It's a long one. My comments!!
Also, read From Burnt Roses!! Thank me later🌚

Sokoto, Nigeria.

"Sultan," Asma had called softly, having slipped into the master bedroom—which, much to her pleasure, was left the same way she had left it. Nothing had been changed, except that it had been cleaned up and all but it was exactly the same—it felt like home.

It was the same with her bedroom as well, where she'd just emerged from, after showering there to wear off the jet-lag. It had been a little over an hour since she returned, and upon arriving back at their side, she'd found the maidservant with the prince in the room. She'd taken him from her, then dismissed her to the room arranged for her, which one of the maids directed her to before he turned to face the man that had quietly trailed behind her.

Amir Qasim's gaze was fixated on the baby in her arms when she turned to face him, and a soft smile took over her features seeing the look on his face. It was a mixture of awe, of yearning, and unconditional love. The intensity of the emotions in his eyes right then? It was the first time she'd felt even the slightest bit of regret for not allowing him to be part of the journey—the first time she'd considered her decision to have been selfish.

But she pushed past those emotions, and took a step closer to him. He extended his hand on instinct, and she carefully placed the still sleeping child in his awaiting arms. "Meet Ibrahim Al Qasim Muhammad." She'd said in a soft voice.

When she flicked her eyes to find his, she could have sworn his eyes had glossed over then. He'd lifted up, and Khalil squirmed, his face scrunching up but it eased back to how it was, as he carried on sleeping. When Amir Qasim's lips parted, all that escaped were prayers, a chain of it, endless even.

"...Allah ya ma albarka, Allah ya rayaka da Imani, Allah ya sa ka gaji halin mai sunan ka—"

"The good ones though," She'd jokingly cut in, making his gaze find hers. "You wouldn't want him to be as annoying as Ya Ibrahim was, do you?"

"You have a point, but he's my son, I'd let him be even if he was."

A light scoff escaped her lips, shaking her head. "I guess it's true that men love their kids too much," She'd mumbled, more to herself because just a few minutes into meeting him, he was already being defensive of the kid. "We will see if you would still say the same thing in a few years."

"He'd grow up to be a good person, you'll see," His gaze shifted back to the sleeping boy in his arms. "He'd be an even better man than I was. I'll make sure of it." He'd said the last part to himself, but she heard it.

Realizing the moment had no end in sight, she excused herself to head up to shower and wear off the exhaustion, leaving him alone with the child because she knew he'd need the moment. What she did not expect however, was that when she was done, he was nowhere to be found in the living room.

So, she checked the next place she thought she would find him—the master bedroom, and just as she'd expected, he was there. Situated on a couch at the corner of the room, he was still in his exact outfit she'd left him in, cradling his sleeping son in his arms.

Upon hearing her voice, Amir Qasim lifted his head up, his eyes softening even more. He gave her a onceover; noting that she'd changed into a simple lilac abaya, its veil hanging loosely on her head, revealing the edges of her straightened hair. Her face was bare of any makeup, save for the thin line of lip gloss coating her lips. Yet, his heart was filled with warmth instantly.

Goodness how he had missed her. Simply seeing her around like this, so casually, he'd give anything to maintain that. And the most torturing part? That damned perfume of hers that's still her signature scent, and his obsession.

He blinked, shaking the thoughts out of his head, his lips curving into an innocent smile. "He's still asleep," He noted, gesturing to the baby in his arms. Somehow, Khalil had managed to wrap his tiny hand around his father's index finger, and even in his sleep, he'd clutched it so tight, refusing to let go. "He hasn't stirred awake in the slightest."

She hummed, glancing at the boy. "That's how he is." She breathed out, "It's not until it's night time that he wakes up, disturbing everyone's peace."

Amir Qasim arched a brow, but his smile remained. "I can't wait then." His gaze fell on his son again, and he caressed his cheek lightly.

"Don't jinx it please." She mumbled to herself, holding back an eye roll. Heaving out a breath, she came to a stop in front of him, her hands clasped together. "Sultan?" She'd called out once more, her tone turning serious.

