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Port Harcourt (December 23rd)
NUR D.S Specialist Hospital, First Floor, Arcade Building, Anyerinxs Street, Port Harcourt. December 23rd...
With terrifying speed, the specialist hospital's ambulance tore into the courtyard of the medical complex. Two black Mercedes-Benz 3600mz 2018 models trailed directly behind it. Before the cars could even park properly, their occupants scrambled out in a state of sheer panic, their hearts gripped by a devastating terror at the prospect of losing the one person none of them could imagine living without.
In a frenzy, they rushed toward the ambulance just as a medical team consisting of male and female nurses and about five doctors swarmed the vehicle. The patient was hurriedly wheeled out. Even on the move, intravenous fluids and blood transfusions were already being administered; a cannula had been inserted inside the ambulance, and emergency injections were being given to counter the massive amount of blood he had vomited.
Overwhelmed by a panic that eclipsed even that of the attending medical staff, the onlookers followed closely. This was, after all, their chief physician and the owner of the hospital lying in such a critical condition. They trailed the gurney up to the entrance of the Private Amenity Emergency ward, where the doors were shut behind the patient. Dr. Ayub turned around briefly in a hurried attempt to offer some reassurance, saying:
"Sorry ma'am, you will have to wait here. And please, calm yourself. Insha Allah, he'll be fine. We will do our absolute best. Just pray for him."
He turned and vanished inside along with two nurses who rushed past carrying theater equipment.
Staggering backward in absolute shock, she burst into hysterical tears. Sufyaan, who was standing beside her, quickly caught her. Summoning every ounce of emotional strength, he managed to choke out:
"Please, Mum, just pray for him."
She let out a fresh wave of sobbing, closing her eyes tightly. "Ya Allah, bring relief to my son and ease this calamity. What an incredibly difficult trial to endure..."
Sufyaan quickly placed a hand over her mouth to silence her, his eyes bloodshot from intense emotional distress.
Turning slowly, he looked to his side just as Jass arrived in a frantic state, his vision blurred by panic. Jass came to a dead stop, frozen by the immense grief radiating from everyone. He looked at Sufyaan’s face, seeing the tears filling his reddened eyes. Instantly, Jass’s knees gave out. He collapsed onto a nearby chair, burying his face in his hands as hot, painful tears streamed down his cheeks.
Sufyaan bowed his head, his own heart growing heavier at the sight of Jass's breakdown. The tears he had been desperately suppressing finally spilled over when he looked up and locked eyes with her.
Aleeya was sitting there. Nana sat right beside her, holding both of her hands, desperately trying to comfort her through her own tears. Nana was terrified that her sister was on the verge of a psychological break; ever since the incident occurred, Aleeya had barely moved, let alone cried. Her eyes were simply bloodshot. Nana would have preferred to see her cry, knowing it would bring relief compared to this catatonic state.
Sufyaan closed his bloodshot eyes, filled with profound pity for ALEEYA. Every single one of them was suffering, but her plight was undoubtedly the worst. Despair and life's harsh upheavals had long since shattered her world. She had said goodbye to happiness a long time ago; not a single drop of joy remained in her life. Anguish, anxiety, tears, pain, and sorrow held absolute dominion over her existence now—or rather, over all of their lives, for they had all long forgotten what happiness or merriment felt like.
In the past, if anyone had suggested that a day would come when they would experience such sorrow, they would have dismissed it instantly. They possessed immense wealth, beauty, education, sophistication, privilege, and a lavish lifestyle. Yet, everything changes.
Even now, they lacked for nothing materially, but it felt as though they had nothing at all because joy and peace of mind were entirely absent. Wealth, beauty, education, status, and sophistication had become utterly useless in their lives. DAWOOD was a vital piece of their existence, and they could not fathom a life without him.
Sufyaan gently placed a hand on Jass's shoulder, nodding in quiet consolation, while his other arm supported Mum, who was still weeping—suffering from a toxic mix of regret, remorse, and the overwhelming maternal dread of losing her only son, her sole source of joy.
