KUBI CALIPHATE.

Since the very moment Asma stepped foot in the Sokoto Palace as Amir Qasim's wife and the Princess from Kubi, she made a promise to herself not to regret whatever she would do—even if it explodes right in her face. Even if she dug a grave for herself, she would not regret it. Rather, she would walk into it, and allow herself to be buried.

And yet, as her eyes fluttered open, her gaze falling on the slight drawn open curtains—through which she could see the brightness from outside, knowing it had to be morning, the memory of everything that happened in the past twenty-four hours came crashing on her, and she had to flick her eyes close, hoping when she opened them again, she would be anywhere but in that room—and in that house.

But luck was not on her side, because she knew nothing would change, and deep down...she felt what she promised herself she would not. Regret. Not saddened, but regretful. Regretful that she allowed herself to fall into that, but not regretful enough to stop it from happening again.

A sigh escaped her lips as she clenched her eyes shut, laying still for a second. A moment later, she peeled her eyes open again, welcomed by the empty side of the bed she was staring at—where the man from the night before was nowhere to be seen.

He had not returned since he went to pray for Subh—another awkward moment of waking up. Except this time around, she was lucky enough to have woken up before him. And she was not a good Samaritan as he was. She did not try to wake him up at all.

She simply tiptoed to the bathroom, and locked the door behind her once she was in it—leaning her back against the door as her cheeks heated, her hand against her racing heart. She stayed there for a while, before she decided to get on with what she needed to do. Somewhere amidst her shower, she heard the room door open and close, and she sighed in relief knowing he was gone.

But him gone did not allow her to go back to sleep in peace after she had prayed subh. She kept tossing in bed, expecting the door to open any minute, and for him to show up. And yet, as the sun began to rise and traces of the night before began to fade, she found herself slipping into sleep—Amir Qasim still nowhere in sight.

Judging from how cold his side of the bed was, he had not returned.

She felt a pang in her chest, unsure why exactly she was feeling that way when was hoping for that. Not wanting to dwell on it, she dragged herself out of bed, the time on the screen of her phone reading 10:23AM. She fixed up the room, suddenly no long wishing for any of the maids in that space again, and then took a shower before she got dressed for the day.

Though not in the mood to dress up, she found herself changing her outfit twice. Usually, she was so certain from the first fit, and yet this time around, she had to change—and even consider a third before she rebuked herself.

She ended up with a traditional teal blue brocade boubou with floral pattern woven in metallic silver. It was flowing, and loose fit which she paired with a soft grey scarf. Minimalist gold accessory watch and ring accompanied the look, and though it was simpler than what she normally wore, it felt different.

By the time she was done dressing up and stepped back into the room, with the intention of going down to cook something for breakfast, she was startled upon her gaze falling on the figure in the room already. Seated on one of the sofas facing each other in the room was Amir Qasim—the table between the sofas filled with variety of food for breakfast.

He had obviously showered and changed as well—now looking fresh and clean in a fitted black t-shirt paired with tailored black pants. A silver watch gleamed on his wrist, and his neatly trimmed hair—which she may or may not have spent an awful amount of time admiring the night before, now gleamed from whichever hair product he used after showering.

And his cologne? Why was she only realizing it then?

Well, she used to, she just never paid any heed to it. Now it felt as though she was sharing the same, because it followed her everywhere—and she did not hate it. It also did not help that the scent reminded her of the night before—and everything came flooding in vividly. Truly scents indeed are attached to memories—because she could remember every touch, every caress, every uttered word and exchanged breath.

It did not help that it stirred something in her she never knew was there. Did she truly make a mistake? Because all that clouded her mind in that moment was him, his ministrations and his confessions.

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

He said those exact words, and by Allah, she believed them in that moment.

His attention was on his phone as he scrolled through it doing who knows what, but upon hearing her footsteps, he looked up, and her knees weakened the moment their eyes met.

Ya Ilahi. She thought, her heart rate suddenly escalating. She forced herself to keep her expression steady and not look away—lest she gave herself away.

That she was shy and wanted to be anywhere but there.