He kept his eyes on his son. "I told you not to call me that." He'd said calmly.

"It's your title, what else would I call you?"

"Kassim, as you've always had?" He glanced up, "Or maybe any other sweet names wives call their husbands." He shrugged. He'd said with such a serious expression that if she didn't know him that well, she might have been fooled into believing him.

She scoffed, "Well," She heaved out a breath, plastering a tight-lipped smile on her face. "That's not how it's done in royal households and you know it. Here, wives address their husbands with their titles, out of respect."

"Inji wa? (says who)" He arched a brow slightly. When she gave him a look, he then added, his voice dropping. "We'll be exception then. We were never like ordinary couples anyways."

He'd said it so casually, just as they had been acting, yet they both knew they were merely treading on that thin line between whom they were a year ago, and whom they've both evolved into being. It was the line that determined whether they'd continue as they were before, or whether they'd give themselves a chance.

A topic neither seemed willing to bring up. Yet, that statement of his? It hinted at it, and she knew well enough as they held each other's gaze—the tension in the room rising.

Her lips parted, a shaky breath escaping when she couldn't hold it in anymore. She forced herself to speak, pushing aside the emotions he'd stirred in her, pretending as if it was not there. "Sultan." She called out once more, ignoring his pointed look. Then, she finally said what she'd been meaning to since she stepped into the room. "Sallama has been waiting for you outside. You cannot stay here for long. Mutane na jiranka a fada. (people are waiting for you outside). Besides, it's almost Magrib."

Holding onto her gaze, in the same octave voice he'd spoken earlier, he responded. "They can wait," He appeared resolute. "You come first."

Her lips formed a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm afraid that's where you're wrong," She shook her head. "You're the Sultan now. The people come first." She noticed him part his lips to say something, so, she beat him to it. "They all rely on you now." She took a step closer to him, then another, before she extended her hands out. "Kai mai mutane ne yanxu. You should go to them—unless you want people blaming me for keeping you here? Do you want them to insult me?"

His expression hardened. "They wouldn't dare."

She held back a smile. "They would if you do not go back now." She noticed the hesitation in him, and though he did not voice it out, she knew what the look on his face meant. So, she'd added in a reassuring tone, "I'll be here when you return. We'd both be here."

His resolve cracked only slightly. "You're not leaving anymore." It sounded like a question, but they both knew it was not.

She nodded slowly. "I'm not leaving." She promised. "Let me lay him down."

Amir Qasim exhaled a breath, his shoulders slumping as he caved in. He looked down at his son, his smile returning, and he lifted the boy up, stroking his soft hair with one hand for a few seconds, before he handed him back to his mother.

Asma took the baby in her arms, cuddling him to her chest before she made her way to the bed where she placed him down carefully, protecting him on the sides by putting the pillows there. Once he was settled in, she turned around to face Amir Qasim who had gotten on his feet. She approached him once more, and once she was close enough, she reached out to help put on his alkyabba—an action that had him pausing momentarily.

She pretended not to notice his eyes that followed her action, as she draped the alkyabba over his shoulder, then went on to pat the shoulders down until she was satisfied with it, a smile adorning her features.

She made a move to take a step back but he held her wrist, stopping her, his thumb pressed onto where her pulse was, and he could feel it underneath his thumb—steady, strong and fast.

She gasped, her eyes slightly widened as they held his.

He pulled her in with one tug, his other arm wrapping around her waist, and the one that held her wrist let go, so it was wrapped around her bag, holding her close. The action had her veil falling onto her shoulder, but she wasn't given any chance to fix it, not with him holding her like that.

He rested his head on her shoulder, and she could feel his breath near her ear when he whispered. "My God, I've missed you Fulani. You have no idea how glad I am to have you here." He heaved out a breath. "This is real, right? You're actually here."

She lifted her hand to embrace him back, but paused midway. She curled her fist, slowly dropping them back to rest by her side. Regardless, she parted her lips to respond—her words soft, audible only because he was within such close proximity. "It's as real as it could ever be." She waited until he finally pulled back, though still held her at arms-length, and while holding onto his gaze, she then added. "I'm here with you."

