“Hustle until you no longer need to introduce yourself. Push yourself because no one else will do it for you.”
Those were Fu’ad Jadda’s closing words to a room full of wealthy investors during their final meeting before launching his new company in seven days. His words captivated everyone — the kind that left a lasting impression long after the meeting ended.
As he bid farewell, half of his attention remained fixed on his glowing phone. When the hall finally emptied, leaving only four of his guards nearby, he exhaled softly and reached for it. Excitement surged through him — his company’s launch was progressing flawlessly, every step shimmering with success. Never before had he invested so much of his soul into a single dream. Rest was a luxury he barely allowed himself; every minute mattered, and time, to him, was sacred.
Seeing Farouq’s name flash across his screen made him smile faintly — that rare, captivating smile that enhanced his already dignified charm. He knew a complaint was coming. Farouq always said he buried himself too deeply in business.
“Do you even have anything more important than your company?” Farouq teased.
“Besides family? Nothing.”
Farouq sighed. “And your marriage to that girl — where does that fit in?”
“Marriage? Girl?” Fu’ad repeated blankly.
Farouq nearly choked in disbelief. “You forgot? You’ve already paid her dowry!”
Fu’ad laughed softly, scratching his head. “Ah, my bad... you know how it is.”
Farouq groaned. “Typical! Possessed by your work again. I swear if she were a jinn, she’d have run away.”
Fu’ad’s laughter filled the line. “Come on, bro, don’t take it that serious.”
But Farouq was serious. “I just sent you an email. Check it now — urgently.”
Moments later, Fu’ad opened his inbox and found several images — luxurious ready-made suits from a world-class fashion company. The designs were stunning, but he couldn’t see why they mattered.
He called back. “I saw them, but... what do I do with these? Starting a garment company, are we?”
“Relax, man,” Fu’ad replied with a smirk. “You’re handling everything. I trust you completely.”
Farouq exhaled, calming down. “Alright, fine. But I think we should reduce surveillance on the girl a little — she needs to breathe.”
“For what reason?” Fu’ad asked sharply.
“She’s part of the family now. She deserves some peace.”
Fu’ad dismissed it coldly. “Forget it. I don’t trust her yet.”
Farouq sensed his tone harden. “Do you suspect something?”
“Let’s drop it,” Fu’ad said. “You’re not asking about business?”
“Business? That’s all you ever care about!”
“Is there anything more important?”
Silence fell. Farouq sighed deeply. Fu’ad was too obsessed, too unbothered, too confident. Still, their friendship was deep enough that anger never lasted between them.
Their talk drifted back to work — progress reports, achievements, and projections — until they hung up nearly an hour later.
Then, as Fu’ad minimized his inbox, his eyes caught a new email thread titled:
DUNIYATA — BOOK 2
HUGUMA – PAGE 2
It contained three short but alarming messages:
> Mr. Muhammad Jadda, you are hereby warned to stop all activities related to launching your company.
Not heeding this warning may put your personal and professional assets at risk.
Ignoring this warning may lead to financial losses and reputational damage. Proceed with caution, as this may have unintended consequences.
Fu’ad froze. The words were crisp, chilling, and strangely deliberate. He re-read them several times, analyzing every detail.
Who could have sent this? What kind of threat was this — and from where?
He knew his business world was a battlefield — filled with competitors and hidden enemies. Yet, none had ever shaken him like this. Something about this message felt personal. Still, fear wasn’t in his nature.
“Hasbiyallahu wa ni‘imal wakil...” he whispered softly, steadying his heart with faith.
Exhaustion finally crept in. He needed rest, though his schedule barely allowed it. As he and his guards walked toward his waiting cars, another call came through.
He pulled out his phone — the caller ID made his pulse quicken.
It was his mother.
The Call of a Mother
He sat in the car doorway, legs still outside, trying to compose himself. The name on his screen stirred unease rather than comfort. The phone rang again and again — each vibration syncing with his heartbeat.
For most people, a mother’s call brings warmth, pride, and peace. But not for him. Not for them. Their mother’s calls carried something darker — a pull between affection and torment.
When he finally answered, she was already in the middle of another conversation, waving a hand at Hajja Furaira, who stood beside her with a paper full of plans.
That moment — that voice — marked the beginn
ing of something that would soon unravel everything Fu’ad Jadda thought he had under control.
Description
The Relentless Drive of Fu’ad Jadda
“Hustle until you no longer need to introduce yourself. Push yourself because no one else will do it for you.”
Those were Fu’ad Jadda’s closing words to a room full of wealthy investors during their final meeting before launching his new company in seven days. His words captivated everyone — the kind that left a lasting impression long after the meeting ended.
As he bid farewell, half of his attention remained fixed on his glowing phone. When the hall finally emptied, leaving only four of his guards nearby, he exhaled softly and reached for it. Excitement surged through him — his company’s launch was progressing flawlessly, every step shimmering with success. Never before had he invested so much of his soul into a single dream. Rest was a luxury he barely allowed himself; every minute mattered, and time, to him, was sacred.
Seeing Farouq’s name flash across his screen made him smile faintly — that rare, captivating smile that enhanced his already dignified charm. He knew a complaint was coming. Farouq always said he buried himself too deeply in business.
“Do you even have anything more important than your company?” Farouq teased.
“Besides family? Nothing.”
Farouq sighed. “And your marriage to that girl — where does that fit in?”
“Marriage? Girl?” Fu’ad repeated blankly.
Farouq nearly choked in disbelief. “You forgot? You’ve already paid her dowry!”
Fu’ad laughed softly, scratching his head. “Ah, my bad... you know how it is.”
Farouq groaned. “Typical! Possessed by your work again. I swear if she were a jinn, she’d have run away.”
Fu’ad’s laughter filled the line. “Come on, bro, don’t take it that serious.”
But Farouq was serious. “I just sent you an email. Check it now — urgently.”
Moments later, Fu’ad opened his inbox and found several images — luxurious ready-made suits from a world-class fashion company. The designs were stunning, but he couldn’t see why they mattered.
He called back. “I saw them, but... what do I do with these? Starting a garment company, are we?”
“Ya Allah, Fu’ad!” Farouq nearly shouted. “Do you remember you’re getting married?!”
“Relax, man,” Fu’ad replied with a smirk. “You’re handling everything. I trust you completely.”
Farouq exhaled, calming down. “Alright, fine. But I think we should reduce surveillance on the girl a little — she needs to breathe.”
“For what reason?” Fu’ad asked sharply.
“She’s part of the family now. She deserves some peace.”
Fu’ad dismissed it coldly. “Forget it. I don’t trust her yet.”
Farouq sensed his tone harden. “Do you suspect something?”
“Let’s drop it,” Fu’ad said. “You’re not asking about business?”
“Business? That’s all you ever care about!”
“Is there anything more important?”
Silence fell. Farouq sighed deeply. Fu’ad was too obsessed, too unbothered, too confident. Still, their friendship was deep enough that anger never lasted between them.
Their talk drifted back to work — progress reports, achievements, and projections — until they hung up nearly an hour later.
Then, as Fu’ad minimized his inbox, his eyes caught a new email thread titled:
DUNIYATA — BOOK 2
HUGUMA – PAGE 2
It contained three short but alarming messages:
> Mr. Muhammad Jadda, you are hereby warned to stop all activities related to launching your company.
Not heeding this warning may put your personal and professional assets at risk.
Ignoring this warning may lead to financial losses and reputational damage. Proceed with caution, as this may have unintended consequences.
Fu’ad froze. The words were crisp, chilling, and strangely deliberate. He re-read them several times, analyzing every detail.
Who could have sent this? What kind of threat was this — and from where?
He knew his business world was a battlefield — filled with competitors and hidden enemies. Yet, none had ever shaken him like this. Something about this message felt personal. Still, fear wasn’t in his nature.
“Hasbiyallahu wa ni‘imal wakil...” he whispered softly, steadying his heart with faith.
Exhaustion finally crept in. He needed rest, though his schedule barely allowed it. As he and his guards walked toward his waiting cars, another call came through.
He pulled out his phone — the caller ID made his pulse quicken.
It was his mother.
The Call of a Mother
He sat in the car doorway, legs still outside, trying to compose himself. The name on his screen stirred unease rather than comfort. The phone rang again and again — each vibration syncing with his heartbeat.
For most people, a mother’s call brings warmth, pride, and peace. But not for him. Not for them. Their mother’s calls carried something darker — a pull between affection and torment.
When he finally answered, she was already in the middle of another conversation, waving a hand at Hajja Furaira, who stood beside her with a paper full of plans.
That moment — that voice — marked the beginn
ing of something that would soon unravel everything Fu’ad Jadda thought he had under control.