Amir Qasim did not look away either. Instead, he gave her a onceover, ever so slowly—the kind that had the butterflies in her tummy having the time of their life. And when his eyes met hers again, there was a gentle curl of the corner of his lips, before his voice finally came.

"Morning, Fulani."

For God's sake...Asma's breath hitched at how easily the name escaped past his lips.

She had always been fond of it, and yet, hearing again ten years later, in much different circumstances—it made her feel all warm and fuzzy. It was not just a reference to her lineage, and it was not just a title. It was an endearment, perfectly, and solely tailored for her.

No one could say it better than he did really. And for a second, she almost forgot the whole point of her life at that moment—that she was supposed to hate him. It also reminded her of what he had also said.

"Fulani," he had whispered, his 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."

In that moment—for a fleeting moment though she wanted to deny it, she felt as though she was pulled into the past. To them, ten years ago. She, nineteen years, crushing and him, twenty-four and the man she had always adored—the one that had always looked out for her.

In that moment, he felt like the Kassim she knew, and goodness her heart ached. For a split second, she wished that were truly it—that life was that simple, that the naïve Nusaiba indeed married her Kassim and they were having that moment as a married couple.

That they were happy together.

The thoughts clouded her mind then, almost making her zone out.

Still, she managed to keep her expression calm and controlled, snapping back to reality. Her lips set into a tight line when she grumbled out a response, contrary to what she was feeling internally. "Morning." Nothing more, she had no other thing to say to him.

Lest she ends up caving in and forgetting everything that drove her to that moment. The hatred that thrummed in her veins—all of it.

But he did not mind her coldness—as if he had expected it even. Instead, he gestured for her to take the seat across him. "Sit. Breakfast has arrived."

She did not protest, mostly because her stomach had been rumbling, and she most certainly needed to feed it. So, she padded her way over to the sofa, attempting to walk past him. Keyword: attempt.

Because his hand took a hold of her wrist just as she was about to walk past him, his thumb lightly caressing the pulse there, his touch soft, and tender. Her heart stopped for that moment, and on instinct, she stared down at him, her lips set into a frown.

Amir Qasim's gaze was not on her. Rather, he brought the hand to his lips, and right where his thumb was seconds earlier, he placed a soft kiss there—and if she thought her knees had weakened earlier, she was seconds away from falling on the floor then.

His kiss lingered, and when he pulled back, his gaze found herself, before he said. "Have I ever told you the effect this perfume of yours has on me?" He inquired, his voice low, but loud enough for her to hear. "It drives me insane."

She nearly scoffed, despite the hammering of her heart behind her ribcage. She wanted to say the same words back to him—that suddenly, all she could smell was his cologne scent everywhere.

Was this their thing? Scents and all? By the looks of it.

Before she could reply, not that she trusted herself enough to say a thing, he added. "Teal looks good on you by the way," He complimented. "You look beautiful, as always."

She swallowed down a lump, fighting hard to ignore the damn butterflies fluttering within her. She tried to pull her hand away, wanting to put distance between them but his hand wrapped around her wrist, holding it in place so she would not be able to get away.

Her eyes narrowed at him slowly, though she was more than aware of how his hand felt wrapped around her wrist—of the warmth seeping in, and how it made her heart flutter.

She mentally smacked herself.

Where are all these awareness coming from? She cared not for them thus far.

And to make matter worse, his eyes found hers—smoldering, his expression now serious when he parted his lips to ask. "How are you feeling?"

She arched a brow, not wanting to give any meaning to his question.

But of course, he had other plans. "Do you need to sleep more or--"

"No." She was quick to answer, before he could continue whatever shameless statement he wanted to cook up. "I am fine." She added, stressing it more than needed as if to say, 'do not say anything more, and just pretend nothing happened'.

He either did not get it, or choose to ignore it. Which, knowing Amir Qasim, had to be the latter.

He nodded to himself, in response to her, before he added. "I am sorry if I was a bit out of line last night." She nearly scoffed, because they both knew he was, but she held herself back. At least, until he added. "I'll be gentler next time."

"Next time?" She arched a brow, as if to ask if he had forgotten what she said the night before.

