The sound of a car horn made the security guard rush out of his small room beside the gate. He quickly unhooked the padlock and swung the gate wide open to allow the car in. The moment the gate opened, a young lady—no more than 25 or 26 years old—looked up along with a young man sitting beside her on a plastic chair. He was wearing a worn-out milk-colored traditional outfit. Both of them turned to see who was arriving, chatting and smiling as they did.
The car entered the compound and parked in the designated area. When the back door opened, a fair-skinned young lady stepped out. She was wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt, her lips pouted in irritation. On her small feet were white flat vine-designed shoes, size 37 at most. Her pencil jeans fitted tightly around her hips, and though she didn’t have a large backside, her curves were striking—what people would call a “cylinder shape.”
The soft white T-shirt she wore had no stains and clung perfectly to her skin. Around her neck hung a simple triple-layered necklace with moon-shaped pendants, the last of which rested just above her abdomen, shining brightly. She had no makeup on; her pink lips were dry, and her large eyes, greyish rather than black, shone naturally. Her neatly arched brows and a sky-blue scarf tied halfway on her head revealed part of her neatly plaited hair.
On her left wrist was a digital watch, and on the other, a delicate bracelet that complemented her small hand. She wasn’t tall or short, slim but well-shaped—“super portable,” as some might say.
Looking at the driver who had stepped out after turning off the car, she frowned and snapped impatiently,
“Isa, won’t you give me my bag? I’m tired of standing.”
Quickly, the driver came forward respectfully.
“Sorry, Autan Mummy, let me get it for you,” he said.
She sighed, put her hand on her waist, and waited irritably while he brought out her white backpack—the type used by schoolgirls—and handed it to her with a smile.
“Here it is, Auta,” he said.
Snatching it from him as if they were quarreling, she turned and walked off. Her hips swayed as she walked, making her jeans look even more alluring. From afar, she caught sight of Ya Siddiqa, who was watching her angrily, and gave her a sharp glare.
When she reached Siddiqa’s area, she hissed loudly and said mockingly,
“What? Are you people staring like you’ll suck someone’s blood? I guess joblessness runs in your bloodline.”
She rolled her eyes and walked away without greeting anyone.
Fuming, Siddiqa jumped up from her chair, ready to chase after her, but Sadiq quickly held her back.
“Hey, what are you doing? Leave her; she’s just a child,” he said.
Siddiqa angrily pulled her hand away.
“Baby, I swear that girl has gone too far! I didn’t even talk to her, yet she insulted both of us—called us jobless! That’s an insult, and I’ll deal with her today!”
Before Sadiq could respond, she stormed inside, her chest heaving in rage.
The Heated Confrontation Inside
Siddiqa opened the living room door just as Auta was about to enter the corridor. Auta turned sharply and glared at her.
“Witch! You followed me?” she muttered under her breath.
Siddiqa ran toward her furiously, having heard what she said. Auta tried to run, but it was too late—Siddiqa grabbed the back of her shirt and slammed her against the corridor wall.
“Who are you calling jobless, huh? Who’s going to suck your blood? And who’s the witch here?” Siddiqa shouted.
Auta, struggling to free herself, protested,
“What’s this? You’ve stained my white shirt! You’ll wash it for me, I swear! Let me go!”
At that moment, two older girls came out of one of the corridor rooms. They looked like Auta’s elder sisters and resembled Siddiqa, both dark and beautiful. One of them snapped,
“Yes, Ya Siddiqa, deal with that rude girl with those evil-looking eyes!”
Auta, full of defiance, retorted,
“Oh, and you with your big eyes that look like a cow’s backside, shut up!”
The girl laughed mockingly, “Yes, I’m the cow-eyed one, and you’re the chicken-faced thief who steals chickens! Hear that, Ya Siddiqa? I’m just teasing her!”
Suddenly, the door of another room opened—the master bedroom, perhaps—and their mother stepped out. She was around 54, tall, elegant, and wearing a long stone-embroidered atampa gown. Hearing the commotion, she hurried from the bathroom.
“What’s going on here? Siddiqa, why are you choking Auta? Do you want to kill her?” she scolded sharply.
Still angry, Siddiqa replied,
“Mummy, this girl insulted me and Ya Sadiq! She called us jobless and even called me a witch!”
Before she could continue, Auta interrupted in a sweet, tearful voice,
“Mummy, she’s lying! I didn’t say that. They were staring at me, and Ya Siddiqa kept glaring at me. I didn’t do anything!”
Siddiqa, boiling with anger, shoved her again.
“You liar! Just because you’ve grown breasts now you think you can disrespect me?”
One of Siddiqa’s supporters, Lubabatu, laughed and said,
“Yes, Ya Siddiqa! Smash that rude mouth of hers against the wall—her mouth looks like a chicken’s beak!”
Auta, now crying, shouted back,
“Wicked thing! At least I have better breasts than you, and your face looks like burnt food!”
Lubabatu charged toward her, ready to slap her, but Mummy roared,
“Siddiqa! Luba! Stop right there!”
Everyone froze. Mummy gave them a sharp, angry look.
“Let go of her right now before I lose my temper,” she warned.
Reluctantly, Siddiqa released Auta, who quickly ran into Mummy’s arms crying.
“Mummy, she tried to strangle me! She wants to kill me! And please tell her to stop saying I have breasts—I hate that!” she sobbed.
Mummy sighed and gently patted her back.
“Alright, alright. Don’t cry. I’ll talk to them. Go to your room, take a bath, and I’ll bring you food soon.”
Auta nodded, wiped her tears, and quietly went to her room. Before entering, she turned and gave her sisters a mischievous smirk and a playful glare, which made Luba shout,
“Mummy! See, she’s mocking us again!”
Auta quickly slipped into her room.
Luba hissed and muttered,
“I swear, I’ll get her someday. I’ll teach her a lesson even if it kills me.”
Mummy snapped at her,
“Useless girl! If you try that, I’ll beat the devil out of you. That rude mouth of yours will get you nowhere!”
Luba pouted and walked away, muttering under her breath,
“I wasn’t talking to you—it’s your precious Auta.”
“What did you just say?” Mummy yelled.
“Nothing, Mummy,” Luba stammered.
Another sister, Zeenatu, who had been quietly observing, tried to slip away, but Mummy called,
“Come here, Zeenah.”
“Yes, Mummy,” she replied softly, her tone bitter.
Mummy eyed her from head to toe and said coldly,
“I know you’re the silent poison among my children. If I ever see you supporting Auta, I’ll deal with you myself. Now go to the kitchen, prepare Auta’s food, and take it to her.”
Zeenatu rolled her eyes slightly but obeyed, heading toward the kitchen.
Meanwhile, Siddiqa stood there, tears in her eyes, hurt that her mother had sided with Auta despite the disrespect. Mummy noticed and gently took her hand.
“It’s okay,” Mummy said softly. “She’s still a child. Don’t let her get to you. Just go back to Sadiq; don’t make it obvious that something’s wrong. Men don’t like women who pick fights—show him you’re calm. I’ll talk to her later.”
Siddiqa nodded and left the room, though deep inside she made a silent promise —
Description
Arrival at the Gate
The sound of a car horn made the security guard rush out of his small room beside the gate. He quickly unhooked the padlock and swung the gate wide open to allow the car in. The moment the gate opened, a young lady—no more than 25 or 26 years old—looked up along with a young man sitting beside her on a plastic chair. He was wearing a worn-out milk-colored traditional outfit. Both of them turned to see who was arriving, chatting and smiling as they did.
The car entered the compound and parked in the designated area. When the back door opened, a fair-skinned young lady stepped out. She was wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt, her lips pouted in irritation. On her small feet were white flat vine-designed shoes, size 37 at most. Her pencil jeans fitted tightly around her hips, and though she didn’t have a large backside, her curves were striking—what people would call a “cylinder shape.”
The soft white T-shirt she wore had no stains and clung perfectly to her skin. Around her neck hung a simple triple-layered necklace with moon-shaped pendants, the last of which rested just above her abdomen, shining brightly. She had no makeup on; her pink lips were dry, and her large eyes, greyish rather than black, shone naturally. Her neatly arched brows and a sky-blue scarf tied halfway on her head revealed part of her neatly plaited hair.
On her left wrist was a digital watch, and on the other, a delicate bracelet that complemented her small hand. She wasn’t tall or short, slim but well-shaped—“super portable,” as some might say.
Looking at the driver who had stepped out after turning off the car, she frowned and snapped impatiently,
“Isa, won’t you give me my bag? I’m tired of standing.”
Quickly, the driver came forward respectfully.
“Sorry, Autan Mummy, let me get it for you,” he said.
She sighed, put her hand on her waist, and waited irritably while he brought out her white backpack—the type used by schoolgirls—and handed it to her with a smile.
“Here it is, Auta,” he said.
Snatching it from him as if they were quarreling, she turned and walked off. Her hips swayed as she walked, making her jeans look even more alluring. From afar, she caught sight of Ya Siddiqa, who was watching her angrily, and gave her a sharp glare.
When she reached Siddiqa’s area, she hissed loudly and said mockingly,
“What? Are you people staring like you’ll suck someone’s blood? I guess joblessness runs in your bloodline.”
She rolled her eyes and walked away without greeting anyone.
Fuming, Siddiqa jumped up from her chair, ready to chase after her, but Sadiq quickly held her back.
“Hey, what are you doing? Leave her; she’s just a child,” he said.
Siddiqa angrily pulled her hand away.
