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KUBI CALIPHATE.

How could one feel so much hatred for someone, and still feel relieved to see the same person?

Asma was not sure, but she felt that in that exact moment.

Still very much neck deep in her despise for Amir Qasim, she felt an inexplicable feeling of feeling for his sudden, untimely appearance that seemed like a glimpse of light in her otherwise dark life; her breath getting caught in her throat as she stared at the entrance of the living room, where he graced it with his presence.

Her mind was barely on the guards flanking his side, overpowering the guards that were already there—and she barely registered the presence of Tareeq, whose attention was more on the girl behind her, than her in particular.

Zayd took a staggering step back, his hand going back to rest by his side given the unexpected arrival of the uninvited guests, and he dared to allow his face to break into an easygoing smile, as if the air was not just charged a few seconds ago with his need to cause harm. "Look who we have here..." He mused, calm, despite the intrude.

Asma's eyes remained fixated on Amir Qasim, but much to her surprise, though not much, he did not spare her a glance-his attention being fully focused on the man standing above her.

"Amir Qasim," Zayd's voice came once again. "If I did not know any better, given how you showed up here, I would mistake your presence as your sign of undying affection for my sister."

Asma's hands curled by her side, her gaze shifting from Amir Qasim, to Zayd because just when she thought he could not get any more shameless, he shows up with more evidence that he could always be worse.

Amir Qasim stepped forward, making his way over to them, and instead of replying Zayd's words directly, he suddenly crouched in front of her—the scent of her cologne reminding her of the feeling of home weirdly enough.

She looked away, but Amir Qasim reached his hand out, taking a hold of her chin, and gently, though firmly turned her head around so he could get a good look at it—despite her defiance. She glared at him, but she realized his eyes never once met hers—it was on her face, but his eyes never once met hers,

Though his expression was unbothered and calm and always, there was a change in his eyes—it as brief, almost fleeting, but it was there. Then, he unfolded himself to his full height, and in a quick, unexpected moment, he turned around to face Zayd whose face still held a smile.

The smile that was wiped off by a quick, sharp smack that followed as Amir Qasim's hand collided with his face—the smacking sound filling the otherwise silent room.

The Kubi guards took a step forward, but those from Sokoto were twice their size, and stopped them before they could charge forward to defend their Prince.

Zayd took a staggering step back, not expecting the action—his eyes wide, and his mouth falling open as his head whipped to the side. He whipped his head up, his gaze finding Amir Qasim's before he parted his lips to speak.

"How dare you—"

His words were cut short as another smack landed on his face, almost as quick as the other one came, and this time around, there was no moment in between as Amir Qasim hand grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him close with a rough tug, so their faces aligned.

Now standing against each other, Zayd's stature was comparatively smaller, but it was his small stature that made people mistake him as someone soft and easygoing—not knowing he was the devil himself.

But there was one thing about Zayd that no one knows. His strength was only against those weaker than him—he stands no chance when compared to those stronger. Just as he stood no physical chance against Amir Qasim in that moment.

Still, he gritted his teeth, attempting to appear strong, and unruffled. But his anger was no match compared to Amir Qasim's controlled rage that was on the brink of snapping.

"You touched her." It was not a question—it was a known statement from Amir Qasim; his voice low, but the rage in it evident.

Zayd's lips formed a sadistic smile. "And so? Do not tell me you care about my sister now, Qasim?" He arched a brow, almost mocking when he added. "I thought you swore to never love anyone from my family." He then added, "You did not want to be associated with anyone from this filthy family. Is that not what you said back then?"

Amir Qasim gritted out, "She is not one of you." His voice was low, so only the two of them would hear, "She will never be."

"Oh." Zayd did not seem surprised when he added with a knowing grin. "You do know." There was a silent understanding between them that need not be spoken aloud for the others to here.

But they both understood what was going on perfectly well.

"Well, this is more fun this way." Zayd breathed out, unfazed by Amir Qasim's anger. In that moment, he could lose to the man, and he would still pride himself in knowing he at least got the upper hand in a way.

"I am not done with you." Amir Qasim breathed out harshly. "I am here to settle the scores." Then, with a harsh push, he shoved him away, making him take staggering steps back, barely able to balance himself.

With so much as another glance spared in his direction, he turned around once again, crouching in front of Asma who stared at them with knitted brows, wondering what words the two exchanged. Amir Qasim's arms went around her, and he picked her up in his arms bridal style. She did not stop him, willing to jump on any chance to get as far away from that palace as possible—she would deal with Amir Qasim's issues later on.

