, Alex, stepped forward. He dropped down on one knee right in front of her, holding out a beautiful bouquet of flowers. "Seemah, will you date me?" he asked sincerely.
Their classmates erupted into a frenzy of screams and applause, chanting loudly, “ACCEPT IT! ACCEPT IT! ACCEPT IT!”
Seemah stared down at Alex in utter disbelief. “Alex, what on earth is going on here?”
He pushed the flowers closer to her. “Seemah, please, accept my love.”
She looked at him, a cynical smile touching her lips as she crossed her arms. “Alex, can you please stop all this unnecessary drama?”
Alex quickly stood up, his face flushing. “Seemah?!”
She fixed him with a cold glare. “Do I look easy to you? Why does everyone think they can just play around with my feelings? Just the other day, your friend came up to me professing his love, and today it's you? Am I some sort of toy to you guys?”
Before Alex could formulate an excuse, she snatched the bouquet from his hands. Turning around, she marched over to a female classmate whom everyone on campus—including Alex—knew was deeply in love with him. Seemah dropped the flowers onto the girl's desk, turned back to give Alex one last dismissive look, and walked over to take her seat.
Alex watched her leave, completely stunned. His friends quickly swarmed around him, patting his shoulder. “Come on, man, you knew better. Did you honestly think a girl who carries herself like she’s a member of the British Royal Family would ever date you? Get a grip on yourself, buddy!”
As soon as she sat down, Seemah pulled out her phone and fired off a quick text message to Ammar. The moment she put the phone down, it rang. It was Ammar.
“Princess, what happened? Did you just text me saying someone proposed to you?”
“Yes, Yaya! And you'll never guess who it was—Alex!”
Ammar burst into laughter. “So, how did it go?”
“How do you think it went? I rejected him instantly. You know better than anyone that Alex is completely beneath my standards.”
As Ammar continued to chuckle, she added firmly, “Listen, Yaya, the man I eventually marry must strictly fulfill five absolute conditions. First, he must be exceptionally handsome. Second, he must treat me with the utmost respect. Third, he must never, under any circumstances, do anything to upset me. Fourth, he must be incredibly wealthy, because I was certainly not raised in poverty. And fifth, whenever I demand something, it must be executed without question.”
Ammar laughed uproariously through the line. “Are you entirely certain you'll ever find a single man who ticks all those boxes?”
"Oh, just you wait and see, Yaya," she smirked. “I am definitely going to find him.”
"Man, I can't wait to meet this mystery man," Ammar teased.
She laughed along with him before shifting her tone to a plea. “Yaya, please, promise me you'll help convince Dad to let me go to Nigeria.”
"Yeah, no problem at all," Ammar agreed. “After all, you're twenty years old now. It's high time Dad let you spread your wings a bit.”
"Thank you so much, Yaya!" she beamed.
"Now, clear your mind and focus entirely on acing your exams," Ammar advised.
She smiled warmly. “I will. Thanks, Oppa.”
A World Apart — Jalal's Reality
Meanwhile, a world away in Nigeria, a young man sat quietly before his mother. Right beside them lay his younger sister, completely bedridden. She had been struck down by a debilitating illness since the tender age of ten, leaving her entirely paralyzed to this day. She was completely dependent on others for her survival, requiring round-the-clock care for every basic human need.
He gently wiped away the saliva trickling from the corner of her mouth, turning a somber gaze toward his mother. “Umma, I think I'll be heading back to the city today.”
His mother sighed softly. “Jalal, whenever you leave for the city this time around, please try to limit your visits to once every two weeks. The journey from Abuja to Birnin-Gwari is far too long and exhausting.”
A gentle smile touched his lips. “I'll see what I can do, Umma. But where is Abba? I noticed he hasn't returned yet, and my departure time is drawing close.”
"Oh, he traveled down to the village to drop Zainab off at her parents' house," she explained. "She was desperately homesick and insisted on visiting." She paused for a moment, shifting her weight before looking intently at him. “Jalal... have you given any more thought to what we discussed regarding Zainab? About marrying her? She is your cousin, after all, and she is an incredibly quiet, well-mannered girl.”
Jalal immediately stood up, deliberately avoiding the topic. “Umma, I really need to get going. I'll call you the moment I arrive.”
She looked up at him, a soft, resigned sigh escaping her lips. “Alright then. May Allah protect you on the road.”
This was **Jalaludeen**. He came from an incredibly impoverished background, yet he possessed an unyielding sense of pride. He absolutely despised being looked down upon simply because of his lack of wealth, and he refused to ever humble or demean himself before the rich. He did not tolerate disrespect from anyone, nor did he allow himself to be treated as an inferior.
Part 6: Packing for Nigeria and Leaving the Nest
The moment Seemah finished her final exam paper, she practically sprinted to the car, desperate to avoid running into Alex again. As soon as she slid into the seat, she dialed Yaya Habib's number.
Habib answered with an amused chuckle. “Well, it looks like my little sister is truly desperate to come see me.”
"Yaya! What did Dad say?!" she demanded eagerly.
“He said it's completely fine, provided I take absolute responsibility for looking after you.”
She let out a piercing squeal of pure joy. “WOW! Oh my god, Yaya! Listen, since I'm officially done with exams, I want to fly out this very week. In fact, I want to be on a plane by tomorrow or the day after. I literally cannot wait to see you!”
"Calm down, everything is under control," Habib laughed. “I'll look into the earliest available flight bookings right now. Honestly, I can't wait to see my little sister either.”
The moment Seemah arrived back at the estate, she walked into the living room and found her stepmother lounging fully across the sofa. A large bowl of apples sat before her, and she was casually munching away. The sight instantly irritated Seemah. Her stepmother's overall attitude always rubbed her the wrong way; she deeply resented how emotionally detached the woman was. Seemah desperately craved to be surrounded by people who showered her with intense care and attention, a stark contrast to this woman’s cold indifference.
Marching over to the sofa, Seemah stood directly over her, crossing her arms. She glared down at her. “Small Mom, did you seriously not see me walk through the front door?”
Sadiya slowly turned her head, offering a completely unimpressed, dismissive glance. “Oh, so because you're back, Seemah, am I supposed to leap out of my seat and start jumping up and down in celebration? Has the official daughter of the British Prime Minister finally arrived?”
The sharp sarcasm cut Seemah deeply. She narrowed her eyes, her voice trembling with anger. “In the eyes of my parents, my status is infinitely higher than any Queen of England. But don't worry, I am strictly going to sit right here and wait for Dad to return tonight so he can personally remind you of that fact.”
With that final declaration, she spun around, stomped up to her bedroom, and threw herself onto the bed. Slipping into her signature dramatic, spoiled routine, she began crying at the top of her lungs. She timed her performance impeccably; the moment she estimated her father would be walking through the front door, she cranked up the volume of her weeping, letting her sobbing echo throughout the house.
Downstairs, Sadiya's heart sank into her stomach. She felt completely overwhelmed with anxiety, yet her pride strictly prevented her from going upstairs to apologize to the spoiled girl.
## Part 7: The Confrontation and The Overprotective Father
Dad arrived home accompanied by Junaid and Ammar, entering the house as a trio just as they did every single evening. The moment he stepped into the foyer, his eyes scanned the empty room. Usually, Seemah would come sprinting down the stairs to throw her arms around him in a warm embrace. Noting her absence, he turned a sharp, demanding gaze toward his wife. “Sauda, where on earth is Seemah?”
With a trembling voice, Sauda pointed toward the upper floor. Without a second thought, Dad marched up the stairs, with Junaid and Ammar hot on his heels.
Hearing their heavy footsteps approaching, Seemah amplified her crying. They burst through her bedroom door, and Dad rushed to her side, pulling her into his arms. “Baby, what's wrong? Who dared to upset my little girl?”
Clinging to her father's hand through fake tears, Seemah whimpered, “Dad, I have a serious question for you. Between myself and the Queen of England, who holds a higher status in your heart?”
Dad answered without a shred of hesitation. “What kind of ridiculous question is that, Seemah? Who cares about some Queen? You are the only true Queen in my universe!”
She turned her tear-stained face toward Junaid. “What about you, Yaya?”
Junaid smiled warmly. “Haba, Princess, how could you even ask us something like that? Even if the Prince of England himself came begging for your hand in marriage because of your immense status, I don't think we would ever accept him unless he completely bowed to our strict rules. So how could anyone compare your status to anyone else's?”
Seemah let out a small, satisfied sniffle. “What about you, Yaya Ammar?”
Ammar chuckled, stepping forward and playfully pinching her ear. "Who on earth filled your head
he Panic and The Misadventure
She let out a piercing, bone-chilling shriek that threw the entire house into immediate panic. The men sitting at the dining table having breakfast locked eyes for a split second before leaping up and racing upstairs. The housemaids scrambled out of their quarters, tripping over one another in a frantic race up the stairwell. Only one person remained entirely unmoved; she didn't bother to lift a single foot, let alone run like the rest of them. Instead, she simply hissed in annoyance and walked straight into her bedroom.
Meanwhile, the rest of them reached the door where the screaming was coming from. Finding it locked from the inside, they began pounding frantically. The eldest among them—who appeared to be the patriarch of the family—pressed himself against the door and pleaded, “My sweetheart, open the door, please.”
From inside the room, a muffled, somber voice whimpered, “Dad, have you seen my face? I don't want anyone to see me right now.”
The father exchanged amused glances with the two young men standing beside him, and they all smiled. The man she called 'Dad' turned to some white workers standing nearby—whose uniforms immediately gave them away as estate staff—and signaled them with a nod. “Get the spare key.”
"Right away, Sir," they replied quickly, turning on their heels.
It didn't take long before they hurried back and presented the key.
The youngest of the brothers, who looked to be the baby of the family, snatched the key and unlocked the door. The entire group swarmed into the room, only to find her sitting on the floor, burying her face inside her palms.
Dad smiled warmly, stepping closer to her. “My sweetheart, what on earth is going on? Won't you uncover your eyes and look at your Dad?”
Adopting her usual spoiled, whiny demeanor, she dropped her hands, twisted her mouth, and burst into dramatic tears. “Dad, just look at your Princess's face!”
The men instantly choked back bursts of laughter. The older brother, unable to contain himself, teased, "Oh my god! Seemah, have you actually looked at yourself? Honestly, I feel so sorry for you," he added, stifling a giggle.
Seemah glared at him. "Yaya Junaid, are you serious?" She turned back to her father, crying even harder. “Dad, see? I told you! This is exactly why I didn't want any of you to see me.”
The youngest brother laughed out loud. "Oh man, what am I going to do with you? My little sister just refuses to grow up." He leaned down, gently touching the area beneath her eye and smudging a black substance onto his finger. “Seemah, isn't this just mascara?”
Only then did she look up at him, blinking. “Do you really think so?”
He nodded in affirmation. Seemah scrambled to her feet and marched over to the maids. Stopping in front of one, she demanded, “Anna, is this because of the mascara I wore yesterday?”
Anna bowed her head apologetically. “I am so sorry, Madam. It is entirely my fault.”
Seemah rushed over to the vanity mirror. Catching sight of her reflection, she gasped; she looked like a literal ghost. She quickly covered her face again and turned to the youngest brother. “Ya Ammar, how did this even happen to me? Is it blood? Will it ever wash off?”
The entire room erupted into laughter. Dad gently took her by the hand, led her to the edge of the bed, and sat her down. “Anna, come over here and clean her face.”
"Right away, sir," Anna replied quickly.
Ammar crossed his arms, looking at Seemah. “But why did you go to sleep with makeup on anyway? Haven't I repeatedly told you not to do that?”
She pouted her lips. “It’s Anna’s fault! Usually, whenever I fall asleep, she’s the one who comes in and wipes it off for me. But she completely forgot to do it last night.”
Junaid chuckled. “It looks like when you performed ablution for the dawn (*Fajr*) prayer, the water washed all the makeup down your face. And since you are the undisputed queen of sleep, you didn't even notice before crawling straight back into bed.”
"I think you're right, Yaya," she admitted softly. The room filled with lighthearted laughter once more.
Dad checked his watch, stood up, and looked down at her. “Sweetheart, we are going to be late. We need to head out.”
She smiled up at him. “I have lectures today too. I'll get ready right away.”
He affectionately patted her head. “That's my baby.”
The moment the men left the room, Anna stepped forward and thoroughly cleaned Seemah's face before Seemah headed into the bathroom to shower.
## Part 2: Spoiled Routines and Cold Discontent
As soon as Dad and the boys made it downstairs, they ran into the woman from earlier just as she was stepping out of her bedroom. Dad’s expression instantly soured. Before he could utter a single word in anger, Ammar and Junaid grabbed their bags and quickly slipped out to the car. Dad fixed her with a fierce glare, and she visibly trembled, terrified of what he might say.
Forcing a calm demeanor, she asked, “Aren't you all having breakfast? I was stuck in the restroom and only just came out.”
