Was supposed to be longer, but true true final year isn't easy and I'm seeing shege lowkey😭
I'm not even kidding—y'all just have to bear with me like this.
Jumuat Mubarak🤍

KUBI CALIPHATE.

Asma stirred to the feeling of lips on her shoulders, her eyes fluttering open—though heavy with much needed sleep. Still, she fought against the wish to lose herself to the sleep, and instead turned her head around, as much as she can with the feeling of the firm body behind her, and her drowsy eyes met a pair of dark ones now imprinted in her memory.

And suddenly, everything that happened a couple of hours prior came crashing back in her mind. The dark sky she could get a slight glimpse of that peeked in through the slightly opened curtains showed it was still yet to be morning, and she need not check the time to tell it was most probably still in the middle of the night.

After all, it was usually around this time that sleep evades her, and she finds herself lost in the web of memories of everything that has happened to her. In that moment though, she did not exactly get lost in those memories, but rather into a pair of dark orbs that she had no idea when the owner of it returned to bed.

She does remember him waking her up earlier when it was time for magrib, and the wave of regret that crashed upon her. The scene played so vividly in her mind, similar to the current situation, but the one from earlier was more embarrassing to her.

It seemed he had found a manner of waking her up. Earlier on, it was the feel of lips pressed against her forehead, then the tip of her nose, and the corner of her lips that had her stirring awake, only to find him seated on the edge of the bed beside her—then clad in an oyster white jellabiya—seemingly freshly showered and the scent of his cologne, which lingers on her skin, wafting through the air.

"It is time for Magrib." He has then uttered before anything else, though his voice was soft—his expression was careful, wanting to gauge her reaction. He could never be sure with her.

If only the ground would open up and swallow her then, she was seconds away from caving in. But the part of her that was stubborn and against showing any weakness forced her to just nod, muttering an 'okay' under her breath, though her eyes flicked close again.

He waited for her to get up, and she on the other hand waited for him to leave so she could get up. After a few seconds, when she did not feel any movement from his side, she peeled her eyes open hesitantly—and their eyes clashed.

She fought the urge to cave into the blood that rushed to her cheeks, and instead, narrowed her eyes at him slowly. "Are you not leaving?"

"Aren't you waking up either?" He arched a brow, throwing a question back at her. "You will be late."

"So will you," She bite back, her glare pointed. Her gaze flicked in the direction of the door for a split second, before she met his gaze again, her gaze questioning whether he would leave or not.

Amir Qasim held back the tease at the tip of his tongue, and then nodded to himself slowly. "Alright, I will get going now." He pushed himself off the bed, getting on his feet. His eyes held hers, and he gave her a pointed look. "Do not go back to sleep though."

Her glare returned, finding him infuriatingly annoying suddenly. But she did not voice it—instead, she uttered a one-line response. "I will not."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with her response. And just when she thought he would finally leave so she would get her free space, he suddenly leaned down, his lips pressed against her cheek, making her heart flutter despite her wanting to fight it. He pulled back not long after, and then turned around and made his way out of the room as if it was the most normal thing to do.

She stared at the door where he disappeared off to with a pointed look, before she huffed out a breath, and held back an eye roll. With him gone though and her senses free of the one person messing with them, it suddenly dawned on her—everything that had happened a few hours prior, and she face palmed herself, scolding herself for giving into her emotions.

But she knew there was no point in blaming herself, so, she did not dwell on it and instead focused on getting out of the bed, and getting herself ready so she would pray before the time runs out. She figured he must have planned beforehand already because there was already about two suitcases by the corner, filled with clothes meant for her, and everything she would possibly need.

She had to rush just to be able to make it on time, and Isha soon came with her still on her prayer mat. It was until she was done praying did she get the chance to take a look around the place—luckily spotting more than a handful of fresh sheets in one of the drawers, and picked one to swap the one that was on the bed.

A knock came on the door as she was done, and though still wary, she went ahead and opened the door where she was met by the sight of the maids that brought over dinner, based on the instructions given by the Prince. Her stomach rumbled then, reminding her that she was in need of dinner in her system.

She thanked them, and surprisingly devoured the food—was it the taste, or the fact that they were all what used to be her favorites? She had to stop for a second when she opened the food warmers and saw one of sinasir, and the other of miyan taushe—the one food she was obsessed with back in the day because her mother made it a lot. It felt even more nostalgic seeing the kunu aya that accompanied it.

Her eyes almost welled up with tears, the mere scent of it reminding her of a memory of her family, but she blinked the sentiment away. It did not take a genius to know Amir Qasim was behind the food selection, and her heart almost fluttered upon realizing that he remembered what her favorites were.

Keyword, almost.

She pushed away those feelings and focused on just devouring the food away—no sentiments allowed. When she was done, she wanted to take it down, only to realize that the maids who brought it earlier were outside the door, waiting for her so they could do the honors. She was almost startled by how submissive and kind they were—nothing like the maids back at Sokoto's palace or those even in Kubi palace.

These ones were nice, so much so that she almost found it unsettling.

However, as they descended the stairs, disappearing with the used warmers and utensils, she retired back to the room, a new weight of exhaustion wearing her down. A yawn escaped her lips as she took off the jilbab she had on, leaving only the night gown she had on that reached her knees, not bothering to look for something more decent.

Was there even a point for it then?

Even before she and Amir Qasim were on talking terms, she had dressed like that around him back at home.

She did not have much time to dwell on those thoughts as she slipped back in bed, her eyes heavy with the need to sleep, which she succumbed to almost immediately.

She was not sure when exactly it was, but at one point, she did remember an arm wrapping around her, pulling her into a warm body—a familiar scent that had distinctively registered in her mind lulling her further to sleep, and she relaxed in those strong arms that had felt like how.

How such an innocent act transpired to something else was beyond her, but she knew when she awoke to kisses on her shoulder in the middle of the night, and her eyes fluttered open, meeting those dark eyes that she could see clearly despite the room being dimly lit—safe for the light that came from outside, that she was at the brink of oblivion, and that she might just be screwed because what they had was beyond that which she initially thought it was.

And when he leaned down, his lips pressed against the spot beside her ear, she knew there was no turning back. She was still laying on one of his arms, his other resting on the side of her face, caressing the skin undeniably soft under her touch.

Her eyes fluttered close, her hand taking a fistful of his shirt as he continued to rain soft, feather like kisses down the side of her face—making the remnants of sleep disappear away.

"Kassim..." She breathed out, her mind screaming at her to put a stop to it—though it knew it was a fight they had long lost. At least, not then.

He simply hummed, placing another lingering kiss on her jaw, before he pulled back, so his dark eyes met hers again, unrestrained, making her swallow down a lump.

Amir Qasim did not say anything for that moment.

He simply looked at her like he always did—like she was something sacred. Precious. Untouchable. But in that very moment, unlike earlier, she wasn't pushing him away—the defiance was not in her eyes, nor in her body posture. And that made all the difference.

His fingers trailed from her jaw to her neck, brushing over her pulse point where her heart thudded against his touch like a soft drumbeat. And then, his voice came, barely a whisper, rough from emotion and restraint.

"Let me take care of you, Fulani," he murmured against her skin, voice deep and reverent, like a vow. "Let me hold you like I was made to." His voice was husky, and sleep had long evaded her then that she could make out every word of his whispered in the dead of the night. "And love you like it's the only thing I was ever meant to do."

Her breath hitched, the words melting whatever thread of resistance still lingered in the corners of her heart. She heard him well, and she almost wished she did not because she refused to delve into the meaning of his words—to accept his second statement, to take it for what it was. She did not want that intensity.

She didn't respond, not verbally, but her body did. She tilted her face into his hand, and her fingers loosened around his shirt only to slide higher—curling into the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

That was all he needed.

He didn't rush. His lips moved back to her shoulder, tracing soft kisses along her collarbone, as if memorizing every inch of her skin with devotion. His hand slid from her face to her waist, fingers spreading out, holding her like she was delicate silk that could unravel at the wrong touch—but he would never be that man.

Under the silver glow of the moonlight, with the soft rustle of silk sheets between their bodies, they came together again—though it was not the first, it didn't feel the same.

This time wasn't wild or desperate. It was slower, fuller—felt. Each kiss lingered. Each touch said something. It wasn't their bodies that led the rhythm now, but their hearts.

She could feel it in the way he moved, how he watched her between kisses, his thumb brushing away a lock of her hair from her damp forehead like she was something breakable and beloved all at once. His mouth returned to hers again and again, not because he was hungry for her—but because he couldn't stop needing the feeling of her lips against his.

It was like their souls were speaking a language only the two of them understood.

And when he finally wrapped his arms around her, pressing her fully against him, his forehead resting against hers as they caught their breath, it wasn't over.

Not truly.

Not when his voice broke through the quiet again, soft and cracked at the edges.

"Fulani," he whispered, voice thick. "You're the axis my entire world spins on. Without you..." His throat bobbed. "Without you, I'm just a man with no direction. No center. No reason."

He kissed her again—not her lips this time, but the space just beside them. Her cheek. Her eyelid. Her temple.

"You undo me," he breathed. "And I don't want to be whole again if this is what falling apart feels like."

She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.

Her fingers curled tighter into his back as she buried her face against his neck, letting the weight of his words settle into her bones like warmth. The moonlight danced on the curve of her bare shoulder, and the air between them carried the scent of something deeper than what they made it been—something like longing, love, and the ache of finally allowing what had been there all along.

And when silence fell again, it wasn't empty. It was everything.

~*~

As hearts in Kubi sway and emotions unleash from the restraints holding them back, Amir Qasim and Asma's story was not the only one unravelling into a newer phase. Amir Qasim was not the only one that returned to Kubi to reclaim what was his, tooth or nail—even if all hell will break lose.

Another Prince from Sokoto, Tareeq, held onto the very last string of restraint he had on as he paced the hallway of the side of the mansion he was in, his hands flexing, and unflexing by his side—Amir Qasim's words replaying in his mind as Karima got treated for her injuries behind the doors of the room the doctor he had called earlier had disappeared into—along with the maids he had assigned to her.

If it was up to him, he would have put her on the first flight back and whisked her all the way to Sokoto where he was more in control, and could get just about everything done his way, but one of the things Amir Qasim said to him after they had exited Asma's chambers before getting into their cars was that they should follow them, because the two women would feel more comfortable with each other around.

He did not have any problem with that, as Amir Qasim's house there was big enough that they would not even run into each other unless they wish to.

What he did have a problem with, and was testing the patience he thought he had but was wearing impossibly thin, was the second thing Amir Qasim told him.

"Control yourself, and do not do anything to Zayd. Remember, this is not our turf. When the time comes, you will get what you want." It was not an advice, it was an order—and one of the things Amir Qasim made Tareeq agree to before he joined in on the trip was that he had to abide by his words.

He knew Tareeq was a ticking bomb—and if it concerns that woman he has taken an interest in, he would detonate without a second thought.

But he had to remind him—he could not harm Zayd the way he wanted to. At least, not yet.

And that knowledge made Tareeq's blood boil more than before, because he would do well with breaking at least a few bones for what he did to Karima.

He saw it in the way she walked as they made their way to the car earlier, while she put as much distance between them as possible. She was limping, and that was just one thing beside the bruise he spotted on her face.

He had to force himself to stare outside throughout the entire drive and not force the driver to turn around so he could land a few beatings on the Prince. He could not look at her, because he would come undone—and he would break his promise to Amir Qasim.

But, he is not one to break his promises, even if it made him feel as though he was on the edge of insanity.

Upon reaching the house, as Asma and Amir Qasim disappeared off to their side, he led Karima to the other side, which she followed without any objections because she wanted to be as far away from the palace as possible, she would take any escape option available to her.

The doctor and maids were already waiting, and they were quick to whisk her away to the nearest room while he stood outside, letting them do their thing. But, he was truly about to lose his mind.

The door opened much to his relief, and the doctor stepped out. He halted in his steps, closing the distance between him and the doctor as he went to stand in front of her, his words almost rushed when he inquired.

"How is she?" He asked, "Are her injuries bad? Is she hurting badly?" His voice softened at the thought of her being in pain, and without realizing it, he muttered. "She does not do well with pain." He knew right from the first day he saw her, that Karima is not one that handles pain well—or at all.

Which was ironic given the field he is in, and what he does and how he lives his life. He was one with pain.

The doctor adjusted her glasses, her tone measured but not unkind. "She'll be all right. Bruising on her face and ribs, a few scrapes—nothing broken. But her ankle is badly sprained, which explains the limping." She paused, then added carefully, "There are some older marks too. Faded, but still visible."

His jaw tightened, his hands clenched into a fist beside him, but he only nodded.

"She'll heal," the doctor assured him. "Just give her time. In the meantime, I will prescribe her some drugs to help for a quicker recovery. Just make sure she takes it easy, and she gets enough rest. She will be back on her feet soon."

He hummed, and nodded, listening to every word she said and imprinting it into memory. Once they were done, he had one of the maids see her out, thanking for her services. The maids that were in Karima's room stepped out not long after, with the food warmer and trays of refreshments they had gone inside with, untouched.

His brows drew in. "What happened?" He inquired.

The maids hung their head low when they explained, intimidated by the way he carried himself and even speak. "She said she is not hungry." They replied.

He glanced at the door, as if her face would appear on it, and his frown deepened. He reached out and collected the tray from them, "I will handle this," He uttered, before dismissing them with nudge of his head in the other direction.

They understood, and silently, but quickly, scurried away from the Prince. With them gone, Tareeq made his way over to the door, and then released a small breath, before he raised a hand and then knocked on the door.

Once, then twice, and a third.

Silence followed for a few seconds.

Until her voice finally came—weak, low, and timid even.

"Come in."

****

Ah ahhhhh, Kassim da Fulani fa an dage😂

Me ke hwaru Wa ne kam ???

Toh ai shikenan.

Amma yau did anyone notice we never saw any I hate you?😂 Asma wetin sup ne? Abi cat got your your tongue ?

Nearly thirty five chapters these two no wan gree fall in love. Haba now!! Are your hearts made of stone ne kam??

I can't seem to make it soften.

Ga su Tareeq Kuma. Hmmm it's like he will soon stop this busy body once he finds out she's someone's wife, Abi he go do something crazy?

How do you think he will react? Let me know!!

Toh I am really sleepy so this is where I leave you guys.

Stay safe always.

Love, Jannah Mia🤍