He walked out with her in his arms, and over her shoulder, she did not miss the way Tareeq approached Karima, and though she suddenly had so many questions regarding the girl's fate, she at least knew he would be able to get her out safely. So, she would check on her later.

Outside the chamber, she realized, had become a scene for so many onlookers. It appeared the Prince of Sokoto has caused quite a stir with his sudden appearance—and if the startling number of guards he came with aren't eye catching enough, then the sleek line of five heavily tinted Land Cruisers parked outside spoke volumes—the remaining guards that stood outside imposing, and intimidating.

No wonder it appears like all the maids and guards in the palace came to have a look—and by the side of the chamber, was a line of the second Queen and the Princess that watched the scene with scowls.

Asma paid no heed to them as a guard opened the backdoor of the car in the middle, and Amir Qasim reached out and placed her in it, making sure she was seated comfortably before he rounded the car to get in through the other side, the car closing behind him.

She turned her head to the side, refusing to spare him a glance as the other guards rushed to get in. From the corner of her eyes, she could feel his gaze on her, but she ignored him, pretending as if he was not there to begin with.

She did not miss the way Karima and Tareeq got into the car behind them, and she almost wished she had a moment to speak to Tareeq in private before they left because she had something to share with him. But, as the car revved to life and began to drive out of the Kubi Palace, she knew it would have to wait.

She had no idea where the cars were headed to, but she knew anywhere would be better than that palace, and as the cars drove past the gates, a sense of relief came crashing on her, her eyes momentarily flicking close.

She stared out the window as the cars moved, her heart hammering behind her ribcage as she pressed her nail into her thumb, her mind racing with one thought that stood out regarding what just happened.

Did Amir Qasim hear what Zayd said?

Does he know that she is Nusaiba Tukur?

Her brows drew in, as she tried to pick apart his reaction since he came in. There was nothing about him that showed any signs of so, and yet, if there was one thing she knew and could say about Amir Qasim anywhere, it is to expect the unexpected. One can never be certain with him.

The car ride went on for what felt like eternity, but was truly about a fifteen minutes' drive away from the palace, and when the cars began to slow down, she noticed they were entering a manse in an area that was known to be secluded, and for people of affluence in the State—the New GRA of Kubi State.

She did not know Amir Qasim owned a property there, but apparently, he does. Which brought her back to her original though—expect the unexpected from him.

As they drove past the gate, they had to drive up a hall hill as the house was situated on top of a rock, giving it, as well as the other houses in the area, a view like none other for they could practically see the whole of Kubi from the comfort of their homes.

And when the cars finally came to a halt, the guards were quick to step out and open the doors for them. Asma did not wait for Amir Qasim this time around, she stepped out on her own, and when he stepped out, he did not go to her side immediately.

He approached Tareeq who met him halfway, and they exchanged a few words between them, before he turned around and made his way over to her. Her eyes found Tareeq's, and he offered an assuring nod which had her releasing a relieved breath.

mir Qasim came to stand beside her, his hand reaching out to take a hold of hers when he then said. "Come with me."

She tugged her hand out of his, or attempted to anyways, but he had a firm hold around her hand, knowing she would attempt so. She could only glare at the back of his head since he was not sparing her a glance as he pulled her along with him, leading her towards the entrance of the house.

As they stepped in, much to her surprise, the house was indeed well kept, and there was already a line of maids, about six of them, waiting for them by the entrance. Upon the arrival of the two, their voices came collectively, their greeting simultaneous.

"Barka da rana, ranku ya dade."

If Asma thought Amir Qasim was cold to the maids back in Sokoto, then he was being heartless to those in Kubi because he did not spare them a glance, much less react in a way that showed he had heard them in the slightest.

Instead, he made his way over to the staircase, pulling her along with him—his hand held onto hers firmly, though not tight enough to be bruising, giving her no form of escape even if she wanted to—and she did.

He did not stop until they reached the top of the stairs, heading straight for the room at the end of the hall. He pulled open the door, letting her step in first before he followed, closing the door behind—a soft click reaching her ears in a way that notified her he had locked the room.

She stopped, turning her head to glare at him over her shoulder, refusing to take a step further into the room. She finally parted her lips to speak, her words directed at him. "Let go of my hand." Her tone was calm, but cold at the same time.