“Baby, I swear that girl has gone too far! I didn’t even talk to her, yet she insulted both of us—called us jobless! That’s an insult, and I’ll deal with her today!”
Before Sadiq could respond, she stormed inside, her chest heaving in rage.
The Heated Confrontation Inside
Siddiqa opened the living room door just as Auta was about to enter the corridor. Auta turned sharply and glared at her.
“Witch! You followed me?” she muttered under her breath.
Siddiqa ran toward her furiously, having heard what she said. Auta tried to run, but it was too late—Siddiqa grabbed the back of her shirt and slammed her against the corridor wall.
“Who are you calling jobless, huh? Who’s going to suck your blood? And who’s the witch here?” Siddiqa shouted.
Auta, struggling to free herself, protested,
“What’s this? You’ve stained my white shirt! You’ll wash it for me, I swear! Let me go!”
At that moment, two older girls came out of one of the corridor rooms. They looked like Auta’s elder sisters and resembled Siddiqa, both dark and beautiful. One of them snapped,
“Yes, Ya Siddiqa, deal with that rude girl with those evil-looking eyes!”
Auta, full of defiance, retorted,
“Oh, and you with your big eyes that look like a cow’s backside, shut up!”
The girl laughed mockingly, “Yes, I’m the cow-eyed one, and you’re the chicken-faced thief who steals chickens! Hear that, Ya Siddiqa? I’m just teasing her!”
Suddenly, the door of another room opened—the master bedroom, perhaps—and their mother stepped out. She was around 54, tall, elegant, and wearing a long stone-embroidered atampa gown. Hearing the commotion, she hurried from the bathroom.
“What’s going on here? Siddiqa, why are you choking Auta? Do you want to kill her?” she scolded sharply.
Still angry, Siddiqa replied,
“Mummy, this girl insulted me and Ya Sadiq! She called us jobless and even called me a witch!”
Before she could continue, Auta interrupted in a sweet, tearful voice,
“Mummy, she’s lying! I didn’t say that. They were staring at me, and Ya Siddiqa kept glaring at me. I didn’t do anything!”
Siddiqa, boiling with anger, shoved her again.
“You liar! Just because you’ve grown breasts now you think you can disrespect me?”
One of Siddiqa’s supporters, Lubabatu, laughed and said,
“Yes, Ya Siddiqa! Smash that rude mouth of hers against the wall—her mouth looks like a chicken’s beak!”
Auta, now crying, shouted back,
“Wicked thing! At least I have better breasts than you, and your face looks like burnt food!”
Lubabatu charged toward her, ready to slap her, but Mummy roared,
“Siddiqa! Luba! Stop right there!”
Everyone froze. Mummy gave them a sharp, angry look.
“Let go of her right now before I lose my temper,” she warned.
Reluctantly, Siddiqa released Auta, who quickly ran into Mummy’s arms crying.
“Mummy, she tried to strangle me! She wants to kill me! And please tell her to stop saying I have breasts—I hate that!” she sobbed.
Mummy sighed and gently patted her back.
“Alright, alright. Don’t cry. I’ll talk to them. Go to your room, take a bath, and I’ll bring you food soon.”
Auta nodded, wiped her tears, and quietly went to her room. Before entering, she turned and gave her sisters a mischievous smirk and a playful glare, which made Luba shout,
“Mummy! See, she’s mocking us again!”
Auta quickly slipped into her room.
Luba hissed and muttered,
“I swear, I’ll get her someday. I’ll teach her a lesson even if it kills me.”
Mummy snapped at her,
“Useless girl! If you try that, I’ll beat the devil out of you. That rude mouth of yours will get you nowhere!”
Luba pouted and walked away, muttering under her breath,
“I wasn’t talking to you—it’s your precious Auta.”
“What did you just say?” Mummy yelled.
“Nothing, Mummy,” Luba stammered.
Another sister, Zeenatu, who had been quietly observing, tried to slip away, but Mummy called,
“Come here, Zeenah.”
“Yes, Mummy,” she replied softly, her tone bitter.
Mummy eyed her from head to toe and said coldly,
“I know you’re the silent poison among my children. If I ever see you supporting Auta, I’ll deal with you myself. Now go to the kitchen, prepare Auta’s food, and take it to her.”
Zeenatu rolled her eyes slightly but obeyed, heading toward the kitchen.
Meanwhile, Siddiqa stood there, tears in her eyes, hurt that her mother had sided with Auta despite the disrespect. Mummy noticed and gently took her hand.
“It’s okay,” Mummy said softly. “She’s still a child. Don’t let her get to you. Just go back to Sadiq; don’t make it obvious that something’s wrong. Men don’t like women who pick fights—show him you’re calm. I’ll talk to her later.”
Siddiqa nodded and left the room, though deep inside she made a silent promise —
One day, I’ll deal with Auta. I swear I will.