FreeFreeDescription
As soon as he finished studying, he got up from the spot. She felt inside her body as if he were still there—as if it were him sitting in that spot, and not the empty space he had left behind. She let out a soft sigh, clutching her books tightly to her chest. His scent alone was something she could live with day and night. She didn't know what was happening in her heart, nor could she define what she was feeling, but inside her body, she felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation—something she had never felt toward anyone before.
Badee'a had already walked ahead a while ago. For some reason, she felt like she hadn't sat there long enough, which was why she told Badee'a to go on ahead. She stood up gracefully with the intention of returning to the benches provided for seating in the area; however, just as she was about to pass by, her eyes caught sight of his phone.
Her heart skipped a beat; it seemed he had forgotten it. She stepped backward, knelt down, and picked up the phone, turning it over in her hands.
It was a striking, beautiful phone that caught the eye. She brought it slowly to her nose and inhaled; that blissful scent of his reached all the way to her brain. A smile escaped her lips; his scent was one of the things about him that completely captivated her. She looked down on all her own perfumes now, unable to feel them the way she felt his.
An idea planted itself in her mind. She quickly flipped the face of the phone and double-clicked the screen, since she couldn't see a single button on its body.
The screen lit up, and she began trying to open it. To her surprise, there was no password. She went straight to the dial pad, punched in her number, and pressed call.
In less than a second, the call went through. The phone in her hand began to ring, and she looked at her own phone, letting out a smile. She had succeeded in obtaining his number—though she herself didn't know what she would do with it, she just felt in her heart that it was the right thing to do.
She felt her heart thud violently as his scent suddenly grew stronger in the area. She quickly raised her head, and there he was, standing and facing her. There was a distance of a few paces between them, which didn't stop her from seeing that soft beauty—those beautiful, attractive lips, and those eyes that held a magnetic presence.
She hid her hand behind her back, her heart pounding with a strange fear. *Could he have seen her? What if he thinks she was snooping through his phone?*
Calmly, he raised his hand and extended it toward her while turning his eyes away from her. She understood what he meant, so she stepped forward slowly toward him, a strange fear flashing in her eyes. It was the kind of fear he usually saw on Noory's face—the kind of fear on Aanani or Aareef's face whenever they did something wrong. She bowed slightly and handed him his phone. He took it and slipped it into the pocket of his *jubah*, before extending his other hand toward her again, locking her in with those sharp eyes of his.
She felt as if the weight of the entire world had fallen on her. His eyes carried a heaviness that not everyone could endure looking into; she didn't know what was in them, but they were entirely different from those of thousands of people she knew.
She wanted to hide her phone if possible; she wanted to put it somewhere he couldn't see it, but that was impossible. He wanted her phone, judging by the language his eyes spoke to her. And so, she stepped closer and handed him her phone.
He took it calmly, his face set sternly as if he had never known the meaning of the word "laughter" in his entire life—which left Falaak even more confused. Despite his usual sternness, she had never seen him in this kind of mood before today. Deep down in his heart, however, he was full of smiles, though you could never tell by looking at his face. As he deleted his number that she was attempting to save, a smile welled up again from deep within him; she had arranged the alphabets in a way that he couldn't even tell what name she was trying to give him. Her demeanor reminded him so much of his Noory... and sometimes Saamee. Deep down, he didn't feel good that she was starting to develop feelings for him; he wasn't prepared for that. In fact, he viewed her in the same light as Noory because of the similarity in their demeanor and character, even though she might be a year or two older than Noory. There was fear at times, and childishness in some of their actions. But he would figure out whatever it took to rid her of this problem. She was far too young to handle the issue of falling into an unrequited love that wouldn't yield any good results. Yet, despite her young age, he felt she had done a commendable job of hiding what was in her heart without letting it show.
He only deleted his contact; he didn't look through anything else, because that wasn't the reason he took the phone. In fact, he was a man who didn't care for deep snooping unless the situation strictly demanded it.