Amir Qasim released her hand, not going against her this time around.

Asma flexed her fingers once they were out of his hold, making her way further into the room, stopping once she stood in the middle—under the glistening chandelier hung above, the whole room illuminated in such a way that they could see each other clearly.

Her gaze was as cold as her expression—her lips set into a tight line when she fixated her gaze on him.

He brushed his way past her, his eyes still never meeting hers as he reached where the window was, then pulled it open slightly to gaze outside. He took note of the guards that had dispersed around the place, along with the recruitment of soldiers Tareeq had brought along. The place had basically become a fortress, and despite being in the enemy's territory, he was now certain no harm would come to them.

He had taken the right steps for it.

"What are you up to?" Asma's voice finally came, sick of the silence, and needing to break it—her narrowed eyes following his every move. "What do you think you are doing?"

"What does it seem like I am doing?" He muttered, though loud enough for her to hear, his gaze still set outside—his brows furrowed. "I am protecting my wife."

She scoffed, unable to help herself—her expression turning bitter the very moment those words registered in her mind. "Do not kid me, Kassim." She bite back, and she did not miss the way his shoulders stiffened at her choice of name to address him—something she did almost instinctively. "What games are you playing at this time around?"

His hold around the curtain tightened, his jaw clenched, almost as if he was restraining himself. Releasing a sigh, he, in a tone too composed to be his in that moment, then said; "Once we are certain that it is safe, I would have Tareeq escort you out of Kubi by tomorrow night at most." He declared, his tone leaving no space for argument. "He will take you to a safe place, and you will stay there."

"Till when?" She was not on board with the idea of being sent away, but since he was laying it bare, she wanted to know where and till when he had in mind.

"You will not be coming back." He announced, letting go of the curtain as he finally turned around, though still not looking at her. Taking a few steps ahead, he attempted to walk past her back to the door to leave, not before adding. "It is best for everyone if you do not come back."

As he was about to walk past her, she suddenly struck her hand out, taking a hold of his arm, forcing him to stop though she was certain he stopped because he wanted to, not that she would be able to make him do so. His gaze was still set aside, but hers was on him.

"That is it?" She arched a brow, her words bitter when she added. "You must be delusional if you think I would just listen to you and do as you ask."

Finally, for the first time that day, Amir Qasim, after a few seconds of stillness, turned his head around—his gaze finally meeting hers. There was a rage of storm in his eyes, barely restrained as he stared at her—and she could feel how tense his body was under her touch, an act that she had never seen in him before.

Amir Qasim was either composed, or unhinged—being in between was rare, and he was mostly just composed.

In that moment though, it seemed like a war between the two, and he was about near losing to the latter.

"Would you listen to me for once in your life?" He inquired, his voice low, and his gaze steel like. "Do as you are told."

"No." She gritted out, standing her ground, her gaze not leaving his. "You have never given me any reason to believe you, and I do not. You will not tell me what to do, Kassim. This is my fight as well, and I will do as I see fit."

"Fulani..." There was a certain way he said it—in a warning, yet almost pleading way.

She stilled, her eyes widened, and her lips falling open. Her hold around his arm slacked, her heart hammering behind her ribcage and she felt the world slow down. She took a step back, then, almost like in a trance, she uttered. "You know." It was not a question, not a suspicion, just a cold sudden realization that hit her like a truck.

He knows.

Her realization made him take a step back as well, his eyes momentarily closing before he kept quiet for a moment. Then, as if he had gotten himself under control, he peeled his eyes open, and then said in a low voice. "Hate me all you want, I will not ask for otherwise. But please, Fulani..." He paused, exhaling a heavy breath, the words seeming difficult for him to utter. "...please, do as I say just this one time. I will not ask for anything again."

Her eyes glossed with tears, and she shook her head slowly, staring at him with eyes full of betrayal. "You knew all this while." She whispered, her voice breaking, her throat suddenly clogged. She took another step from him, staring at him as though he was her number one enemy in the world, as if she hated him more than anyone.

And in that moment, she truly does.

She pointed a single, accusing finger at him. "All this while..." She swallowed down a bitter lump, but she could feel the tears seconds away from breaking free. "...you played me for a fool."

Amir Qasim ran a hand down his face—his shoulders stiff, his jaw clenched. "Fulani, please..." He was not attempting to explain, he only wanted thing—for her to pay heed to his words.

