He completely forgot that his phone was connected to the car’s speaker as they drove from Sabon Gari to Unguwar Jeune Cadre. Because of that, he adjusted himself in the front seat and redialed the girl’s number, but by God’s decree, the call wasn’t answered at all.
Surprised, he checked again—yes, it was truly the same number. Ever since they sent him the number along with the girl’s picture, nothing had changed.
With a bit of caution, he glanced at the man sitting confidently in the back seat, staring fixedly out of the window without even blinking, raising his hand occasionally to his eyebrow while lost in deep thought.
On the ninth attempt, the call finally connected, but there was no response except silence—pure silence like the hum of a fan.
“Assalamu alaiki. Please, am I speaking with Rauda?” he said, listening intently, expecting a reply from the girl called Rauda. From what he had been told about her, he knew that even if it was a young boy calling, as long as it was a male voice, she would listen.
Silence filled the car.
He took a deep breath and asked again, “Wait… is it that my voice isn’t coming through the phone?”
From Rauda’s side came a long, irritated hiss—tsaki—and she immediately ended the call.
The sharp sound echoed through the car and into the mind of the man sitting in the back.
Slowly, he closed his eyes, then opened them and looked at the person sitting in the front just as the man widened his own eyes and snatched his phone, staring at it like he wanted to read some hidden message on the screen.
With a murky, disturbed voice, he began to speak, as if the person beside him was not even his friend.
“Yusuf… Wallahi, I didn’t know she had no mann—”
He stopped talking because the car stopped at the gate. Yusuf quickly opened the door and stepped out without a single word to him.
He walked straight into the main gate of his house, calm and unbothered, moving with controlled confidence.
Panicking inside the car, the man held his forehead and immediately dialed the number of the girl who had given him Rauda’s contact.
When Nafisa answered, he burst out angrily:
“Whose daughter did you give me her number? Is she rude or stupid? Does she not know why someone would call her? Why did you give me her number without explaining anything to me?!”
Nafisa, half-asleep after returning from a tiring wedding ceremony, blinked rapidly and said, “I don’t understand—what did she say to you?”
Annoyed, he replied, “When I called her, she hissed and cut the call. Don’t you know who they want to give her to?”
Nafisa clenched her lips bitterly. “She’s nobody’s daughter but trouble itself. From the way she behaves, I even asked you whether that’s the girl you want out of all women. You said yes—what do you even want from her that you can’t get from others? Anyway, don’t worry. I’ll meet her myself and disgrace her. It’s not even her who gave me the number. I’ve never even spoken to her before—I actually hate girls like her who have that annoying arrogant attitude!”
Angrily, he hung up and stepped out of the car, walking fast with the intention of apologizing to Yusuf, because he knew silent anger from him was never a good sign.
By the time he reached Yusuf’s section, he struggled to turn the door handle, finally opened it, and entered. Seeing people he disliked outside, he held his head and sat on the single-seater couch.
From the moment he walked in, Rislan stopped the story he had been narrating and frowned, feeling a burning pain in his chest because of Yusuf’s constant roaming with Ishak—careless roaming, reckless roaming, roaming without faith.
Yusuf smiled faintly, glanced at Rislan, then at Ishak who adjusted himself, clearly ready to continue their earlier family discussion.
Clearing his throat softly, he said, “Ishak, go inside please.”
Ishak stood up, hurt deeply by Rislan’s hostility. In this world, this man monitored every movement he and Yusuf made. Still, he waited patiently for the day he would confront him—he would show him he was not a fool.
He walked inside breathing heavily through his nose.
Only when he left did Rislan breathe out in relief and face Yusuf again.
Gently he said, “You should know your situation by now. You should advise yourself. You’re aging, not getting younger. Make peace with some things, let go of others, and live. Go and visit Hajia. During yesterday’s rainfall, she fell and broke a bone. They called you and informed you. Hajia is the mother of His Highness, Yusuf.”
Yusuf gave him his usual sly smile, looked away calmly, and said, “Alright.”
Rislan stared at him, fear creeping in.
Hands clasped, he said, “How can you say alright when I know you won’t go? For Allah’s sake, I’m begging you to go—”
“Don’t beg me for something that is not an obligation upon me! I cut my ties with her. She gave birth to my father, not me—that’s her responsibility. And about stopping what I’m doing, I already agreed. Why are you trying to force my voice to rise at you?” he said sharply, though quietly—they always hid their quarrels from everyone.
Rislan’s eyes filled with tears. What kind of affliction was troubling this royal family? From drunkards to adulterers, to people with rat-like behavior. “Ya Allah, look upon this family,” he thought.
Softly he asked, “Will you go, my brother?”
Yusuf was silent for a moment, then smiled slowly, nodded, and said, “I will go, by Allah’s permission.”
“You know our father’s biggest wish? He wants to see you married. He wants to see the woman you love brought home as your wife,” Rislan added gently.
Yusuf stood up, removed his shirt, leaving only a white singlet, calmly walked to the fridge, took cold water, returned, opened it, and handed it to him.
