The large sitting room was silent, the only sound being the steady hum of the air conditioner.
People filled the hall, standing close together, as if waiting for some final verdict.
A young lady knelt on her knees, her face drenched in tears, her expression filled with pure sorrow and fear.
“So this is the result of my trust in you? Is this the outcome I deserve from you?” a man’s voice thundered.
An older woman snapped in anger, “Did you expect any good result from a stray cat? I warned you years ago, but you refused to take heed. Now she has revealed herself to be a scorpion!”
The young woman wiped her tears, and though her heart wrestled with pain, she spoke firmly:
“This is not a terrible outcome. It is the same path you trained me to walk upon—the truth. I stand on the truth. I never intended to harm anyone in this house. Everyone is simply doing their job. I deserve fairness too, not to be accused falsely and made the scapegoat. Allow me to carry out my duty as well.”
The older woman roared, “Truth? What truth do you know of…?”
But an elderly man raised his hand and silenced her. “Enough! Stand up and leave. I do not even wish to see your face. Go and do whatever you think is best for you.”
Her voice cracked in pain. “Father, you mean you don’t want to see me again?”
“Yes. If you truly fear my anger, then you must give your full support to your brother so that he carries out his work properly.”
Her whole body trembled. “But Father, what will become of me then? Shouldn’t I be heard too?”
He did not wait for her words. He turned to leave, but she clutched his feet, sobbing uncontrollably.
“My father, what is left for me in this world if I must live with your hatred? Forgive me, I will do whatever you say. Please, don’t cast me away.”
Tears streamed down her face as her cries grew louder. But he pulled his feet free and left.
The others in the hall pounced on her with their voices—accusations, mockery, every word sharp like a blade.
She stood, wiped her tears, and without a word, left through another exit.
Inside her room, she pulled open a drawer, scattered documents across the bed, and switched on her laptop while dialing her phone.
A sudden noise behind her made her turn quickly.
He stood at the door, face expressionless, eyes piercing. He stepped forward, looked her straight in the eyes, and asked coldly:
“Are you ready to do what you were commanded, or not?”
She inhaled deeply. “I said no. I will never be ready—from now till eternity. Leave me and go.”
He stared in shock. “So all those tears were lies?”
“What’s your business? Real or fake, I will do my work and you do yours. Don’t interfere with me again, or else—believe me, you will be surprised.”
He grabbed her arm, lifting her from the bed. “What surprise? Tell me! Do you even have a brain? You know the law, yet you trample it. What exactly do you pride yourself in?”
She snapped, “The law? I have played my role. You are the one violating it. Let me be. Whoever wins in the end, so be it. If you like, go tell Father again, but I swear I will never stop until I succeed!”
He shoved her back onto the bed, breathing heavily, his anger burning. But before he lost control, he stormed out, leaving her shaking and breathless.
The Weight of Trials
Later, she stood near the courthouse, watching the yard filled with cars, both big and small. Today, big trials were happening.
She checked her wristwatch, eyes fixed on the entrance gate. Soon, a prison van pulled in, followed by another grand vehicle.
After ten minutes, the door opened and a woman in a lawyer’s coat stepped out. The crowd rushed to her, taking her bags, honoring her.
The young lady bowed her head and whispered in prayer:
“O Allah, You are the One with no equal, the All-Powerful. These people are far stronger than me, but You are my strength. Do not disgrace me, Lord. Let truth overcome falsehood. Though I have supporters, it is Your support I seek.”
She recited supplications with calmness before entering the courtroom with dignified steps, her robe flowing with majesty. Inside, her heart pounded, but she walked on, entrusting her fate to God.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in Kano, at 9:50pm, a keke rider sped through the streets, urged by his passenger—a young woman dressed in black, makeup still fresh from a wedding.
“Please, go faster!” she cried, fearing she’d face trouble at home.
“Madam, I’m already going fast,” he replied.
Angrily, she snapped, “Don’t insult me by calling me your mother. Do I look old enough to have birthed you?”
Soon she reached her family compound. Inside, her father sat waiting.
“Where are you coming from?” he demanded.
“From a wedding,” she stammered.
“Then return there! Do not step foot in this house tonight.”
Her heart broke. She begged, but he shouted her out. With nowhere to sleep, she laid her mat outside, humiliated as the young men mocked her.
That night, restless and tormented, she found him awake upstairs, sitting with the Qur’an in his hand.
“Why are you here at this hour?” she asked.
“Don’t mind me. This is your punishment. Go sleep,” he replied calmly.
She left, wondering how long this cycle of punishment and pain would last.
Description
The Burden of Judgment
The large sitting room was silent, the only sound being the steady hum of the air conditioner.
People filled the hall, standing close together, as if waiting for some final verdict.
A young lady knelt on her knees, her face drenched in tears, her expression filled with pure sorrow and fear.
“So this is the result of my trust in you? Is this the outcome I deserve from you?” a man’s voice thundered.
An older woman snapped in anger, “Did you expect any good result from a stray cat? I warned you years ago, but you refused to take heed. Now she has revealed herself to be a scorpion!”
The young woman wiped her tears, and though her heart wrestled with pain, she spoke firmly:
“This is not a terrible outcome. It is the same path you trained me to walk upon—the truth. I stand on the truth. I never intended to harm anyone in this house. Everyone is simply doing their job. I deserve fairness too, not to be accused falsely and made the scapegoat. Allow me to carry out my duty as well.”
The older woman roared, “Truth? What truth do you know of…?”
But an elderly man raised his hand and silenced her. “Enough! Stand up and leave. I do not even wish to see your face. Go and do whatever you think is best for you.”
Her voice cracked in pain. “Father, you mean you don’t want to see me again?”
“Yes. If you truly fear my anger, then you must give your full support to your brother so that he carries out his work properly.”
Her whole body trembled. “But Father, what will become of me then? Shouldn’t I be heard too?”
He did not wait for her words. He turned to leave, but she clutched his feet, sobbing uncontrollably.
“My father, what is left for me in this world if I must live with your hatred? Forgive me, I will do whatever you say. Please, don’t cast me away.”
Tears streamed down her face as her cries grew louder. But he pulled his feet free and left.
The others in the hall pounced on her with their voices—accusations, mockery, every word sharp like a blade.
She stood, wiped her tears, and without a word, left through another exit.
Inside her room, she pulled open a drawer, scattered documents across the bed, and switched on her laptop while dialing her phone.
A sudden noise behind her made her turn quickly.
He stood at the door, face expressionless, eyes piercing. He stepped forward, looked her straight in the eyes, and asked coldly:
“Are you ready to do what you were commanded, or not?”
She inhaled deeply. “I said no. I will never be ready—from now till eternity. Leave me and go.”
He stared in shock. “So all those tears were lies?”
“What’s your business? Real or fake, I will do my work and you do yours. Don’t interfere with me again, or else—believe me, you will be surprised.”
He grabbed her arm, lifting her from the bed. “What surprise? Tell me! Do you even have a brain? You know the law, yet you trample it. What exactly do you pride yourself in?”
She snapped, “The law? I have played my role. You are the one violating it. Let me be. Whoever wins in the end, so be it. If you like, go tell Father again, but I swear I will never stop until I succeed!”
He shoved her back onto the bed, breathing heavily, his anger burning. But before he lost control, he stormed out, leaving her shaking and breathless.
The Weight of Trials
Later, she stood near the courthouse, watching the yard filled with cars, both big and small. Today, big trials were happening.
She checked her wristwatch, eyes fixed on the entrance gate. Soon, a prison van pulled in, followed by another grand vehicle.
After ten minutes, the door opened and a woman in a lawyer’s coat stepped out. The crowd rushed to her, taking her bags, honoring her.
The young lady bowed her head and whispered in prayer:
“O Allah, You are the One with no equal, the All-Powerful. These people are far stronger than me, but You are my strength. Do not disgrace me, Lord. Let truth overcome falsehood. Though I have supporters, it is Your support I seek.”
She recited supplications with calmness before entering the courtroom with dignified steps, her robe flowing with majesty. Inside, her heart pounded, but she walked on, entrusting her fate to God.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in Kano, at 9:50pm, a keke rider sped through the streets, urged by his passenger—a young woman dressed in black, makeup still fresh from a wedding.
“Please, go faster!” she cried, fearing she’d face trouble at home.
“Madam, I’m already going fast,” he replied.
Angrily, she snapped, “Don’t insult me by calling me your mother. Do I look old enough to have birthed you?”
Soon she reached her family compound. Inside, her father sat waiting.
“Where are you coming from?” he demanded.
“From a wedding,” she stammered.
“Then return there! Do not step foot in this house tonight.”
Her heart broke. She begged, but he shouted her out. With nowhere to sleep, she laid her mat outside, humiliated as the young men mocked her.
That night, restless and tormented, she found him awake upstairs, sitting with the Qur’an in his hand.
“Why are you here at this hour?” she asked.
“Don’t mind me. This is your punishment. Go sleep,” he replied calmly.
She left, wondering how long this cycle of punishment and pain would last.