She suddenly released a humorless chuckle, sniffing back her tears as she looked away for a split second, before she found his gaze again. "You were right." She uttered, staring at him bitterly. "I do hate you the most right now. And being in the same place as you make me sick." Throwing him one last glare, she turned around and attempted to walk out—not wanting to be in the same suffocating space as him any longer.

And Amir Qasim would have allowed her to do so—he wanted to let her to do so.

But, when she took a few steps away, something just did not feel right—he knew letting her walk away would just create a bigger issue than the one they were already were.

So, he took long strides in her direction, catching up with her. His hand struck out, taking a hold of her wrist, and turning her around. Her blood boiled, and the first thought that crossed her mind was fighting him, to yell, to find a way to just stay as far away from him as possible.

But his next words had her words dying in her throat.

"I guess I can take you hating me a bit more."

Her brows drew in, and before she could attempt to comprehend what his words meant, with one tug, he had the space between them eliminated as he pulled her into him, his other arm wrapping around her.

His lips found hers, not in a gentle, coaxing way, but in the kind of kiss that was desperate, searing, and filled with all the anguish he refused to voice. It was punishment and apology all at once. Her hands pushed against his chest, fists clenched in fury, but he didn't let go, and she didn't pull away.

For a fleeting moment, her body betrayed her mind—reacting to the heat, to the passion, to the raw truth that had just unraveled between them. But then it hit her—this wasn't how things were supposed to go. Not after everything.

She tore her lips away, breathing heavily, her fingers trembling where they still touched him, and her eyes narrowed at him in slits. "Kassim..." She hated the way her voice shook, and how her body reacted to him.

Her mind screamed at her to push him away—after, it was the most rational thing to do.

And yet, she was at the brink of caving into what that moment would turn to, and every word she wanted to scream at him in that moment died down upon seeing the intense look in his eyes—the restraint at the blink of snapping.

"Push me away." He urged; his voice strained. "Tell me to walk out. Ask me to leave, and I will." His hand that held her wrist pressed against her pulse, and he could feel it racing underneath his touch—the restraint matching his, barely there, at the brink of collapse.

But he meant his every word, every single one of it.

"Ask me to stop, Fulani..." He coaxed; his voice thick with emotion. "...and I will." He promised.

But she didn't. She couldn't.

Because somewhere between the pain and the betrayal, between the silence and the storm, was this — them — this chaotic, impossible thing that never truly ended. Her lips parted, but no sound came out, and all she could do was stare at him like he was the war she never signed up for, yet always found herself fighting.

And Amir Qasim... he waited. Breath held, body tight with the effort to keep himself from falling apart. For her words. For her rejection. For her hate.

But they never came.

Instead, her trembling fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. "I still hate you." It sounded as if she was saying it more to herself than him.

His jaw clenched, his hold around her tightening. "Good," he breathed. "Maybe that's the only thing keeping us honest." His eyes searched hers for another sign of rejection, but upon seeing none, the control finally snapped, and his lips crashed on hers once again—this time more intense than the last.

The earlier tension in the room crackled like fire, though now it was more intense, shifting to another emotion entirely. She did not push him away this time around—instead, her arms wrapped around his neck, their bodies pressed together, his hold around her wrist subduing as he released the hand, instead wrapping it around her body.

He pulled back and took a step back, guiding her with him until her back hit the wall—gently, yet firmly enough to cage her in without force. His breath was ragged against her skin, his forehead resting against hers as if he was trying to ground himself, to slow the storm inside him.

"Tell me to stop," he repeated, his voice a low, strained whisper, his chest rising and falling rapidly. But she didn't. She couldn't. And that terrified her.

Their mouths met again—hungry, breathless, and far too desperate. It was the kind of kiss that held all the things they never said, all the things they pretended not to feel. Her fingers threaded into his hair, her nails lightly scraping his scalp, as though punishing him and holding on at the same time.

Clothes remained where they were, untouched, but the way their bodies aligned, the way their hands explored—clinging, searching—it felt more intimate than anything else they'd done before. Every touch was a declaration. Every shudder, a confession.

"I hate you," she breathed against his lips again, but the tremble in her voice gave her away.

"I know," he whispered back, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her neck, like it was the only language he could speak. "I know..."

His hands found the small of her back, pulling her closer, until there was no space left to breathe. Her heart thundered, a reckless rhythm that mirrored his. And in that moment, neither of them knew where hate ended and something else began.