“Thank you,” Rislan said.
Yusuf sat, opened his computer, connected to the WiFi, and stared at Rislan the same way Rislan stared at him.
Then he said quietly, “I’m not into women. I don’t like women. Who will give me peace of mind? The only love I have is one, and I call her Azal. I will never let foolishness drag me into anything else. As for marriage, tell your father not to worry. When I’m ready, I’ll bring four wives for him to take care of.”
His voice was gentle, clear, but carried a strange heaviness—like someone speaking only for Rislan’s ears.
Rislan responded softly, “Love is Azal? Love is the sweetest thing in life. Whoever doesn’t love doesn’t enjoy life. One day you’ll find yourself in love, Yusuf.”
He smiled calmly and remained silent. He didn’t return to his computer. Yusuf was a complex man—hard yet soft, dignified yet unpredictable.
Seeing the discussion had reached its natural end, Rislan stood, greeted him, and left—praying that Allah would protect his brother from the bad influence inside the house.
The Return of Ishak and Yusuf’s Final Thoughts
About fifteen minutes after Rislan left, Ishak came out and sat a short distance from Yusuf. Gently he said, “Please forgive that useless girl for hissing at you earlier.”
Yusuf paused his typing, almost losing important work because of the nonsense Ishak was saying.
Ishak continued, “I didn’t know she was worthless until she did something only ill-bred girls do. I swear, I’ll make sure she becomes a horse that every dog can mount, since she refused to answer someone as valuable as you.”
“Stop talking and let me finish this important typing,” Yusuf said, ignoring Ishak’s angry rant.
Ishak fell silent. He didn’t want to leave Yusuf in that mood without apologizing.
When Yusuf finally finished typing, he shut down the computer and looked at Ishak.
Calmly he said, “She knows who I am but still disrespected me? You’re the one who disrespected me. I hope this will be the first and last time something like this happens. Do you understand?”
Ishak rushed to apologize. It confused me deeply—someone like Ishak, who dressed in wealth, speaking to Yusuf like a subordinate. What made him so submissive to Yusuf?
Before leaving, Ishak placed Yusuf’s food on the table.
After eating, Yusuf finally went to his room, exhausted and drained emotionally. But the sound of that girl’s hiss kept echoing in his mind.
He smiled faintly as he pulled his white pillow close. At least he would wake up for Fajr prayer. And tomorrow was Alhaji’s wedding—if he didn’t attend, people would talk and complain as if the wedding were a state affair.
Description
The Call and the Misunderstanding
He completely forgot that his phone was connected to the car’s speaker as they drove from Sabon Gari to Unguwar Jeune Cadre. Because of that, he adjusted himself in the front seat and redialed the girl’s number, but by God’s decree, the call wasn’t answered at all.
Surprised, he checked again—yes, it was truly the same number. Ever since they sent him the number along with the girl’s picture, nothing had changed.
With a bit of caution, he glanced at the man sitting confidently in the back seat, staring fixedly out of the window without even blinking, raising his hand occasionally to his eyebrow while lost in deep thought.
On the ninth attempt, the call finally connected, but there was no response except silence—pure silence like the hum of a fan.
“Assalamu alaiki. Please, am I speaking with Rauda?” he said, listening intently, expecting a reply from the girl called Rauda. From what he had been told about her, he knew that even if it was a young boy calling, as long as it was a male voice, she would listen.
Silence filled the car.
He took a deep breath and asked again, “Wait… is it that my voice isn’t coming through the phone?”
From Rauda’s side came a long, irritated hiss—tsaki—and she immediately ended the call.
The sharp sound echoed through the car and into the mind of the man sitting in the back.
Slowly, he closed his eyes, then opened them and looked at the person sitting in the front just as the man widened his own eyes and snatched his phone, staring at it like he wanted to read some hidden message on the screen.
With a murky, disturbed voice, he began to speak, as if the person beside him was not even his friend.
“Yusuf… Wallahi, I didn’t know she had no mann—”
He stopped talking because the car stopped at the gate. Yusuf quickly opened the door and stepped out without a single word to him.
He walked straight into the main gate of his house, calm and unbothered, moving with controlled confidence.
Panicking inside the car, the man held his forehead and immediately dialed the number of the girl who had given him Rauda’s contact.
When Nafisa answered, he burst out angrily:
“Whose daughter did you give me her number? Is she rude or stupid? Does she not know why someone would call her? Why did you give me her number without explaining anything to me?!”
Nafisa, half-asleep after returning from a tiring wedding ceremony, blinked rapidly and said, “I don’t understand—what did she say to you?”
Annoyed, he replied, “When I called her, she hissed and cut the call. Don’t you know who they want to give her to?”
Nafisa clenched her lips bitterly. “She’s nobody’s daughter but trouble itself. From the way she behaves, I even asked you whether that’s the girl you want out of all women. You said yes—what do you even want from her that you can’t get from others? Anyway, don’t worry. I’ll meet her myself and disgrace her. It’s not even her who gave me the number. I’ve never even spoken to her before—I actually hate girls like her who have that annoying arrogant attitude!”