He gave her a look that screamed if she was truly in her right sense for even bringing that up. But he did not voice it as so. Rather, with his thumb caressing where her pulse is, his voice came in a husky tone when he said. "Fulani, we've long crossed the one-time thing. I am sure you knew you were deceiving yourself as well." His gaze held hers, locked in, and she had to swallow down a lump.

She hoped he didn't notice it, but with the way he stared at her as though he knew every bit of her, and was imprinting every bit he was yet aware of in his head, she was sure he did. And goodness what is it about his thumb on her pulse?

It should not have any effect, but it does to her. She was sure he could feel how it thrummed underneath his touch—it was practically giving her away.

"I was not."

He released a light, deep chuckle before he shook his head. "Your body says otherwise." He pointed out, gesturing to the traitorous pulse. And when she threw him a glare, he added. "You would confess soon enough on your own. And when you do, I will be right here." He left out where the part where patience when it comes to her, is a virtue he no longer possesses.

And if she does not cave in, which he was sure she would, he would do the honors himself.

Wanting to put as much distance between them as possible, lest she ends up doing as he said—which deep down she feared she would, she attempted to pull her hand away, and this time around, he allowed her. Ignoring him as she settled on the sofa opposite him, refusing to look his way again.

She dared not.

Instead, she leaned down and opened the food warmers, seeing the range of food there. Picking up he plates, she placed just the right amount, and then placed the first plate out for him before she prepared hers as well. She had not realized she did so, but it did not go unnoticed by him. He did not say anything though, the slight curl of his lips was answer enough.

Once she was done, they both ate in silence, each devouring the content of their plate. He was the first to finish, and amidst quietly sipping his tea, he casually threw in a question. "You did not wake me up for subh." It was meant to be a question, but came out as a statement rather.

She did not spare him a glance when she answered. "You woke up after all, did you not?" She said, her tone blank.

"I did. But I also have to admit," He chuckled lightly. "You looked cute all shy, tiptoeing to the ensuite and all." He leaned down and dropped the then empty tea cup, before he leaned back on his sofa, his eyes set on her. "I did not know you still had that side in you."

She glanced at him, startled that he knew. So, he had been awake all that while? Blood rushed to her cheek, but she tried to hide it. Instead, she quietly pushed aside her half-eaten plate, no longer having any appetite to eat.

His gaze fell on the plate. "You are not done."

"I am full." She responded instead.

His gaze found hers, the amusement from earlier no longer there

"No, you are not." He knew a lot of time had passed, but the Fulani he knew back then ate a lot—despite her petite figure. And yet the one in front of him had a knack of eating little to nothing, and somehow surviving on it as well. "You would finish your food."

She parted her lips to protest.

But he was quick to add. "It was not a question." He gave her a stern look. "Ba kyau barin abinci."

She flashed him a pointed look, but did not protest as she initially intended to. Rather, she picked up the plate begrudgingly, and then quietly played around with the remaining content—and though she did not have any appetite still, she knew better than to try the stubborn game with him.

He would not let them leave that place until he had gotten what she wanted.

So, she forced the food down, until there was nothing left. Once she was done, he called the maids, who quietly came in and took everything out, closing the door behind them softly, leaving the two alone.

With them gone, and the two still in their earlier position, Asma found herself asking what had been on her mind since she woke up. "What happened to Karima?" She inquired, her brows drawn in. "Where is she? I want to see her." Knowing Tareeq was around, she knew the girl would be in safe hands.

But she still wanted to see her and confirm for herself.

"She is safe." Amir Qasim responded, keeping his phone on the table, now no longer a distraction before he met her gaze.

"I want to see her." Asma stated, her brows pinched.

"Not now. Later." He answered calmly. "They would come later."

"Why not now?" She did not see a reason to wait until later on. What time did they have to waste? What will they do until then? She wanted to see Karima as soon as she could—her mind would not be at ease otherwise.

She needed to see for herself that the girl was indeed alright.

"Because you and I have a lot to discuss." He responded, his gaze holding hers—his expression serious as ever.

Her heart raced, her body quivering slightly as she held his gaze for a while, before she looked away. "I have nothing to discuss with you." She grumbled instead, her voice low, already knowing what he wanted to bring up.

And she did not want to go down that lane. She had no intention of.