Dad scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “So if something genuinely serious had happened to Seemah, you would have just stayed tucked away in the restroom?”
She hardened her stance slightly. “Well, it’s a relief to know it wasn't anything serious after all.”
"Oh, so now you want to play dumb and act like you didn't hear a thing? How very convenient of you," he muttered with a look of pure disdain before turning on his heel and walking out of the house.
She watched his retreating figure, whispering under her breath, "Fine! Do whatever you want to me today. Heaven forbid anyone touches the precious golden child." She shook her head in frustration. They had completely ruined the girl with pampering. Anytime she tried to speak up, her husband would aggressively remind her that he only married her in the first place so she could look after Seemah. Hissing in annoyance, she turned and strode into the kitchen.
Upstairs, the moment Seemah stepped out of the shower, she blasted music on her stereo and began dancing around the room as she dressed. Anna assisted her as usual. She put on a top and trousers, threw a long, stylish sweater over it, and wrapped a small shawl casually over her head. Grabbing her compact handbag, she structuralized her exit.
She glided downstairs and headed toward the dining table. Just as the staff had been strictly instructed, a beautiful breakfast spread had been laid out exclusively for her. She opened the dishes one by one, inspecting the food. Glancing over at the woman sitting nearby enjoying her own breakfast, Seemah casualized, "Small Mom, I don’t think I have an appetite today. If Dad calls to ask, please just tell him that I ate." Without waiting for a response, she spun around and walked out, swaying her head.
The woman’s blood boiled with intense frustration. "Small Mom?" she muttered angrily to herself. “Why can't you just call me by my actual name, Sadiya?!”
The Cold Climate and A Longing for Home
The moment Seemah stepped outside, she found the chauffeur standing by the car, having just finished wiping it down. He bowed respectfully, awaiting her orders. She looked at the vehicle and asked, “Is this the car we are taking today?”
He quickly pointed to the sedan parked before them. Seemah hissed in disapproval. "No, I don't like this one. The seats inside aren't soft enough at all. Let's take that one instead," she ordered, gesturing toward a more luxurious vehicle.
"Right away, Madam," the chauffeur replied without hesitation.
Glancing up at the sky, she observed, "It's snowing." She slid into the plush backseat, and the car smoothly exited the estate gates.
The United Kingdom was experiencing a heavy snowfall that morning. The locals, entirely accustomed to the biting winter climate, went about their daily hustle seamlessly. I, on the other hand, could do absolutely nothing but shiver uncontrollably from the freezing cold, thinking to myself, *Good grief! How could I ever survive living in a place like this?* I looked over at Seemah, who seemed completely unfazed by the sub-zero temperatures. Well, of course she was fine—she was practically born and raised here.
Suddenly, the sharp ring of her phone broke my train of thought. Seemah glanced down at the screen, and her face lit up when she saw the caller ID read: *Big Bros.*
She answered in her signature sweet, affectionate voice. “Yaya Habib!”
"Princess! I hope you slept well and woke up in good health?" his warm voice resonated.
"I'm perfectly fine, Bros. But why did you refuse to come visit us?" she pouted.
Habib glanced over at his wife sitting right beside him before replying, “Ah, traveling down there would be far too difficult for me right now. Dad’s branch company here requires my absolute attention.”
Seemah sighed heavily. “I wish they would just let me come over to Nigeria to see you. Honestly, Yaya, I have never even visited my own parents' homeland. Now you've moved back there, and while Ya Junaid, Ammar, and Dad get to travel down every five months, I'm always left behind.”
Habib smiled warmly. “You make a very fair point. Have you guys closed for the school holidays yet?”
"We are finishing our very last exams today!" she squealed with excitement. “You know how it is—once we hand in these papers, we are entirely done until next term.”
"Excellent," Habib noted. “I will speak with Dad tonight and convince him to let you come visit me, even if it's just for a single month.”
"YESSSS!" she cheered loudly. "Oh my god, Bros, this is exactly why you are my absolute favorite!" They shared a few more warm pleasantries before hanging up, agreeing that he would handle Dad.
High School Drama and High Standards
Seemah arrived at the university campus bubbling with pure joy, completely ecstatic at the prospect of finally seeing what Nigeria looked like. The moment the car pulled up, she stepped out and walked onto the campus grounds. But just as she took a few steps toward her lecture hall, a loud cheer erupted, and her friends began spraying party string all over her.
