KUBI CALIPHATE.

The flight to Kubi landed at exactly 5:20PM, a total of an hour flight from Sokoto.

By the time Asma emerged out of the terminal dragging her suitcase with Karima in tow with her own bag in her hold, it was nearing half past five. Asma maneuvered her way around the airport with an air of familiarity, her head held up high and her lips set into a tight line. Her fiery eyes shielded by the sunglasses she had donned on upon arriving.

Her gaze fell on a familiar face in the crowd, making her move in the direction of the driver. The older man upon noticing her, rushed to her side along with a dogari that came to pick her up together. They both crouched low, greeting the Princess with an air of familiarity.

Asma could only force a smile, the last thing on her mind being exchanging pleasantries with others truly. Once they were done with it, she passed her suitcase to the guard, before they made their way outside where a sleek Prado was waiting with the plate number of the royal family written boldly on it.

Karima rode beside her in the car, fiddling with her fingers as a familiar feeling of unease settled upon her, but she tried to keep it at bay not wanting to gain the attention of the Princess.

The beautiful sight of Kubi did nothing to calm her nerves—a sight most tourists speak of, ranking the Caliphate as one of the most beautiful places in the country and a must visit for anyone; but to the two ladies, it was just returning to a hell hole they managed to get away from, only to end up returning to.

Karima swallowed down a lump, releasing a shaky breath as she clung onto her bag, glancing outside as she tried to keep her unease at bay. But with every passing second, it only grew a lot more than it ever was.

But it was not just her. Even Asma seated beside her, though appeared composed as ever, tapped her index finger on her thigh repeatedly—her mind swirling with thoughts of what had just happened in Sokoto, and what she would encounter in Kubi. She choose to keep Amir Qasim's issues, having an even bigger one to handle than that.

The drive from the airport to the royal palace was not long, and soon enough, the car was pulling up inside as the gates were pulled open—the row of guards in green and red insignia rising on their feet to welcome the Princess back home—and it was in that moment that Asma was most grateful for the tinted glasses of the car truly.

She was not in the mood to entertain anyone.

As the car rounded the water fountain, it came to a stop, parking right by the entrance. As the guard quickly rushed out and opened the door for her, Asma turned her head to look at Karima for the first time, snapping out of her own thoughts as she held the girl's gaze. "Head to my place, and stay there. Do not go anywhere else." She said, her tone firm, the order clear.

Karima nodded, not having any better choice. "Okay." She whispered.

Asma gave her a look, before she offered her a small smile. Then, she turned around and descended the car, getting lost in the sea of chants from the guards that had gathered to welcome her, but they all knew there was a more pressing issue than getting their pockets filled for reigning praises.

The usual light ambiance of the royal palace has been overtaken by something darker. It was as if there was dark clouds looming above them, matching the somber mood of the place entirely.

Asma's steps though composed, were a bit rushed as she made her way inside the building, maneuvering down the familiar halls that held more memories than she ever thought would, as she headed to the Calipha's side directly, not once stopping on the way.

As she approached his chambers, she spotted a light crowd outside—the familiar faces of the Princesses and the Queens of the Caliphate hanging outside, whispers exchanged between them, and the air tense. But as Asma approached, she noticed there was also the familiar face of her father's right hand man, the Waziri of the Caliphate, was there as well, his expression grim.

It was not until she got closer did they notice her presence, and that was when more whispers started amongst the women, eyes narrowed in her direction.

"What is she doing here?" One of the princess's hissed, "I thought she would not come back here anymore?"

"What else? To show her fake sympathy of course." Another hissed, not so discretely.

"Who is she trying to deceive?" This time around, it was one of the Queens that spoke, her pointed gaze on Asma. "Who is the reason he is sick in the first place? Spare me with the fake concern."

"Someone should send her away please." Another proposed. "Then again, she won't be allowed in anyways. So, why bother? Let her stay and rot out here like the rest of us."

Asma ignored them, walking past them with her head held high, and her head never turning in their direction. It was not until she reached where the Waziri was that she reached out and removed her shades, focusing her gaze on him as she offered him a small smile. "Barka da rana." She greeted.

He offered her a small smile, being the only welcoming one amongst them, ignoring their remarks as well. "Barka dai, Asmau. You've arrived."

She hummed with a nod, before her gaze flicked in the direction of the closed door, her lips tugging downwards into a deep frown when she asked. "How is he feeling now? Ya jikin shin?"

He exhaled a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as he shook his head a bit. "It's not looking up well." He confessed. "But the doctor is in there with him. He has not allowed anyone in there to see him either so we cannot be sure."

"Gwara dai ka gaya mata." Said the eldest Queen, her arms crossed over her torso as she flicked her cold glare in the direction of Asma. Her words were bitter when she spat out. "Even if he was allowing anyone in, we would never allow her to go in there and see him. She better return back to whatever hole she crawled out of—she has never been present in this family to begin with."

"Gimbiya, ba'a haka." Waziri, the reserved one as always, tried to reason with the Queen that was not willing to listen to anything he, or anyone would say. But as always, he was the one trying to advocate for peace in the family—for the sake of the Calipha, for the sake of his friend. When the Queen merely looked away, showing her blatant disregard to his words. He sighed, and turned his focus on Asma instead. "Asmau, please do not take their words to heart. You're welcome here."

Asma shook her head, her lips curling upwards into a small smile. "It's okay. I'm more worried about Baba." She blinked, releasing a small sigh—ignoring the glares sent her way. Before she could say a thing more however, another voice came, belonging to the second Queen.

"See, kagani, Waziri?" She pointed out, her tone accusing. "This disrespectful girl did not bother to greet any of us, as if we do not matter. Can you see for yourself just how disrespectful she is?"

The Waziri parted his lips to say something, however, before he could, Asma turned around to face the women all directly—her gaze set on the one that uttered the last words, her expression cold. "Disrespectful?" She repeated, then chuckled humorlessly. "Fine." She took a step closer to the woman, her fingers crossed in front of her as she stared her down. "Baba has two wives, and nine children. Let's leave the eldest brother, and me aside, there are seven other children." She paused, her voice dropping as she shifted her gaze to the said seven children standing there—all with eyes narrowed in her direction, though some looked away. "I have seven younger siblings," She continued, "And yet, not one called to inform me that Baba has been bedridden for what? Two weeks now?"

The worst part of it all, and the one thing that irks her the most is that no one in the family bothered to tell her what was going on with the Calipha. If X had not called and informed her, God forbid, the Calipha might even pass away and she will at most find out in the news or social media.

She was not expecting anything from the eldest and only son in the family, but her so called younger siblings could have at least called her. If not because she is the eldest Princess, but at least because she is his daughter as well. Does she not deserve that much courtesy?

Given, there has always been bad blood between them, but still.

They knew that as well, hence why some looked away once those words escaped her lips—but the daring ones still held her gaze, unwilling to back down. Though, none dared to utter a word back.

Asma exhaled a breath, clicking her tongue against the corner of her lips as she focused her laser sharp gaze back on the two Queens. "Lecture your children first, before you think of saying such stuff about me. I am not someone that you can speak to anyhow you please." They can call her disrespectful all they want, and she would accept it—so long as it came to them.

She turned around to face Waziri again, but stopped midway instead, turning around to stare at the two Queens once again. "Oh, and just so you know, respect is earned. And I, have none for people like you. I would like to see who would try to drag me away from this place. You've tried before, haven't you?" This time around, her words were directed towards the first Queen, her gaze unwavering when she then added. "How has that worked for you?"

The woman's eyes narrowed at Asma in slits, her jaw clenched while her hands fisted by her side. Her light skin was starting to turn red—flushed with anger. However, she could not say a word. The Calipha's room's door opened, making all attention whip in its direction as the doctor stepped out, closing the door behind him.

"Doctor, how is he?" Waziri asked, stepping close to the man, being the first to speak.

The Queen rushed to his side, each vocalizing her question, their words rushed to express their feeling towards the situation. The Princess pushed Asma aside, crowding around the doctor like a herd eager to be fed.

"Can we see him now?"

"Has he asked for us, doctor?"

The doctor looked around the crowd, before he found the man's gaze, and then questioned. "Who is the eldest daughter?" He inquired, his brows drawn in. "He is asking for her. Princess Asma?"

The moment the name escaped his lips, it was as if a glass fell on the floor and shattered into pieces, increasing the tension in the room. On instinct, all pointed gazes shifted in Asma's direction, as she found the doctor's gaze, her expression calm when she parted her lips and answer.

"That would be me."

The doctor's gaze found hers, and then he offered her a nod. "Please, go in. He is asking for you." The man could feel the questioning gaze of all others, so he was quick to add. "Only you are allowed to go in."

Asma nodded, her hand reaching out to pat the shoulder of the girls in her way, pushing them away with that action. Then, with her head held up high, she trudged past them, making a beeline directly towards the entrance of his room. From behind, she heard the gossip brewing amongst the other Princess at the scene that unfolded in front of them—their questions spewing faster than their sizzling hatred for her running through their veins.

"Why would Baba look for her?"

"Does she think she is better than us just because she shares the same brother as Yaya?"

"I bet she must be happy her brother would be the one to take over the throne. That is why she is acting all high and mighty."

Asma ignored their words, shutting them behind along with the door she closed behind her. She exhaled a small breath, calming herself down and not letting the words get to her. She waited a few seconds, until she was sure she had gotten her emotions in check, before she advanced further into the grand master bedroom.

She navigated her way through the grandiose room, her attention on nothing more than seeing the old man. Taking the few steps that led further into the bedroom, her gaze fell on the figure on the King size bed, his frail figure one that could be spotted from a mile away. Her steps rushed, her heart pounding behind her ribcage as she quickly covered the space between them, going to settle down on the chair by the bed.

Her eyes took in his wrinkled face, his eyes closed and his breathing slow, but there was this soft rise and fall of his chest. It has only been a few months since she saw him, but he seemed to have aged quite a lot since then, and her heart broke into a thousand tiny pieces.

Her eyes stung with tears, but she still managed to part her lips, and then she called out in a shaky voice. "Baba..."

For a second, he did not respond, and her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, fearing the worst. But then his eyes fluttered open slowly, his head turning in the direction of the sound—and once his gaze met hers, his pale lips curled upwards into a small smile. "My daughter..." He called out. "...you are here at last."

Asma nearly choked on her tears then, but she quickly blinked them back, her lips wobbling as she tried to hold back her tears. "I am here." She nodded, trying to offer him a smile but she could not bring herself to feign it—not when her heart was chipping away at the sight of him. She sniffed back her tears regardless. "How are you feeling?"

His smile was unwavering—it was warmth in itself—and in her life, it felt like the only real source of warmth and love. The only love she could not question. "I am alright." He breathed out.

"No, you're not." She breathed out with a shake of her head, giving him a onceover, and she had to fight hard to keep her composure intact and not break down. "You look so frail. You're obviously not alright."

He tried to chuckle, but it came out as a low wheeze. "You're doubting this old man now?"

"I am stating the obvious." She pointed out, with a slight pout of her lips.

"Still stubborn as ever." He shook his head. "Did I spoil you too much?" He muttered to himself, seeming to truly be wondering if he has done so.

Her eyes welled up with tears, knowing which days he must be reminiscing. But she did not want to dwell on it. Instead, she tried to change the topic. "Let's have you taken to a hospital abroad." She sniffed back her tears, trying to make her voice clear. "I have spoken to some acquaintances on my way from America, and I have gotten in touch with some specialists. Let's have your documents processed quickly, and go get a checkup there. I will stay with you, hmm?"

He stared at her, his soft smile ever presents, but she could still see the defiance in his eyes even before he said it. "No specialist can prolong my life more than what was allocated to me by Allah." He shook his head. "Babu."

She frowned, hating the way those words escaped his lips. "How would you know if you have not tried?" She asked with a pointed look. "Are you a doctor yourself? How can you say stuff like that?" She was trying to keep her voice calm while he acts like a kid that wants to be scolded, but her voice broke regardless.

Instead of getting offended by her scolding him, he actually chuckled. He missed having her scold him like that. He would not admit it—but the past few months without her in the palace have been dull. "I have lived seventy-eight years." He pointed out. "Try to live as long as me if you can. Na fiki lafiya. Children of this generation with all these junk food and sodas you take, you are killing yourself before your time comes. Gwara ni naji dadin rayuwa ta."

"Baba..." She dragged with a pointed look. "...not the time." She knew he was trying to shift the topic, but she would not give him the grace of that.

He chuckled once again, knowing he was caught red handed, but his chuckle turned into a coughing mess. Asma quickly poured him water into a cup, and handed it to him, muttering "Sorry." Under her breath as he took the water.

Once he had enough, he handed it back to her, and she dropped it back on the bedside cabinet.

A moment passed in silence, before he exhaled a loud breath, looking away from her and staring at the wall ahead. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again, his tone serious. "I have lived seventy-eight years, and I have nine children, but I am only realizing I have not done much in my life." He admitted, his voice low. "How do I face my Lord in this state?"

Her expression softened, her shoulders slumping. "Baba..."

"Allah blessed me with eight daughters." He continued, his gaze found hers, and he smiled sadly. "Do you know how much of a blessing is that?" Contrary to what people believe about how having a male child means more—especially the way woman think—having daughters is the greatest blessing. And he knew.

She did not say a thing, and instead allowed him to speak, knowing he needs to get it off his mind.

"I do not think I have any of them to write home about." He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I am not even sure whether it was me that spoiled them as well, or I was careless and watched as their mothers did as they please with them—turning them into smaller versions of themselves." His frown deepened, his head shaking.

Asma could only offer him some sense of support, as she always does. "They will come around." She assured. "They are still young, and deep down, they are good people as well. You raised them well." Keeping aside her beef with them, she would not label them bad people per se.

Spoiled and bratty, certainly. But not that bad—at least, nothing for the Calipha to mourn about.

"Allah ya shirye su." He muttered.

"Ameen."

"My biggest issue right now, however, is your brother." He found her gaze, his brows pinched, and his lips tugged downwards into a deep frown. "He is my only male child, but his attitude..." He shook his head disappointedly, with a light tut. "...I have no idea whom he got it from."

She folded her lips in, not having anything to say to defend him. She could not. He is not someone she could defend. Ever.

"And you know the saddest part?" The Calipha continued. "People tried to speak to me, but I was too blinded by the love I have for him to acknowledge what he has been up to. And now, we are at the point where there is no turning back."

She bowed her head low, not knowing what to say but to listen this time around. She could not think of a thing to say that would not add to the old man's burden, so she did not. Instead, she listened to him to speak.

"Even if this sickness will lead to my death, I want you to be my witness for something." His words had her looking up, her brows drawn in.

"Witness for what?"

He lifted his head then slipped his hand underneath his pillow—pulling out an envelope from it before he passed it on to her. She collected it sporting a frown, questions masking her features.

"What is this?" She asked, staring at the envelope that made her heart thud behind her ribcage.

He sighed, his expression heavy with unspoken words and tension. "My will." He declared. "Along with evidences I have gathered over the years."

***

For some reason this was very hard for me to write, been on it for days.

I'm exhausted so I don't have much to say really

But uhm you confused? I know, don't worry, it'll makes sense eventually.

I hope you've all cooled off from hating Qasim. Nace Kai this kind hatred haka tashi daya😭 you've all turned against him sharppppp

Toh ai shikenan amma ba haka amana Tace ba.

Anyways I don't have much to say tbh.

I'm sleepy so this is where I'll let you guys be.

Stay safe and single.

Love, Jannah Mia.