Angrily, he hung up and stepped out of the car, walking fast with the intention of apologizing to Yusuf, because he knew silent anger from him was never a good sign.
By the time he reached Yusuf’s section, he struggled to turn the door handle, finally opened it, and entered. Seeing people he disliked outside, he held his head and sat on the single-seater couch.
From the moment he walked in, Rislan stopped the story he had been narrating and frowned, feeling a burning pain in his chest because of Yusuf’s constant roaming with Ishak—careless roaming, reckless roaming, roaming without faith.
Yusuf smiled faintly, glanced at Rislan, then at Ishak who adjusted himself, clearly ready to continue their earlier family discussion.
Clearing his throat softly, he said, “Ishak, go inside please.”
Ishak stood up, hurt deeply by Rislan’s hostility. In this world, this man monitored every movement he and Yusuf made. Still, he waited patiently for the day he would confront him—he would show him he was not a fool.
He walked inside breathing heavily through his nose.
Only when he left did Rislan breathe out in relief and face Yusuf again.
Gently he said, “You should know your situation by now. You should advise yourself. You’re aging, not getting younger. Make peace with some things, let go of others, and live. Go and visit Hajia. During yesterday’s rainfall, she fell and broke a bone. They called you and informed you. Hajia is the mother of His Highness, Yusuf.”
Yusuf gave him his usual sly smile, looked away calmly, and said, “Alright.”
Rislan stared at him, fear creeping in.
Hands clasped, he said, “How can you say alright when I know you won’t go? For Allah’s sake, I’m begging you to go—”
“Don’t beg me for something that is not an obligation upon me! I cut my ties with her. She gave birth to my father, not me—that’s her responsibility. And about stopping what I’m doing, I already agreed. Why are you trying to force my voice to rise at you?” he said sharply, though quietly—they always hid their quarrels from everyone.
Rislan’s eyes filled with tears. What kind of affliction was troubling this royal family? From drunkards to adulterers, to people with rat-like behavior. “Ya Allah, look upon this family,” he thought.
Softly he asked, “Will you go, my brother?”
Yusuf was silent for a moment, then smiled slowly, nodded, and said, “I will go, by Allah’s permission.”
“You know our father’s biggest wish? He wants to see you married. He wants to see the woman you love brought home as your wife,” Rislan added gently.
Yusuf stood up, removed his shirt, leaving only a white singlet, calmly walked to the fridge, took cold water, returned, opened it, and handed it to him.
“Thank you,” Rislan said.
Yusuf sat, opened his computer, connected to the WiFi, and stared at Rislan the same way Rislan stared at him.
Then he said quietly, “I’m not into women. I don’t like women. Who will give me peace of mind? The only love I have is one, and I call her Azal. I will never let foolishness drag me into anything else. As for marriage, tell your father not to worry. When I’m ready, I’ll bring four wives for him to take care of.”
His voice was gentle, clear, but carried a strange heaviness—like someone speaking only for Rislan’s ears.
Rislan responded softly, “Love is Azal? Love is the sweetest thing in life. Whoever doesn’t love doesn’t enjoy life. One day you’ll find yourself in love, Yusuf.”
He smiled calmly and remained silent. He didn’t return to his computer. Yusuf was a complex man—hard yet soft, dignified yet unpredictable.
Seeing the discussion had reached its natural end, Rislan stood, greeted him, and left—praying that Allah would protect his brother from the bad influence inside the house.
The Return of Ishak and Yusuf’s Final Thoughts
About fifteen minutes after Rislan left, Ishak came out and sat a short distance from Yusuf. Gently he said, “Please forgive that useless girl for hissing at you earlier.”
Yusuf paused his typing, almost losing important work because of the nonsense Ishak was saying.
Ishak continued, “I didn’t know she was worthless until she did something only ill-bred girls do. I swear, I’ll make sure she becomes a horse that every dog can mount, since she refused to answer someone as valuable as you.”
“Stop talking and let me finish this important typing,” Yusuf said, ignoring Ishak’s angry rant.
Ishak fell silent. He didn’t want to leave Yusuf in that mood without apologizing.
When Yusuf finally finished typing, he shut down the computer and looked at Ishak.
Calmly he said, “She knows who I am but still disrespected me? You’re the one who disrespected me. I hope this will be the first and last time something like this happens. Do you understand?”
Ishak rushed to apologize. It confused me deeply—someone like Ishak, who dressed in wealth, speaking to Yusuf like a subordinate. What made him so submissive to Yusuf?
Before leaving, Ishak placed Yusuf’s food on the table.
After eating, Yusuf finally went to his room, exhausted and drained emotionally. But the sound of that girl’s hiss kept echoing in his mind.
He smiled faintly as he pulled his white pillow close. At least he would wake up for Fajr prayer. And tomorrow was Alhaji’s wedding—if he didn’t attend, people would talk and complain as if the wedding were a state affair.