He leaned down, pressing his lips to her forehead for a moment, and her heart fluttered. She didn't have enough time to react to that before he held both her hands so they were no longer fisted, and he brought them to his lips, pressing a kiss on each palm. His eyes found hers.

"Thank you for giving me my son, Fulani." His words were earnest, his smile unwavering. "Thank you for making my lifelong dream come true—for giving me my own family, with you. Allah ya miki albarka, matata. Allah ya barmin ke."

"Ameen." She whispered, her cheeks flushed. In an attempt to hold back her smile, she'd quickly said, "You should really get going before they starting pinning blames on me." Her lips pressed together. "I don't want to have a bad reputation right from returning."

"Sun ma isa (do they even dare)?" His expression turned serious. "Fadar tawa ce yanxu. Ni kuma Fulani ai naki ne (the palace belongs to me now, and I belong to you, Fulani). No one will dare mess with you."

She hummed, barely able to hold back her smile. "We'll see about that." She knows a certain woman fuming right now that would indeed dare to mess with her, but she wasn't sure if he was ready to have that conversation—neither does she wish to sully their mood by mentioning the insignificant figure.

"I'll get going now." He declared, earning a nod from her as she attempted to take a step back and give him space, but he held onto her hand, stopping her. This time around, it was her turn to arch a brow in question. He feigned a serious expression. "Escort me out." It was not a question.

She could only nod, whispering an 'alright' under her breath.

He reached out to fix her veil so it was covering her hair, and once he was satisfied with how she looked, he slipped his hand into hers, intertwining their fingers before they headed out together, side by side, hand in hand—the Sultan, and his Fulani in their glory.

As they descended the spiral staircase, she spotted Sallama where he had situated himself by the entrance of the living room, seated on the tiled floor and pressing his phone. Upon hearing the sound of their footsteps, he glanced up, tucking his phone away immediately as he scurried to get on his feet.

"Allah ya temake ka. Ran Sarki ya dade. Allah ya qara ma nisan kwana. Allah ya temaki maid akin Sultan. Hasken fada—Fulanin asalai. Barkan ku da fitowa..."

"Barka dai Sallama." She acknowledged, before a thought crossed Asma's mind then, making her turn her head to look at Amir Qasim, then went on ask. "Ni kuwa ina Sakina (where is Sakina)? I haven't seen her around."

Amir Qasim's pointed gaze found hers, "You mean my CCTV camera?"

She chuckled, looking away momentarily, flushed as she remembered her earlier reaction to the woman. How much time had passed? It felt like a lifetime ago really. "Yes, Sultan, your CCTV camera. Where is she?"

His lips formed a small smile. "At home, obviously. I didn't want to be accused of assigning a babysitter to you or a CCTV camera so I didn't ask for her. If you want, I can summon her into the palace, and she'd keep you company."

"I'd love that. Please do." Sakina was the only one she could trust at the palace at that point, and she'd need a close company.

He nodded. "Alright, I'll inform Khalifa and have her come in. Kar ki damu (don't worry)." They reached the bottom of the stairs, then stopped to face each other once they were by the door leading out. "There's someone else I'd like you to meet, but not today. I'd have her come in tomorrow. You should rest today."

"Alright." She offered him a nod; her lips pressed into a small smile. "This is where I'll stop."

"I will be back." He promised.

"Allah ya dawo da kai lafiya."

"Ameen." He gave her hand a small squeeze, offering her one last smile before he turned around, and Sallama took that as his cue to open the door, stepping out first and paving the path for the monarch.

From where she stood, Asma noticed that more guards had gathered around more than before, all of them raining praises the moment Amir Qasim stepped out.

"Gyra kinsti! Sultan ya fito!"

The door closed behind him as he made his way out, and Asma found herself releasing a breath she did not know she was holding then. If the sound of the fadawa outside and that of algaita reminded her of anything, then it was that Amir Qasim was indeed the Sultan of Sokoto.