"Take it," he said in French. She felt the accent come out in a beautifully distinct tone.
Terrified, she took a step forward and came closer to him.
"If you want us to have our very first disagreement, then let me notice you playing around with your studies. Inspecting someone’s private property, like a phone, is forbidden (*haram*)... These years are your time to study. If they pass you by, you might not be able to get them back. Take advantage of them and focus on your studies above everything else... If I see otherwise... I am capable of using a cane. I won’t even tell the Sultane... I will give you a proper beating," he said, handing her the phone.
He turned calmly and left the area, leaving her unable to stop staring at him and his regal, upright stride. She stepped back and sat down, recalling his words. *What did he mean?* She didn't understand all of it. A wave of shame washed over her as her heart suggested to her:
"There is something he discovered or understood." She placed her hand over her mouth, and then a smile escaped her. His last words—saying he would beat her... *Does that mean he looks at her as a younger sister?* She rolled her eyes, feeling a deep sense of joy within her. For her, even if he only gave her the status of a younger sister, that was enough. She stood up, feeling a surge of excitement in her soul, and began walking toward the path that would lead her back to their quarters.
## AKHNAN
Slowly, she opened her eyes, which felt heavy and uncomfortable, as if gravel had been poured into them. She closed them again and then reopened them, still recalling the hours that had passed. However, the sound of Quranic recitation she could hear brought her a strange kind of tranquility, shifting her focus from remembering anything to listening to the recitation.
It was a voice full of softness and calmness—a style of recitation that, if she could recall from years past... back when Morsa Safiyya used to intrude into her life, playing that exact style of recitation at a low volume whenever she went to bed to sleep.
Even if she went to bed without the recitation, whenever she woke up, no matter how late in the night, she would find the recitation playing through a bedside lamp that had a built-in speaker, which wasn't easily noticeable.
She was barely twelve years old back then, but whenever she woke up and found the recitation playing, she would reach out her hand, turn it off, and hiss in irritation. She felt it was simply disturbing a person's peace and sleep. Eventually, she complained bitterly to her Mammina until they stopped playing it—though she didn't know how Mammina had fulfilled that wish for her; she just remembered her stroking her hair that day.
“From today, no one will disturb the Princess's sleep again... they have stopped playing it for you, so sleep however you please.”
Today, at this dawn as the twilight was breaking, the recitation reached her, and she felt tranquility slowly returning to her. She sat up calmly, then swung her slender legs over the edge of the bed. She reached up and pulled off the LED face mask from her face—the kind she used to cover her entire face, which blinked with a red light to help maintain facial beauty and release collagen to preserve youthfulness. She set the device aside, since she didn't really know where any of her things were stored. Whatever she took off or set down, there was always someone to pick it up and keep it safe until she needed it again. This pampering of hers had never ended or paused, from the moment she was born up until today now that she was a full-grown adult.
She reached up to tie her long, silky hair, and then adjusted the buttons of her pyjamas which had come undone while she slept. She slipped her feet into her pristine white flip-flops that sat by the side of the bed, matching the color of her pyjamas, and stood up slowly as the sound of the recitation sank deeper into her.
She had missed the dawn prayer time by about thirty-five minutes, and she knew this was likely due to the lack of proper sleep the previous night. She pushed open the door to her bathroom and walked in. Everything was intact and waiting for her—a stunning setup with a pleasant breeze carrying the soft scent of luxury bath products.
She checked the spot for her toothbrush and noticed that no toothpaste had been applied to it. She frowned and lazily opened a tube to grab some, bringing it close to a device mounted on the wall. The toothpaste dispensed onto the brush. She stepped over to the sink, which was adorned like stones found deep underwater, turned on the tap, and began brushing her teeth. Her eyes were fixed on her face, as the words of Aisa and the others, who had kept her up late last night in her room, came rushing back to her.
She usually took a bath at this time, but she absolutely hated losing her prayer time, and to make matters worse, she felt as though a slight fever was creeping over her body. So, she simply performed her ablutions, took a small towel to dry herself off, and came out.