But they didn't speak of that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Instead, they let the silence wrap around them once more—this time not cold or cruel, but loaded, fragile, and just a little bit sacred.

His hand slid to hers again, fingers intertwining, grounding them both in the moment neither of them fully understood. Still saying nothing, Amir Qasim tugged her gently, his movements unhurried but deliberate. She followed, not because she trusted him, but because something about the look in his eyes—haunted and hollow—made it impossible to walk away.

They crossed the space in heavy silence, breaths shallow and hearts racing, until her knees brushed against the edge of the bed. He stopped, gaze searching hers one last time, as if offering her the chance to flee—one last exit, one last break in the dam.

She didn't take it.

The bed creaked softly beneath their weight as they sank into it, side by side at first—close, yet unsure. He reached out, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand, and for a brief moment, they just... stared. Her eyes were glassy but defiant. His—dark and unreadable—held a storm he didn't bother hiding anymore.

This time, when he leaned down and kissed her, it was slower. Still intense, still aching, but laced with something quieter—something terrifying. Vulnerability. Regret. Longing.

He hovered over her, never once breaking contact with her eyes as he carefully lowered her back against the mattress. Her hands clung to his shoulders, his name a quiet exhale on her lips as his arms encaged her—protective almost and possessive even. The air between them was charged, every inch of movement deliberate, restrained—not rushed but lingering.

Their bodies fit like pieces that had once been whole and had been broken, only to find each other again in the wreckage.

He kissed her temple. Her jaw. Her collarbone. Each touch careful and reverent, like he was learning her all over again—despite how much they already knew. His fingers slid down her arm, his palm pressing against the quick, pulsing beat at her wrist again.

"You are shaking," he murmured, a statement even. "Your heart is racing."

"It is your fault," she whispered back, her voice laced with dry defiance, though her eyes gave her away—shadows of hurt, of memories, of everything between them.

A small, humorless smirk ghosted over his lips. "You could still tell me to stop." His tone was light, but she knew that if she indeed asks him to do so, he would.

She didn't.

Instead, she pulled him down again, wrapping herself around him—not to invite more pain, but to feel something that wasn't it. For once. To get lost in this—in something they both craved for in that moment.

And what followed wasn't gentle—gentle was lost after the soft prayer he uttered in her ears. It wasn't perfect. But it was raw and unfiltered, wrapped in anger and ache, in quiet gasps and tangled limbs, in the kind of silence that spoke volumes louder than words ever could.

When it ended, they stayed like that—breathing in the same rhythm, skin damp, hearts heavy, and the space between them nonexistent.

But peace didn't come.

Not really.

Because when the fire faded and their bodies stilled, reality seeped back in. And so did the truth.

She turned her head to look at him, voice barely audible in the stillness, her eyes drowsy and her limbs still feeling heavy despite practically laying on top of him. "This changes nothing."

He didn't flinch. "I know." Instead, his arm around her tightened, pulling her close, his own eyes flicking close.

But still... neither of them moved.

Deep down though—they knew. It did change something.

****

Hmmmmmm.

Nikam this issue Dey tire me Ah ahn!!!

These two it's like their hearts are made of stone. I sha know I said I cannot write enemies to lovers but I think I know why now.

This one pass enemies na mortal enemies be this. Wannan gaba ai har tattaba kunne😭😭 chaiiiiiiiii.

These two ba, they refuse to allow their hearts to soften. Abeg bikoooooo open your cold hearts and allow love to enter!!!

Even I don't know how I will make them fall in love, abun ba ci gaba Sai ci baya.

Amma this thing wey happen no be me write am😭 I was chased out of the room when he locked it. I do not know what happened na them finish their chapter like this oh.

No come mention Jannah please😭😭😭

Moving on, wai ba, Nace, me nayi ma yen comment section??? What did I do to the people in comment section???? Sai a zo a sani a gaba da please update Kaman da gaske once I comment wayaammmmm kamar an busa qaho. Nace lahiya??? Fada Mukeyi ne??

All the motivation to write seff don disappear. I no feel like writing again and I'm not even lying.

Sha school shege don begin now officially so if I disappear, blame my university and project supervisor. This final year thing apparently no be beans, chaiiiiii.

Omo this is where I leave you guys.

Amma akwai Balai a gaba and I do not think this book will end soon Gaskiya because omoooooooo

But we shall see.

Stay safe y'all.

Love, Jannah Mia🩷