It was both a scary, and a good feeling. Yet, she wasn't sure which would prevail. Only time would tell.

~*~

"With all due respect, ran ka ya dade Sultan, I do not want to introduce my wife to yours. Jasmine is a handful already. I'm afraid your Fulani would be a bad influence and I'd be at the receiving end of the short stick." Sadiq lamented with a shake of his head, shuddering at the mere thought. "Kai dai ka zauna da matar ka a haka nima na cigaba da haquri da nawa a haka. But those two becoming friends? Bazai haifar da da mai ido ba."

Amir Qasim threw his brother a pointed look. "We both live in the same place, and Jasmine doesn't really get along with anyone here. Isn't it better to introduce her to Fulani? They can keep each other company and we won't have to be worried about them having bad company."

'But your wife is the bad company' Sadiq thought internally, but didn't dare to utter.

Instead, he huffed out a bitter breath, his frown deepening. "The exact reason Jasmine doesn't get along with members of this family is the same reason Fulani doesn't. Both of them are ticking bombs—" He swallowed his words when Amir Qasim threw him a pointed look, and instead, changing them to those of lesser intensity. "—they have peculiar habits, and that's all the more reason they shouldn't be allowed to get along. Wallahi we both know I would be the one to suffer if they get along and your wife's habit rubs off on mine. Daman ya Jasmine take?"

"What exactly do you take my wife?"

"A'a, ba komai. She's a very good and...outstanding woman." Sadiq shook his head, clearly meaning the opposite. "It's just that only you can handle her, and even you cave into her whims on most occasions hence why you're living peacefully now. But at least you're better than me. Ni ka ganni nan? Duk abunda tace shi nake since I barely got her to return home. I'm afraid to upset her anymore that's why I'm treading on thin ice."

Just as he'd said that, his phone began to ring, gaining his attention. He pulled it out, and a name flashed across the screen—Amir Qasim who was seated beside him was able to see the name as well.

'Musa Mechanic'.

"Answer." Amir Qasim permitted him, though his gaze was pointed.

Sadiq offered him a sheepish smile, but tapped the answer button regardless, and pressed the phone to his ear. His voice was low when he spoke. "Ina zuwa zan qiraki, ina tare da mai Martaba ne. Yawwa. I will call you once I'm outside before I return home. Stay close to the phone." He hummed to whatever response he'd gotten, before ending the call bringing it down. His smile returned as he found his brother's awaiting pointed look. "Now where were we?"

"You deserve to get your ass beaten." Tareeq, whom had been quiet the entire time chirped in, not missing the ordeal that had just transpired. Casually leaned against a pillow there, half laying on the carpet, his slightly narrowed gaze remained pinned on his younger brother. "How can you be so scared of your wife and still continue to mess around?"

Sadiq tsked, tucking his phone away. "You don't understand my predicament—wallahi Jasmine scares me, I no longer have any peace at home. She's returned, sure, but I've been getting the cold shoulder for years now. I'm practically walking on eggshells around her." His shoulders slumped, "I'm a man. Of course, I'd fall into temptation when another woman treats me warmly and this girl does whatever I ask—no questions asked. Jasmine on the other hand? Hmm!" He exhaled a heavy breath.

"Just marry her if you're serious. Stop messing around like this." Tareeq offered, his frown deepening, eyes narrowing even more. "Wouldn't that solve your problem?"

"Not everyone had influence over their household like you. I dare not. She'd kill me." Sadiq stated as a matter of fact, "Nidai an fi qarfin na (I'm overpowered), I cannot dare to try that. Besides, even the one that dared," His gaze found Amir Qasim's, and he offered him an apologetic smile. "Allah ya huce ran mai martaba, how is that faring for you?"

Amir Qasim threw him a glare, but it was Tareeq that spoke.

"You are a fool." He insulted, his tone rebuking. "Mai martaba sa'an ka ne that you're citing an example with him? (Is he your mate?)." Sadiq folded his lips in, though he dared not say anything. When a moment of silence passed, Tareeq then added. "Besides, if you had so much time to waste like this, then why don't you think of how to handle the gossip at the inner court?"