But Amir Qasim had no intention of letting it go. "Fulani, look at me." His tone was calm, but it was sure to carry that authority that none dared to go against—even she. She reluctantly did as he said. He leaned forward a bit, and then added. "We have come thus far on miscommunication, and I would not have that anymore. We are not kids. You and I will talk today, and we would clear the air. I need answers, as do you. So, let us lay them out."

Her eyes narrowed at him slowly, tears suddenly stinging her eyes, already knowing what he meant, and her heart aching at the mere thought of reliving it. "And what if I did not want to speak about it?"

"You have to." He said, holding himself back from caving into her demands, despite seeing her eyes suddenly glossy. "It is the only way we can look forward."

"What if I do not want to look forward with you?" She asked once again, her tone bitter. "What if I want absolutely nothing to do with you still? What then?"

He lightly chuckled, though there was nothing humorous about it. "Certainly, after everything that just happened you do not think I would let you go, right?" He arched a brow, as if she would be ridiculous for having such thoughts. When she did not respond, and only glared at him, he added, his gaze never leaving hers—wanting her to see the sincerity in them. "Even if I wake up one day and lose everything, there is no way I am letting you go, Fulani. You and I? It's a forever thing—in good or bad. There is no way out. And I intend to keep you by my side until I take my last breath. So," He exhaled a breath, "I suggest you open up, and we get over this and have what could possibly be a good life ahead of us."

Her heart ached, his words feeling like daggers aimed at the fragile organ. And her eyes blurred with tears that she could no longer make out his features. Still, she found herself saying. "Do not speak to me as though you do not know anything."

"I am asking because I want to know your side of the story." He said, his voice soft. "Open up to me, Fulani. Tell me what happened back then? How did you end up entangled with the people in this Godforsaken Caliphate?"

She smiled bitterly, the tears now sliding down her face. "You mean how I ended up as one of the people you hate? How I became an enemy of yours?"

"Of how you were victimized." He corrected. "Of how your life was snatched away, and you had to live as someone else."

This time around, it was her turn to chuckle humorlessly, as she blinked away the tears, though more threatened to come but she swallowed them down. "That is quite hypocritical to say, don't you think?" She met his gaze again, after managing to stop her tears. Sniffing, she guarded her expression, before she spoke again. "But if you so badly wanted to hear. Then I would tell you."

She decided to tell him, but only because she had carried it for so long that she needed to get the burden off her shoulders.

"What happened ten years ago..."

****

I AM FINALLY DONE WITH MY EXAMS AND THE SEMESTER ALHAMDULLILAH!!!

Don't celebrate too soon, apparently project is taking over my holiday so... there's that.

Abeg include me in your prayers make I bag this degree soon because my tired is tired. I've got just a semester to go tho so Alhamdullilah!!

Anywayyyysss how have you been?? Thank you for bearing with me tbh, I haven't realized how time passed by pretty quickly and for real for real, final year na ghetto. That is all I can say. Do not be deceived by its glitter and all.

Back to the book though I haven't exactly been writing, butttttttt have been plotting and hm!!! Like this if I get time to actually give this my all ba? I pity you people.

For sure this would be my first book to cross fifty chapters because there's no way it's ending in fifty chapters. The drama I'm planning up ahead ba, ai akwai chakwakiya kawai shine maganar.

Amma you should prepare yourselves Gaskiya.

Also you're finally getting a glimpse of the past. Time to get answers to your questions and get more questions as well, hehehehe.

Wait seffffff have you read my new book??? SWIPE RIGHT AUNTIE LEFT is available on Selar,  there's a link in my bio. I promise you'll love it!! Send your reviews to my dmm. Don't you want to read a complete book? That is complete and kawai kar Ku Bari a Baku labari.

Toh Nidai this is where I leave you.

Double update? Have you dropped comments?

No be to just flood my dm with update requests and "you've forgotten us" up and down. Do you engage in comments?? Toh, comment now my loves😂 as I no get man make I call you people my loveeee.

Someone said a bar Mun soyayyan nan😂 how do I tell her I'm the most single person she'd ever meet?

Toh have a good night yall.

Love, Jannah Mia❤️