They sat in heavy, anxious silence for an entire hour before the doctors finally began to emerge. Mum’s tears had still not stopped; her eyes were heavily swollen, obscuring her vision, and her fair complexion had turned completely flushed.
She lacked the strength to even move when Doctor Jeremy and Dr. Aqeel walked up to them. Seeing that she was about to spiral again, Sufyaan held her tighter, whispering comforting words. Jass stood up, his body trembling slightly; despite being a man, he lacked emotional resilience in crises like this.
Looking at the doctors with bloodshot eyes, Jass asked in a shaking voice, "How is h...?" He couldn't finish the sentence. Choking back a sob, he wiped his face with a handkerchief.
Dr. Aqeel placed a hand on his shoulder, his own face etched with worry. "Keep praying. That is the only thing we can say right now. You and Sufyaan are doctors; you know how unpredictably these things can turn. So please, just keep praying for him, because he truly needs it."
Turning to Mum, the doctors said softly, "We are really sorry, Mrs. Assiddeeq. Prayer is the best thing right now. We hope Allah grants him a quick recovery."
They turned and walked away, their spirits dampened by the profound grief of the family.
The family stood frozen, looking entirely lifeless as Dawood was wheeled out of the emergency room and transferred to a special unit. The doctors filled out charts and completed other formalities before leaving.
Aleeya was the first to stand up. Nana supported her, as Aleeya was too dizzy to walk on her own due to a chronic illness that had plagued her for several years. They made their way toward the room.
Approaching the bedside, her heart pounded violently, and the deep-seated emotional pain she had carried for years multiplied. She wanted to cry but couldn't, leaving her eyes looking hollow and prematurely aged.
She stared down at him, her heart sinking at how drastically the illness had ravaged his body. He was exceptionally handsome, a biracial man of the highest class, but his features had completely changed. His face was gaunt and hollow, dark circles ringed his eyes, and his lips were blackened and parched, looking as though he hadn't tasted water in a decade.
Gently, she whispered his name: "DAWOOD."
She felt her heart echo the very sound of his name. Instantly, her body began to shake, and she struggled to catch her breath.
Nana, standing nearby, wept softly, her heart breaking over the tragedy that had unfolded over the years. Everyone used to live a life of absolute luxury and bliss, but within just five short years, everything had fallen apart. Happiness had become a relic of the past, replaced entirely by an endless cycle of tears and sickness.
Mum slowly entered the room, leaning on Jass for support, with Sufyaan trailing closely behind them.
One look at Mum would evoke deep pity. She had withered away in a remarkably short period, and old age was rapidly catching up to her despite her youthful history. She had grown gaunt and dark. Looking at her now, no one would believe she was Madame Farah, the famous Mrs. Assiddeeq Damien whose face regularly graced the covers of fashion magazines, and the CEO of a vast fashion empire in Miami.
She once possessed beauty, luxury, style, prestige, and immense wealth. Above all, she was the mother who raised the youngest multi-billionaire physician, DR. DAWOOD ASSIDDEEQ DAUDA, who, alongside his circle of friends, had once dominated their era without rival. Yet today, all of that was gone, because they had been blind to the destiny Allah had mapped out for them.
The room fell into a deathly silence. Everyone stared with grief-stricken eyes at Dawood, who hovered precariously between life and death, entirely oblivious to those standing over him.
They remained there for a long time until two nurses entered alongside Dr. Shuan Lee, a Chinese physician, who politely asked them to step out.
With heavy hearts, they left the room. Sufyaan and Jass retreated to the car, recognizing that Jass desperately needed a private space to weep freely. Sufyaan wanted to cry too, but the heavy burden of responsibility weighing on his chest kept his tears locked away.
Choking on his sobs, Jass said, "Yaan, I don't know how to describe a life without you guys. I have no one left but you, and you have no one but us. We were enjoying our lives, and then everything changed. We lost Maska, and his absence shattered our world so deeply that it has never recovered. And now, Dawood..."
Sufyaan closed his eyes tightly and quickly embraced Jass, feeling his friend's agonizing sobs deep within his own soul. The bond between the four of them—DAWOOD, SUFYAAN, JASSPER, and HAYDAR MASKA—was a profound affection woven into their very blood by Allah. Jass was the most emotionally fragile among them, which was why they had always fiercely protected and pitied him.
Jass wept uncontrollably. Despite Sufyaan’s usual stoicism, his resolve finally crumbled, and they held each other, weeping until their hearts felt entirely broken.
Meanwhile, upon leaving the room, Aleeya slowly walked toward the reception area, searched for a chair, and sat down.
Raising her head slightly, she fixed her gaze on the large white glass sign bearing the hospital's name, wrapping her arms around her body, which began to tremble—a physical reaction that occurred whenever she encountered anything related to...
Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she buried her face deeper into her knees. From the trembling of that touch, she knew exactly who it was.
Mum sat down next to her, staring at her intently. She recalled the beautiful face and bright white eyes Aleeya once possessed, contrasting it with how severely she had withered away.
ALEEYA was once a beautiful young woman who had enjoyed the pinnacle of luxury, wealth, beauty, high class, elegance, and wit. Yet, destiny and the agonizing torment of LOVE had completely upended her life, altering her appearance so drastically that she now looked like an elderly, weary grandmother, barely uttering more than two or three words at a time.
Tears of profound pity for Aleeya rolled down Mum's cheeks. If her own son was enduring the agony of physical illness, Aleeya was suffering an identical torment consuming her mind and soul. Mental anguish was far more destructive than physical pain, even though Dawood's survival was now entirely up to Divine intervention. Realizing that everyone around her was trapped in this nightmare, Mum muttered aloud a name belonging to someone experiencing a pain far worse than any of theirs:
"WHERE ARE YOU, NUR...?"
The utterance of those words brought a fresh torrent of tears from her eyes. Hearing Mum's words, Aleeya slowly raised her head and stared at the hospital sign once more—the first time in years that tears actually spilled from her eyes.
She wept silently and uncontrollably. She closed her eyes, making no effort to wipe the tears away, knowing with absolute certainty that weeping would neither ease her burden nor lessen the agonizing weight Allah had placed on her heart—a weight she would carry until her very last breath.
With great effort, Mum spoke: "I pray for relief and a resolution to all our sorrows. May Allah grant everyone the strength to endure their trials, for our tribulation is one and the same. If Allah takes Dawood's life..." She trailed off, wiping her heavily swollen eyes, which were recessed deep into her gaunt face.
Without speaking a word, Aleeya raised her head for the third time, staring intently at the name of the specialist medical facility: NUR D.S SPECIALIST.
She closed her eyes again, and a fresh wave of burning tears rolled down her cheeks—tears born from the absolute depths of her shattered heart.
Part 2: Adamawa (April 22nd)
Laye Street, Adamawa. April 22nd.
They were Tuaregs (Buzaye), the type often reduced to begging for alms due to extreme poverty. Deep grime had stained their skin, but from their fine hair and the lingering lightness of their complexions, one could easily discern their Tuareg heritage.
They lived inside the ruins of an abandoned factory building that had stood uncompleted for years, showing advanced signs of decay and structural collapse, despite being constructed from durable cement. The sheer five-story height of the building did not intimidate them; it was their only sanctuary. They had no other place to call home and had no idea what would become of their lives if the building's rightful owner ever showed up to evict them.
Slowly, an elderly man who had been bedridden with illness for two years forced his eyes open, casting a weak gaze upon her.
She was sitting right beside him, resting her head on her knees, staring blankly at the ground. He knew that even if they sat like this until morning, she would not utter more than two or three words. "Father, welcome... how is your body?... do you need anything?" These were the only phrases he ever heard her speak. It was her daily vocabulary, unless she was speaking to her younger brother, the only other soul she had left in the world. Even then, her interaction with him was devoid of laughter or animated play; it consisted solely of a faint, quiet smile.
In all his years, the old man had never encountered anyone with a temperament quite like his daughter's. She was introverted to a degree that defied comprehension. Back when he was healthy, he had desperately sought medical and spiritual remedies for her, operating under the assumption that she suffered from some hidden ailment, simply because her life lacked any vitality, noise, or youthful energy.
She never laughed; she only smiled. From the day she entered this world to her current adulthood, neither he nor anyone else had ever witnessed her laugh out loud. Her expressions were limited to rare smiles, though her face never looked inherently stern or unwelcoming. Furthermore, she never looked at anything twice; she would glance at an object or person once and immediately avert her eyes—a deeply ingrained trait woven into her very bloodlines. When it came to speech, anyone interacting with her needed immense patience; she never spoke unless absolutely forced to, and even then, her responses were incredibly brief. The sheer coldness and soft, detached tone of her voice were enough to frustrate anyone, making them think she simply resented having to answer.
They were incredibly poor—essentially destitute beggars. However, it had been two full years since they last went out to beg, ever since the father became completely bedridden with an undiagnosed illness they couldn't afford to treat at a hospital. They relied entirely on her younger brother, BILAL, who went out to beg alongside the other Tuareg families living in the ruins, bringing back whatever food he could secure. On some days, they fasted through the day and night without a single morsel of food.
This was because she suffered from a crippling fear of people, leaving her entirely incapable of stepping outside. This agoraphobia had defined her even before their mother passed away within these ruins while giving birth to Bilal. She and her father had raised the boy since she was only eight years old. Now seven, Bilal possessed far more drive to secure their survival than she did; being a beautiful, endearing child, he easily elicited charity from strangers and would immediately return home with his spoils.
Sometimes, the father himself would ask if she was in pain or sick, bewildered by the peculiar nature of her existence, until he finally accepted that this was simply how Allah had fashioned her.
She was stunningly fair-skinned—a pure Tuareg beauty seamlessly blended with the rich, beautiful dark undertones inherited from her Hausa mother. Her father was a pure Tuareg, while her late mother was Hausa. Her beauty was an extraordinary genetic fusion of both heritages, though she inherited the vast majority of her physical traits from the Tuareg side.
They possessed no decent clothing whatsoever; she merely rotated through a meager collection of old clothes, including garments left behind by her late mother.
Because her striking beauty constantly drew unwanted stares from men, she kept her body and face completely enveloped in an old, black lafaya cloth left behind by her mother. Ironically, the stark black fabric only served to accentuate her radiant beauty, even though severe deprivation and hunger had masked more than half of her natural splendor.
Around her ankle, she wore a beautiful anklet crafted from raw, dark silver. It had originally been given as her mother's dowry and remained on her mother's leg until the day she died, after which she inherited it. Wherever she walked, the distinctive metallic chime of the anklet echoed through the air—a sound that frequently captured the attention of local men. She also wore a matching bracelet on her wrist. She never removed these pieces of jewelry, nor did she ever intend to, resolving that they would only be stripped from her body upon her own death.
Whenever she walked past and the anklet chimed, her father was painfully reminded of his late wife, as his daughter mirrored her mother in every conceivable way. Until her dying day, his wife had never looked him in the eye for more than three minutes, restricting her speech to brief agreements or denials whenever he spoke.
The old man let out a soft sigh, his heart overflowing with pity for his children. He knew that if he passed away, they would have no guardian or support system. This reality tortured his mind daily, especially since she was still just a fifteen-year-old child, entirely unequipped to face the harsh realities of the world—though he could not foresee what destiny had in store for her.
In an incredibly soft, weary voice, he called out: "NUR..."
Slowly, she raised her head, locking her large, bright eyes onto him before quietly averting her gaze. "Father, do you want something?"
He shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. Watching him, she closed her eyes, feeling a sharp pang of emotional agony in her soul, though she had no idea how to express it. Without looking back at him, she whispered, "Forgive me, Father."
He closed his eyes tightly as tears spilled down his face. A bitter, agonizing pain consumed his heart, but there was no use in voicing it, for expression would change nothing.
A heavy silence settled over them. Her eyes turned bloodshot as she slowly stood up and stepped out of the hollow office space they called a bedroom.
She walked slowly to the edge of the doorway and sat down, watching as their housemates returned from begging. There were about four women, each accompanied by their children and husbands, though the men quickly dispersed. One of the women was a widow.
Seeing them approach, she lowered her head and murmured softly, "Welcome back."
The women didn't even glance her way, walking right past her as they eagerly unpacked the items they had scavenged.
Closing her eyes, she felt a profound wave of self-pity over how useless Allah had made her, as she often told herself, before whispering in a detached voice:
"Astagfirullah (I seek forgiveness from Allah)..."
Part 3: The Parallel (Aleeya's Flashback/Alternate Timeline)
It was a magnificent mansion equipped with every imaginable luxury, secured by an extensive deployment of guards and security personnel.
She was lying inside a luxurious bed within her bedroom, where everything was styled in shades of blue—her absolute favorite color.
Suddenly, she jolted awake in terror from a recurring nightmare. If familiarity brought comfort, she ought to have been used to it by now, as she had experienced this exact dream almost every single night since reaching self-awareness.
Clutching her forehead, she reached out and pulled off her nightcap, using it to wipe away the cold sweat pouring down her face.
Why did she have to dream the exact same dream every single night? A dream where she and another girl—whose face she could never see—wept hysterically until they literally vomited blood. The intense, shared grief they experienced in the dream made her feel a profound sense of love and pity for this faceless girl, whoever she might be.
"ALEEYA..."
She heard her name being called. Turning quickly toward the door, she spotted her mother (Ammy). She let out a soft sigh of relief, climbed out of bed, walked slowly toward her mother, and wrapped her arms around her without saying a word.
Her mother remained silent, having grown accustomed to this peculiar, reclusive behavior from Aleeya, even though Aleeya could never bring herself to explain the nature of her nightly nightmares.
Gently pulling Aleeya away to look at her, her mother asked, "Aleeya, are you neglecting your prayers lately?"
Shaking her head, on the verge of tears, Aleeya replied, "Ammy, I swear to God I pray every single day."
"Alright, I hear you. Even so, I will speak to Malam Halilu so he can review the Hisnul Muslim (Fortress of the Muslim) invocations with you from the beginning."
Aleeya let out a small laugh. "Oh, Ammy, from the beginning? What's wrong with starting from the middle?"
"We are starting from the beginning. Now, that's not why I came in. Your father is heading out to inspect an old building project of his—the very project that brought him to this city. I also need to go out to visit Aunt Nana's house and Hajiya Zaarah's house, since I expect we might pack up and leave as soon as he finishes his business here. Therefore, get dressed so we can go to Aunt Nana’s house."
Contorting her face into a pout, she whined, "Ammy, I want to go with Dad. I don't want to go to Aunt Nana's house because Siyama and the others do nothing but gossip about boys all day. I don't like it."
Her mother’s eyes widened in shock and concern at Aleeya's revelation. After all, how old were those girls to already be gossiping about boyfriends? She certainly did not want Aleeya associating with Siyama and her crowd. She resolved to have a serious talk with Aunt Nana so she could discipline her daughters. Aleeya was only fifteen years old, and her mother refused to let her mind be corrupted by such mature matters.
Letting out a sigh of relief, the mother said, "Yes, I think it's better you accompany your father, since you've always preferred going out with him anyway."
Overjoyed, Aleeya jumped out of bed and rushed into the bathroom, calling out:
"I can feel it in my bones, Ammy... today is going to be a special day!"
Part 4: New Jersey (January 3rd)
Block 43, Dr. Dawood Assiddeeq's Apartment, Camilleo Street, Famenjs, New Jersey. January 3rd.
Clad only in a white towel around his waist, he stepped out of the bathroom of his ultra-luxurious, exquisitely designed bedroom. His fair skin and chiseled, athletic physique—the hallmark of a powerful man shaped by absolute luxury—radiated a healthy glow.
Stopping in front of the vanity mirror, he began to dry his damp hair with a small towel. Suddenly, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind. He closed his large, bright, oil-glossed eyes, tilted his head back, and stared at her reflection through the mirror.
She flashed a seductive smile. Her intense love for him—and her desperate craving to possess him completely over and over again—consumed her senses. She stepped around to face him, gently running her hands across his broad chest in a highly provocative manner.
He raised a single eyebrow, quietly tracking the movement of her hand as a calculated, dangerously charming smile spread across his lips.
Without warning, she slipped her hand beneath his towel...
2. Summary
The narrative functions as a sweeping, non-linear family melodrama operating across three distinct timelines and geographic locations (Port Harcourt, Adamawa, and New Jersey), focusing on a catastrophic fall from grace.
- The Present Tragedy (Port Harcourt): Dr. Dawood Assiddeeq Dauda, a brilliant, multi-billionaire biracial physician and hospital owner, is rushed to his own facility in critical condition, vomiting blood and hovering between life and death. His elite family—including his mother (Madame Farah, a Miami fashion mogul) and his close circle of elite doctor friends (Sufyaan and Jass)—is entirely broken by grief, grappling with a mysterious, decade-long curse or destiny that has systematically destroyed their extreme wealth, happiness, and peace. Alongside them is Aleeya, a once-vibrant heiress now reduced to a trauma-induced, catatonic state due to the agonizing consequences of "love."
- The Parallel Hermit (Adamawa): In stark contrast, a fifteen-year-old pure Tuareg/Hausa girl named Nur lives in absolute squalor within a ruined five-story factory. She is profoundly introverted, mute-adjacent, and harbors a crippling phobia of human contact. She cares for her bedridden father and her seven-year-old brother, Bilal, who begs for their survival. Nur is defined by a mysterious family heirloom—a dark silver anklet that chimes with every step.
The Flashbacks/Origin (Kano/New Jersey): The story flashes back to a time when a fifteen-year-old Aleeya lived a highly privileged, sheltered life with her parents, plagued by a nightly recurring nightmare of her and a faceless girl vomiting blood together. It also flashes back to a peak era of luxury in New Jersey, where a healthy, physically imposing Dr. Dawood is depicted navigating a highly charged, seductive encounter in his apartment.
3. Description and Analysis
- Literary Genre and Style: Written by popular contemporary author Mamuhgee, this text is a classic example of high-tier modern Hausa web fiction (Hausa Novels). It blends elements of psychological melodrama, medical romance, and magical realism/intertwined destinies. The style utilizes intense emotional adjectives, code-switching between Hausa and medical/luxury English terms, and rapid spatial transitions to build suspense.
- The Core Theme (The Illusion of Wealth vs. Destiny/Qaddara): The text centers heavily on the Islamic and cultural concept of Qaddara (Destiny/Divine Trial). The author sets up an extreme juxtaposition: Dawood’s family possesses the pinnacle of global luxury (Miami fashion empires, New Jersey luxury apartments, billions in wealth, supreme physical beauty), yet none of it can buy peace of mind or health. The narrative asserts that they are all paying the price for an unknown, predetermined fate.
- The Motif of the "Doppelgänger Soul" and the Nightmares: There is an explicit spiritual or psychological link between Aleeya and Nur.
- In the flashback, young Aleeya dreams of weeping and vomiting blood with a faceless girl.
- In the present timeline, Dawood is admitted to the hospital literally vomiting blood, while his mother invokes the name "NUR" aloud at the hospital entrance, causing the silent Aleeya to weep for the first time in years.
- The hospital itself is named NUR D.S Specialist, creating a triangular mystery connecting Dawood, Aleeya, and the impoverished Tuareg girl, Nur.
- Characterization through Textures and Sounds: The author uses brilliant sensory markers to define her characters:
- Dawood is framed through descriptions of hyper-masculinity, fair skin, and oily, bright eyes.
- Aleeya is framed through her transition from a vibrant, blue-loving pampered teenager to a gaunt, prematurely aged woman silenced by trauma.
- Nur is characterized entirely by her silence, her protective black wrap (lafaya), and the auditory chime of her dark silver anklet, which acts as a siren song to the outside world despite her severe agoraphobia.