"What gossip?" Sadiq's brows pinched in.

Tareeq heaved out a low breath. "You know how women are. I'd heard from Aidah that the women in the inner court have been gossiping about how no one from Jasmine's family came for condolence—and that she hasn't been joining the gathering?"

Sadiq's lips parted. "But her father called, har na hada su da mai martaba." He glanced at his eldest brother for support, and Amir Qasim simply nodded in confirmation. Sadiq frowned. "Why are they making things difficult for my wife? Who are the ones spewing that nonsense please? I'd confront them myself. Is my wife their mate? Wallahi zan saba musu kamanni."

"That you'd have to find out yourself, masu wife." Tareeq shook his head, glancing down at his phone that buzzed as a message came through. His expression slowly hardened as the screen brightness dimmed away, then he pushed himself to a sitting position. "Anyways, it's getting late—I should go back home now."

"Wait, what? We just prayed Isha. Isn't it too early to return home?" Sadiq glanced between the two brothers, not missing how Amir Qasim had sat up as well following Tareeq's statement. His gaze found Tareeq's. "Sultan might still have guests to see—ai we shouldn't leave him alone, right?"

Tareeq scoffed, "Who told you everyone is afraid to return home like you?" He'd inquired casually as he got on his feet, then gestured to the man beside him. "The Sultan you're using as excuse is most eager to return—he's just entertaining you, otherwise he'd have vamoosed long ago."

"Wai haka?" Sadiq's hopeful eyes found Amir Qasim's.

The latter simply chuckled, reaching out to pat his younger brother's shoulder. "You should go home too," Amir Qasim advised. "The longer you stay out, the more you're at risk of pissing your wife, and you cannot afford that, can you?" He'd gotten on his feet as well, leaving Sadiq with no choice but to hesitantly get up as well. "Let's not upset the women, alright? It won't do us any good."

"Let me escort you back then," He offered.

"No, thank you." Amir Qasim waved him off. "I have more than enough people to escort me back. Stop trying to hide behind me. Go and fix your issues at home, Sarkin Dawaki."

"But, Sultan—"

"Have a good night, brother." Amir Qasim made his way out first, bidding his two brother's farewells.

Tareeq offered Sadiq a tight-lipped smile that the latter knew was meant to tease him and rub salt on his wounds. "Enjoy your call with Musa Mechanic before you return to matar gidan da ta fi qarfin ka." He walked out with a chiding chuckle. "Coward."

Sadiq's words came behind him as he yelled out. "Hey! Not everyone has a docile wife like yours!"

Tareeq's smile fell once he was outside, Sadiq's words replaying in his mind. Docile wife, he'd said? He begged to differ really. Huffing out a low breath, he'd made his way back towards his chamber, offering the guards on the way that greeted him along the way. The stroll back to his chamber was quicker than he'd hoped, but he didn't hesitate to go in.

Except the moment he'd stepped into the house, he was met with a sound, and a scene he was used to at that point.

"I TOLD YOU I'M NOT HUNGRY!" Karima's scream came, just as he'd reached the dining room entrance. Just then, she'd pushed the plate of food brought to her by the maid, sending it shattering on the floor, the food spilling all over. But her attention wasn't even on the scene she'd caused. Rather, she'd heaved out an annoyed breath, turning around in her sit to face the maid that stood there, her head hung low, her back to him, unaware of his presence. "What? You wouldn't call or text him now?" Karima's voice was low, but cold and accusatory when she spoke then. "Isn't that what you're good at? Either calling of texting my husband to rat me out on anything I've done? Go ahead and do it. That's what you did just a while ago anyway."

The chief maid at her place, the same one that accompanied her to Giwa's earlier in the day, swallowed a thick lump, stood her ground still—being the only maid at the place that could withstand the woman's intense mood swings.

"I am simply acting on the prince's instructions," She responded calmly. "And he only asked me to keep on eye on you because he's worried about you—"

Karima cut her off midway but suddenly chuckling, her head thrown back in the process. But nothing about her chuckle was humorous. When it died down, her expression turned cold. "Now a lowly maid is the one that tells me what my husband thinks of me, huh?" Her gaze remained pinned on her, "You're trying to get in between us, right? You think you can stand a chance with him because you see us like this?"

"I dare not—"

"You better not." Karima's voice dropped. "Because no woman can get in between us wallahi. I'd never allow that to happen, so you better rid yourself of such thoughts if you harbor them."

The maid lifted her head to speak, but before she could, she noticed the Prince at the entrance, watching everything unfold. She blinked, her lips parting slightly. "Ranka ya dade, barka da dawowa."

Her words had Karima's body going cold instantly, swallowing a thick lump. She heard the sound of his footsteps approaching, and her heart rate picked up. She dared not turn her head around and look at him, lest she had to deal with his reaction. Even if she wasn't sure of anything, she was certain he'd heard what had transpired between her and the maid—at least, the ending.

He came to a stop beside her, and she held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

But he didn't say anything to her.

Instead, his words were directed towards the maid. "Have someone clean this up, and fetch me another plate, please."

The maid gave him a firm nod. "Right away, ranka ya dade..." She turned around and disappeared right back to where she came from—the kitchen area, leaving the two alone."

With her gone, Karima found herself swallowing another lump, before she hesitantly lifted her head to look at him—and her gaze found his blank, emotionless ones. She exhaled a shaky breath. "Tareeq, I..."

The moment his eyes narrowed, she swallowed down her remaining words, hanging her head low.

A moment passed, and she wondered why he stood there, and what was going through his mind. His silence scares her the most really. She'd rather he say something, but he's been giving her the silent treatment, and she hated every second of it.

Then, much to her surprise, he suddenly leaned down, one hand going underneath her knees and the other on her back, before he lifted her up in his arms. A light squeal escaped her lips, her heart fluttering behind her ribcage—her arms wrapping around his neck on instinct, eyes wide as saucers.

Yet, no coherent words escaped her lips as he turned around with her in his arms, walking out of the dining room, and heading towards the living room. Her eyes remained fixated on him, but he didn't so much as spare her a glance, as if he wasn't carrying her in his arms.

Karima momentarily wondered whether she was too heavy. She was already far along, nearing her due date, and even she found it hard to walk sometimes because her knees felt too weak and she felt too heavy. Yet, he'd lifted her so effortlessly?

He probably thought she was heavy and just didn't mention it. She thought. He'd dislike her for that.

Upon reaching the living room, he carefully placed her down on one of the couches, and she quickly scurried away, hoping to put as much distance between them lest she gets scolded instantly.

Tareeq arched a brow at the action, but didn't say anything. Instead, he took the empty space provided by her, then reached out calmly to take a hold of her ankle. She pulled it away, her questioning gaze on him, but she stood no chance winning against him.

He still pulled both ankles so her legs were stretched in front of her, placing them on his thighs. Much to her growing pile of shocks, he'd began massaging the swollen feet, slowly, lightly, but with just the right force to ease the pain away, still not sparing her a glance.

Karima's mouth fell open, and she mentally face palmed herself. Yet, she couldn't deny that she very much needed that massage—her feet had been swollen the entire day, she's barely managing to walk around.

A few moments passed, and she got tired of waiting for him to speak. Knowing him, he wouldn't say anything, and she happened to not have any strength to say anything either. Still, she attempted but kept hesitating. Her lips would part, then she'd close them tight, before she'd try once more only to give up again.

When she finally decided to speak regardless, the maid from earlier returned just then, and Karima sunk back into her position, folding her lips in.

"Ranka ya dade, the food is ready." The maid had announced, holding onto a tray of food and refreshment.

"Just drop it here, thank you." She did as she was asked, and he dismissed her for the rest of the day, so she was leaving them alone. As he made a move to lean down to pick up the plate from the tray, Karima pulled her legs away to give him space so he could eat comfortably. She thought it was the perfect chance for her to slip away, so she cautiously attempted to get up.