The sweet sound was still echoing through her room. She set her towel down and walked over to where Birra always laid out one of her finest prayer dresses every night—she always left two for her every day. She chose the color that appealed to her, picking a white inner gown that gave off a subtle, soothing fragrance, and put it over her pyjamas. She inhaled the scent of the dress deeply; it was a scent she loved very much.
"It doesn’t match *that* scent," a voice from deep within her heart whispered. She let out a small hiss. She knew exactly which scent it was—the scent of the man from the hippodrome, the name she had already given him, and the scent of that Sheikh whom she was still harboring doubts about.
*How could a man like him, who knew nothing but Arabic books, possess a scent that she herself didn't even know how much she had spent just to recreate something similar?*
She walked over to the prayer mat located in a corner right next to the glass door that opened out to her beautiful balcony, which bordered the adjacent quarters. She chose to pray there because she knew that section was empty, and people rarely sat there anyway, so foot traffic wouldn't disturb her or keep her from being at ease.
"Sallallahu alaihi wasallam," she said softly as she finished her prayer, sitting on her prayer mat just as he recited the verse.
"MUHAMMADUR RASULULLAH." She herself didn't know what kept her sitting there, continuing to listen to the recitation, which she felt was very close to where she sat. She stared at the curtains covering the glass door as they drifted gently in the breeze. Suddenly, she felt a desire to step out onto the balcony—a place she could go days without entering. She stood up gracefully, stepping onto the soft carpet on the floor, reached the door, turned the lock, and began trying to open it.
She didn't struggle to open it, though she was surprised by this, because whenever she wanted to go out, it was always opened for her; she had never opened it herself.
A pleasant breeze accompanied by the closer sound of the recitation greeted her. She closed her eyes, taking a long step forward, her eyes fixed on the quarters where, for the first time, she caught a glimmer of light.
## *(Subscription Information Section)*
"When did they move in? Who is in there like that?" she asked herself, staring into the balcony of the quarters facing her. There was no sign of anyone moving, except for the faint outline of a person she could barely glimpse through the glass door where the curtain had been drawn back slightly, but beyond that, she couldn't even make out the color of the clothes he was wearing.
She continued to watch the spot as the sound kept washing over her. It was a recitation full of wisdom, mastery, and eloquence—the kind of recitation she hadn't heard in a very long time that could captivate her attention this way. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had stood for so many minutes just listening to the recitation of the Quran, not since that day she used to sleep with it playing until she rejected it and it was stopped.
Whenever the wind lifted the curtain slightly, she would peer through the gap to see if she could recognize the person in the room. But by the time he reached the end of the chapter (*sura*), the recitation stopped abruptly, the light inside the room dimmed further, and she discovered nothing.
She found herself letting out a hiss, feeling her irritation rise. The hatred she felt for people like Hakeem doubled. He—or rather, *they*—were the reason. Otherwise, she was certain there was no way the Sultane would place someone next to her without her knowledge.
She turned and went back inside, only then realizing how much time she had wasted. She didn't even know why she cared so much about seeing who was reciting. She walked back in, drew her curtains shut, and threw herself onto her bed, lying flat on her stomach as she felt her head begin to throb even harder.
She could hear her bedside device informing her that someone was requesting permission to speak with her, but she ignored it until it became too persistent. She picked it up, intending to give whoever it was a harsh warning, but then she heard Birra’s voice filled with humility.
"Forgive me, I beg your pardon. They are asking from the kitchen; they request the favor of you stating what should be prepared for your breakfast today. Yesterday, they didn't get the chance to hear from you." She let out another small hiss. *What kind of food could even go into her stomach today?* Only she knew what she was feeling and how she felt. Every time she remembered that the Sultane had concluded his meeting with Hakeem's parents, she felt a hatred for everyone and everything.
"They shouldn't cook anything, they should just go back to their quarters. Only you, Buhaina, and Bushira have my permission to stay in my quarters," she said, shutting off the device and turning her head aside, deep in thought about the next step she needed to take to stop the Sultane.