Startled and confused, she opened her mouth to protest, but stopped when her classmate, Alex, stepped forward. He dropped down on one knee right in front of her, holding out a beautiful bouquet of flowers. "Seemah, will you date me?" he asked sincerely.
Their classmates erupted into a frenzy of screams and applause, chanting loudly, “ACCEPT IT! ACCEPT IT! ACCEPT IT!”
Seemah stared down at Alex in utter disbelief. “Alex, what on earth is going on here?”
He pushed the flowers closer to her. “Seemah, please, accept my love.”
She looked at him, a cynical smile touching her lips as she crossed her arms. “Alex, can you please stop all this unnecessary drama?”
Alex quickly stood up, his face flushing. “Seemah?!”
She fixed him with a cold glare. “Do I look easy to you? Why does everyone think they can just play around with my feelings? Just the other day, your friend came up to me professing his love, and today it's you? Am I some sort of toy to you guys?”
Before Alex could formulate an excuse, she snatched the bouquet from his hands. Turning around, she marched over to a female classmate whom everyone on campus—including Alex—knew was deeply in love with him. Seemah dropped the flowers onto the girl's desk, turned back to give Alex one last dismissive look, and walked over to take her seat.
Alex watched her leave, completely stunned. His friends quickly swarmed around him, patting his shoulder. “Come on, man, you knew better. Did you honestly think a girl who carries herself like she’s a member of the British Royal Family would ever date you? Get a grip on yourself, buddy!”
As soon as she sat down, Seemah pulled out her phone and fired off a quick text message to Ammar. The moment she put the phone down, it rang. It was Ammar.
“Princess, what happened? Did you just text me saying someone proposed to you?”
“Yes, Yaya! And you'll never guess who it was—Alex!”
Ammar burst into laughter. “So, how did it go?”
“How do you think it went? I rejected him instantly. You know better than anyone that Alex is completely beneath my standards.”
As Ammar continued to chuckle, she added firmly, “Listen, Yaya, the man I eventually marry must strictly fulfill five absolute conditions. First, he must be exceptionally handsome. Second, he must treat me with the utmost respect. Third, he must never, under any circumstances, do anything to upset me. Fourth, he must be incredibly wealthy, because I was certainly not raised in poverty. And fifth, whenever I demand something, it must be executed without question.”
Ammar laughed uproariously through the line. “Are you entirely certain you'll ever find a single man who ticks all those boxes?”
"Oh, just you wait and see, Yaya," she smirked. “I am definitely going to find him.”
"Man, I can't wait to meet this mystery man," Ammar teased.
She laughed along with him before shifting her tone to a plea. “Yaya, please, promise me you'll help convince Dad to let me go to Nigeria.”
"Yeah, no problem at all," Ammar agreed. “After all, you're twenty years old now. It's high time Dad let you spread your wings a bit.”
"Thank you so much, Yaya!" she beamed.
"Now, clear your mind and focus entirely on acing your exams," Ammar advised.
She smiled warmly. “I will. Thanks, Oppa.”
A World Apart — Jalal's Reality
Meanwhile, a world away in Nigeria, a young man sat quietly before his mother. Right beside them lay his younger sister, completely bedridden. She had been struck down by a debilitating illness since the tender age of ten, leaving her entirely paralyzed to this day. She was completely dependent on others for her survival, requiring round-the-clock care for every basic human need.
He gently wiped away the saliva trickling from the corner of her mouth, turning a somber gaze toward his mother. “Umma, I think I'll be heading back to the city today.”
His mother sighed softly. “Jalal, whenever you leave for the city this time around, please try to limit your visits to once every two weeks. The journey from Abuja to Birnin-Gwari is far too long and exhausting.”
A gentle smile touched his lips. “I'll see what I can do, Umma. But where is Abba? I noticed he hasn't returned yet, and my departure time is drawing close.”
"Oh, he traveled down to the village to drop Zainab off at her parents' house," she explained. "She was desperately homesick and insisted on visiting." She paused for a moment, shifting her weight before looking intently at him. “Jalal... have you given any more thought to what we discussed regarding Zainab? About marrying her? She is your cousin, after all, and she is an incredibly quiet, well-mannered girl.”
Jalal immediately stood up, deliberately avoiding the topic. “Umma, I really need to get going. I'll call you the moment I arrive.”
She looked up at him, a soft, resigned sigh escaping her lips. “Alright then. May Allah protect you on the road.”
This was **Jalaludeen**. He came from an incredibly impoverished background, yet he possessed an unyielding sense of pride. He absolutely despised being looked down upon simply because of his lack of wealth, and he refused to ever humble or demean himself before the rich. He did not tolerate disrespect from anyone, nor did he allow himself to be treated as an inferior.
Part 6: Packing for Nigeria and Leaving the Nest
The moment Seemah finished her final exam paper, she practically sprinted to the car, desperate to avoid running into Alex again. As soon as she slid into the seat, she dialed Yaya Habib's number.
Habib answered with an amused chuckle. “Well, it looks like my little sister is truly desperate to come see me.”
"Yaya! What did Dad say?!" she demanded eagerly.
“He said it's completely fine, provided I take absolute responsibility for looking after you.”
She let out a piercing squeal of pure joy. “WOW! Oh my god, Yaya! Listen, since I'm officially done with exams, I want to fly out this very week. In fact, I want to be on a plane by tomorrow or the day after. I literally cannot wait to see you!”
"Calm down, everything is under control," Habib laughed. “I'll look into the earliest available flight bookings right now. Honestly, I can't wait to see my little sister either.”
The moment Seemah arrived back at the estate, she walked into the living room and found her stepmother lounging fully across the sofa. A large bowl of apples sat before her, and she was casually munching away. The sight instantly irritated Seemah. Her stepmother's overall attitude always rubbed her the wrong way; she deeply resented how emotionally detached the woman was. Seemah desperately craved to be surrounded by people who showered her with intense care and attention, a stark contrast to this woman’s cold indifference.
Marching over to the sofa, Seemah stood directly over her, crossing her arms. She glared down at her. “Small Mom, did you seriously not see me walk through the front door?”
Sadiya slowly turned her head, offering a completely unimpressed, dismissive glance. “Oh, so because you're back, Seemah, am I supposed to leap out of my seat and start jumping up and down in celebration? Has the official daughter of the British Prime Minister finally arrived?”
The sharp sarcasm cut Seemah deeply. She narrowed her eyes, her voice trembling with anger. “In the eyes of my parents, my status is infinitely higher than any Queen of England. But don't worry, I am strictly going to sit right here and wait for Dad to return tonight so he can personally remind you of that fact.”
With that final declaration, she spun around, stomped up to her bedroom, and threw herself onto the bed. Slipping into her signature dramatic, spoiled routine, she began crying at the top of her lungs. She timed her performance impeccably; the moment she estimated her father would be walking through the front door, she cranked up the volume of her weeping, letting her sobbing echo throughout the house.
Downstairs, Sadiya's heart sank into her stomach. She felt completely overwhelmed with anxiety, yet her pride strictly prevented her from going upstairs to apologize to the spoiled girl.
## Part 7: The Confrontation and The Overprotective Father
Dad arrived home accompanied by Junaid and Ammar, entering the house as a trio just as they did every single evening. The moment he stepped into the foyer, his eyes scanned the empty room. Usually, Seemah would come sprinting down the stairs to throw her arms around him in a warm embrace. Noting her absence, he turned a sharp, demanding gaze toward his wife. “Sauda, where on earth is Seemah?”
With a trembling voice, Sauda pointed toward the upper floor. Without a second thought, Dad marched up the stairs, with Junaid and Ammar hot on his heels.
Hearing their heavy footsteps approaching, Seemah amplified her crying. They burst through her bedroom door, and Dad rushed to her side, pulling her into his arms. “Baby, what's wrong? Who dared to upset my little girl?”
Clinging to her father's hand through fake tears, Seemah whimpered, “Dad, I have a serious question for you. Between myself and the Queen of England, who holds a higher status in your heart?”
Dad answered without a shred of hesitation. “What kind of ridiculous question is that, Seemah? Who cares about some Queen? You are the only true Queen in my universe!”
She turned her tear-stained face toward Junaid. “What about you, Yaya?”
Junaid smiled warmly. “Haba, Princess, how could you even ask us something like that? Even if the Prince of England himself came begging for your hand in marriage because of your immense status, I don't think we would ever accept him unless he completely bowed to our strict rules. So how could anyone compare your status to anyone else's?”
Seemah let out a small, satisfied sniffle. “What about you, Yaya Ammar?”
Ammar chuckled, stepping forward and playfully pinching her ear. "Who on earth filled your head