His voice came for the very first time, addressed towards her. "Sit back down." He'd sounded too calm for her liking.

She swallowed another lump, feeling as though an ice bucket had been dumped on her. She settled back, her head hung low, fiddling with her fingers. "I'm so—"

"Eat." He handed the plate to her, his voice cold.

She blinked, glancing at the plate, then back at him. "Huh?"

He didn't say anything. The look was enough to have her shirking back in her position. She knew better than to make him repeat himself, and she did not—not when her stomach had been rumbling, reminding herself of her self-torture.

She retrieved the plate from him, and quietly took the spoon from it. Wordlessly, she cleared everything on the plate, not leaving a single thing. When she was done, he handed her the next bowl, which had fruits neatly sliced, and just as she did with the food, she devoured it. After taking a bottle of water last, she dropped it aside, and watched as he quietly took the empty plates and tray to the kitchen.

When he return, instead of going back to the living as she expected, she noticed him making his way in the direction of the bedroom, and she found herself on her feet, quickly rushing over—taking a hold of his arm to stop him at the corridor.

"Wait, Tareeq—"

He paused, a low breath escaping his lips, and she saw the way his jaw visibly clenched before he turned around—and the intensity of his dark gaze made her pull her hand away, and take a step back. "What do you want?" He asked coldly.

She fiddled with her fingers; her lips curved into a frown. "I'm sorry." She looked down. 

"What exactly are you sorry about?"

"Yelling at the maids," she said, her voice low. "I'm sorry."

Tareeq stared at her with slightly parted lips, before he shook his head in disbelief, "Go and sleep." He'd resigned, turning around and walking away. He stopped after a few steps, glancing over his shoulders. "Tomorrow, you should go and see Fulani. I'm sure you know already but she's returned. And I'm sure she'd want to see you."

Karima's expression hardened, lifting her head. "What?"

He arched a brow. "Is there a problem?"

She looked away, refusing to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, but I do not think I can."

This time around it was his turn to ask. "What did you just say to me?"

She still refused to look at him. "I can't." She stood her ground. "I won't go to her place."

A low, humorless chuckle escaped his lips on instinct. He turned around to look at her fully, taking a few steps until he was standing right in front of her. His expression morphed serious. "Kalle ni." She hesitated for a moment, but after a while, she turned her head around, her eyes finding his arctic cold ones, and she could barely stand her ground any longer. "You should know I'm not a patient man, Karima." His voice dropped, his eyes void of any emotions.

She curled her fist by her side, her teeth gritting.

"—just because I am your entertaining your immature character, don't think I can't do anything about it. Don't push me to the wall Karima," He threatened, "Else you wouldn't like who I would turn into. I know so many ways to put you back in line, and if you think you can dare to try me and see, go ahead." With one last glare sent her way, he turned around and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the cold corridor, his threat hung heavily in the air.

***

I love love loveeeeee the relationship between the three Haroon brothers tbh with their wives being their biggest problems in life🤣🤣🤣

Sadiq is my current obsession even🤣😭 I love how unserious the guy is. Maybe ma I'm even Musa Mechanic you guys never know🤣🤣

Su sultan da Fulani fa kaman abun go work out this time around 🫢🙂‍↔️ Oya now we shall see. This love thing!! We go love!! Yawwa....

Su Karima da Tareeq Kuma—you guys cannot make me hate Tareeq. My guy likes this babe o na she Dey misbehave anyhow. Hmm!! Oya now if not that I've fallen for Sadiq I would've taken Tareeq for myself.

You guys have no idea how hard writing this chapter was walllahi. I kept starting and dropping it.

But it's long enough so it's worth it I guess.

How are you liking the book so far??

Wait, HAVE YOU READ FROM BURNT ROSES??? How many times do you want me to scream read FBR?? Iyeeee??? What are you waiting for? Wetin I do you now???

Ai hikenan.

Stay safe as always .

Love, Jannah Mia🤍