Calmly, he withdrew his gaze from where he sat watching her. From the moment she stood there until she left, he had seen her clearly. He had sharp vision just as he had sharp hearing; every time the curtain lifted, he could spot her through the middle of it. Furthermore, all the reciting he had been doing was done completely from memory, without a Quran in his hands.
Lowering one leg from where it was crossed over the other, he let out a shallow breath. He didn't need anyone to tell him... he could see an immense amount of pride in her... in everything about her. The worst trait—the very one that caused Satan to be cast out from the ranks of the angels to become degraded, humiliated, and cursed by Allah.
He never got along with wherever that trait existed, no matter who you were to him.
★ She didn't know how it happened, but she found herself waking up from a long sleep at around two in the afternoon. By then, she began to feel her stomach twisting up. Despite her poor relationship with food, she knew she had to feel hungry today. It had been at least two solid days since she last sat down to eat a proper meal.
She took off her pyjamas and wrapped a towel around her chest over her glowing, radiant skin, highlighting her well-sculpted body and hourglass shape that effortlessly drew men's attention. Even without being told, her skin complexion stood out, whether among pampered children, the wealthy, the sophisticated, or royalty—whenever she walked in, all eyes were on her. She knew the value of her body; she could spend any amount of money to maintain herself and stand out as a complete WOMAN, which was why she became the center of attention wherever she went.
Today, she didn't call for anyone; she prepared her bathwater herself. Standing under the shower, she washed her hair thoroughly with various brands of shampoo, then returned to the mirror to blow-dry and oil it all by herself. She sprayed it with hair mist, and before she was done, she felt completely exhausted, as if she had performed a massive chore. It wasn't her job; her only job was usually to wash her body and apply lotion—but caring for her hair, the clothes she took off or was about to wear, and fixing her nails and feet were things she didn't even know how to do.
Today, she went into her closet herself and picked out an English gown made of a lightweight material, in butter colors with large, bright sky-blue floral patterns.
It fitted snugly from the top around her chest, and opened up widely at the bottom in an umbrella shape. She had bought the dress for two hundred and fifty Euros during a trip they made to the UK—roughly two hundred and ninety thousand Naira—and had never worn it until today, as it had been buried among the mountain of clothes she had never used. The sleeves only reached her forearms. She looked softly beautiful, even though there wasn't a single trace of a smile on her face. She was simply listening closely, waiting to hear from where the Sultane would call her, whether him or Mammina. She was listening out to hear from where the news of her marriage would break—a marriage she felt in her soul she wouldn't let some Hakeem possess, even over her dead body.
She slipped her soft feet into a pair of flip-flops that came with the gown, which were also extremely soft. Standing before the dressing mirror, she pulled out her jewelry organizer, took out a small pair of earrings that matched the outfit, and began putting them on her ears.
*DAWISU* (The Peacock) was the name her Mammina would sometimes look at her and call her. Allah had blessed her with a love for cleanliness and adornment; she had such a passion for dressing up that even when she was just sitting at home like this, you would always find her with a moderate amount of adornment suited for the occasion—not too overdone, yet impossible to miss.
Just as she lowered her hand from her ear, her phone, which was almost always on silent, began to light up. She looked over and read Mammina's name flashing across the screen. She felt her knees go weak, not knowing what Mammina was going to tell her, so she pulled up a chair, sat down, and answered the call.
She whispered a greeting in her slender voice, and Mammina answered her, saying:
"Are you alright? I was told since yesterday that you went to bed early, and today I checked your quarters and they said you haven't come down yet. You even said no one should cook anything... so what have you eaten from yesterday until today?" She took a breath and closed her eyes before opening them.
"I don't feel like having anything, Mammina... food is not what I need right now." Mammina went quiet for a moment, listening to her, which gave Akhnan the opportunity to ask further.
"What is the situation, Mammina... I feel like my time is running out." It seemed as though Mammina wasn't going to speak, but then she said quietly:
