WAWIYA

꧁❦꧂

The tires finally came to a gentle stop on the pavement a few blocks away from the Fada. The rain was still coming down heavily, droplets striking the windshield in a steady rhythm. Hassan slowly turned the key in the ignition and switched off the headlights, leaving the car in darkness, save for the warm glow of the interior light.

He turned towards her and stretched out his hand, intending to wake her, but his fingers froze mid air. She looked so peaceful. So calm. There wasn't a single trace of worry on her face. She slept with a faint softness to her face that made it seem as though she had forgotten the world for a little while. It was such a contrast to the woman who had broken down in the washroom only hours ago, and a part of him, a strange possessive part of him wanted to keep her exactly as she was, in this moment, asleep and untouched by everything waiting outside.

But another part of him knew the woman he had met tonight. She was stronger than what happened. Strong enough to face whatever came next, and strong enough to overcome it.

He took a deep breath, and even that sounded shaky. Taking one last look at her, he memorised every detail he could before finally clearing his throat."Hajia..." His voice was rough, just loud enough to reach her. "Asma'u..." he called a little louder, and somehow even her name rolled beautifully off his tongue.

"We're here, Hajia," he said as her lashes began to flutter and a small yawn escaped her lips. Asma'u's brows drew together as she sat up, her eyes slowly taking in her surroundings, trying to make sense of where she was. It took a moment before everything seemed to click, and then her eyes fell on him.

She was in the car.

With Hassan.

"Oh..." she murmured, sitting a little straighter in her seat as she stretched her legs. "That w—" A yawn interrupted her. She covered it with the back of her hand before finishing, "That was fast."She looked out through the window for a moment, then turned back to him, she was quiet for a minute before she said. "Thank you."

Hassan had a feeling she wasn't thanking him for the drive alone. He simply nodded, accepting the words without asking her to explain them."How... how are you going to get home?" she asked quietly, her head tilting until it rested against the seat.

"I know someone. He's a friend of mine, a taxi driver. He's often out until two in the morning, so I already called him. He'll be here in a few minutes," he said, trying to look anywhere but at her. 

He swallowed, his hand still resting on the steering wheel. There was something about sitting this close to her, alone in the quiet warmth of the car, that made him suddenly too aware of her presence. After everything that had happened tonight, the silence between them felt different now. He shifted slightly in his seat, as though that might help, but it didn't.

"Hmm." Asma'u nodded. And just like that, they fell quiet again, listening to the steady sound of rain drumming softly against the roof of the car.

Hassan's hand came up to the radio controls. Asma'u's eyes followed his movements, curious about what he was about to do. She didn't have to wonder for long. The soft voice of a reciter soon drifted through the speakers.

The Qur'an filled the car, its gentle recitation settling into the quiet around them, easing something in the atmosphere that neither of them had thought to name. "It'll calm you down," he said softly.

Asma'u stared at him, momentarily lost for words, before turning her head away with a dry chuckle. Somewhere deep in her heart, she had a feeling he hadn't done it to embarrass her or shame her for singing. She felt like he actually... cared.

For a long moment, neither of them did anything but sit there and listen to the recitation filling the car. Then, a small green car rolled to a stop a few feet away from them, its engine rumbling loud under the sound of the rain.

"Is that your—"

"That's—"

They both spoke at the same time.

"So... you're leaving now?" she asked, only to immediately press her lips together when she realized how needy the question had sounded.

"I guess I am..." Hassan answered, eyes almost amused, his body turning slightly towards her. "I have to." He added and Asma'u thought she was going crazy. There was something about the way he said it, so reverently, almost as though the words were intended to console her, which only made her chest tighten.

She nodded, swallowing back whatever foolish emotions the man beside her was stirring in her. Her eyes remained fixed on the windshield as she reminded herself, again and again, of who he was. Hassan. Her mother's tailor. A tailor. A man she shouldn't have laughed this much with, leaned into his touch, or found herself memorising the cheap scent of his cologne.

Except after tonight, he no longer felt like just that Hassan. Somewhere between the bathroom floor, the quiet ride home, and all the little things he had done tonight without asking for anything in return, he had begun to feel like someone she had known forever.

But worse, he felt like someone she could trust.

"You'll be alright." His voice broke through her thoughts, gentle but certain. "Won't you?"

"I will." Her voice came out just as quiet. "Thanks to you." There was something unusually open in the way she said it, and Hassan's expression softened. "I might have been there with you, but you were the one strong enough to pull yourself out, it was all you." There was unmistakable pride in his face as he said it.

Asma'u looked at him for a moment. "How did you learn that? The 5-4-3-2-1 method?" she clarified.

Hassan wasn't sure whether he should tell her, but after everything she had shared with him tonight, he found himself wanting to give her a small piece of himself too. "My mother... she used to have episodes like that. Seizure-like episodes, and panic attacks."

"Oh..." Something in Asma'u's expression changed. "How is she doing now?"

"Alhamdulillah." And Hassan left it at that.

They both sat there in silence again, almost as though neither of them was willing for the night to come to an end just yet. After a moment, Hassan reached into the pocket of his babban riga and brought out her cracked iPhone. He didn't hand it back to her. Instead, he opened the centre console and carefully placed it inside.

"What are you doing?" Asma'u asked, her voice carrying a quiet confusion. Her brows drew together, and she shifted slightly in her seat as she watched him.

"I don't want you looking at it. I mean, You don't have to look at it, or touch it," he said. There was something firm in his voice, almost commanding, but it came from a place that felt strangely protective rather than controlling.

"At least not for tonight." He closed the console before turning his gaze back to her. "Only look at it when you're ready to."

His voice had lowered by the end, steady and certain, leaving no room for argument. Not because he intended to control what she did, or even had the right to but because, for tonight, he wanted to give her permission to leave the world alone.

And he had watched from afar how her body had convulsed when she had stared at the phone. He didn't know what she had seen, but he knew it was enough to cause whatever had happened to happen tonight.

The taxi beside them honked a few times, the sound cutting through the quiet that had settled inside the car. Hassan glanced towards it and let out an audible sigh, his eyes lingering on Asma'u for a moment longer before he finally looked away.

"That's my cue," he said, a faint smile touching his lips. He turned towards the door, then looked back at her. "Rest well, Hajia."

There was something almost reluctant in the way he said it, as though he wasn't quite ready to leave either. He reached for the door and pulled it open, and immediately the sound of the rain grew louder, no longer softened by the closed windows. Cool air slipped into the car.

Hassan had barely begun to step out when—

"Hassan..."

Asma'u's voice reached for him.

He stopped, one foot still inside the car, and turned back towards her.

Her lips parted, but for a moment, nothing came out. A few droplets of rain had already landed on his shoulder and darkened the fabric of his babban riga, but he didn't seem to bother. He simply waited, his eyes on hers.

"Thank you," she finally breathed. And the way she said it made the two words feel like they meant far more than they possibly could.

Hassan gave her a small smile before finally stepping out of the car. Asma'u watched him hurry through the rain towards the waiting taxi, open the door, and disappear inside. She watched until the car pulled away and its taillights slowly disappeared into the rainy night.

Asma'u sighed before moving out of the passenger seat and scooting over to the driver's side. She placed both hands on the steering wheel, and for a little while, she simply sat there. The soft recitation still playing in the background reminded her of everything that had happened since Hassan had shown up. The bathroom. The drive home. His hand around her waist. His voice. His quietness. The way he had stayed.

A permanent frown settled between her brows as she switched on the headlights and slowly drove towards the palace gates. When the gates opened for her and she drove inside, her mind only grew louder.

What had she been doing?

How had they gone from her shouting at him during their first meeting to this? To laughing with him, talking to him, becoming so stupidly soft around him?

Asma'u blamed it on the panic attack. It had to be that. She had been vulnerable, exhausted and shaken, and Hassan had simply been there. Anyone would have felt attached after something like that.

Her thoughts drifted back to what he had said about his mother, and something in her expression shifted. If anything, tonight had only made her realise that Hassan carried far more baggage than he let on. And one thing Asma'u couldn't afford was more trouble on her plate.

The light in the women's section was out the moment she opened the door. She had no doubt everyone, including the remaining visitors, had already retired to their rooms. Asma'u hissed softly, pulling the dankwalli from her head before massaging her temples.

She lowered herself to remove her Louboutin heels next, carrying her shoes in one hand and her bag in the other as she made her way to the elevator. It pinged softly when it reached her floor, and she stepped into the dimly lit hallway. Asma'u padded towards her chambers, too exhausted to think about anything else.

The minute she stepped inside, she made her way straight to the shower.

She stripped off the heavy gold jewellery, the purple anko, and everything else before stepping beneath the warm shower spray, washing away the scent of floral jasmine and khumrah.

Hey... Stay with me.

Focus on my voice. My voice, okay?

You're almost there.

Because I see you.

And the woman I see right now could never be dirty in my eyes.

His voice was still so clear in her mind, each word lingering as though he had said them only moments ago. Everything about him tonight had somehow found its way into her memory, his scent, his touch, his patience, the steadiness of his voice. Every little thing was deeply engraved there.

Asma'u groaned, tipping her head back beneath the water as though she could somehow wash the thoughts away with it.

It didn't work.

She needed him out of her system.

She eventually stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a bathrobe before making her way to the vanity. Sitting down, she reached for her skincare products and began applying them one after another, her mind still stubbornly returning to the same person.

You're special.

She heard his voice again as she slowly massaged her serum into her skin.

You have a nice voice.

Asma'u's fingers trembled slightly, her brain refusing to let go of the words. "Come on, Asma'u.  You're joking. It can't be that easy to impress you," she scolded herself through the mirror."Remember who you are. Remember. Kinji?" She pointed at her reflection, a frustrated sigh leaving her lips. She almost reached for her phone to check her Instagram before remembering it was still in the car.

Her expression darkened as the memory of the video returned, the same video that had set off the chain of events that had turned into this horrible night. Whoever had sent it, Asma'u swore she would find them. Trace them. Make them pay.

She had a few years of training in cybersecurity herself, and she had dealt with exactly these kinds of situations before. And then there was Jasmine, her friend abroad, who studied law. She would reach out to her. If someone thought they could hurt her and simply disappear, they were about to learn otherwise.

After applying the rest of her skincare products, she changed into her nightwear and settled onto her bed. She adjusted the air conditioner, and the quiet hum of it instantly brought a little calm to the room. Pulling the duvet over herself, she rested her head against her silk pillow and let her gaze linger on the window.

A few birds flew past in the distance, their silhouettes disappearing between the trees as the branches swayed gently in the night breeze. Asma'u's chest slowly rose and fell, the tension in her body finally beginning to loosen.

Her eyes grew heavier, her lashes fluttering once before finally falling closed.

꧁❦꧂

The next morning.

Rays of sunshine spilled through the curtains. A soft sigh, followed by a groan, left Asma'u's lips as she removed the eye mask she had placed over her eyes at the last minute. Her feet met the cold marble as she made her way to the bathroom, where she took a long, refreshing shower before tidying herself up and padding into her walk-in closet.

Today, she chose something simple. She had no plans to leave the house, and honestly, she had no desire to. Her eyes scanned the rows of fabrics before settling on a dark brown adire gown sitting amidst the burst of colours in her closet. She pulled it from the rack and slipped it over her body.

With one thought on her mind.

She needed to check on Rayyana.

Making her way out of her room and into the corridor, the first thing that greeted Asma'u was the sound of the maids cleaning. Some moved around with vacuums while others preferred tsintsiya, sweeping the floors in steady strokes.

"Fadila." She stopped the girl carrying a tray in her arms, no doubt on her way to serve breakfast in her room. Fadila paused immediately, her head dipping slightly. "Have you seen Rayyana?" Asma'u asked.

"A'a, Hajia." The girl shook her head. "She hasn't been in her room since last Friday." Her words deepened the frown on Asma'u's face, her thoughts immediately beginning to run in every direction. A quiet worry settled in her chest, but she pushed it aside for now.

"Okay, ba damuwa. You can take that back into the kitchen," she instructed and Fadila nodded without question and turned to leave, while Asma'u remained where she was for a moment, her mind already on Rayyana.

꧁❦꧂

OUTSIDE

In a garden where bursts of red roses and yellow sunflowers bloomed, a man in a familiar uniform sat on the small swing beside a row of potted clay plants. The morning air was cool and calm, carrying the faint scent of flowers through the garden.

His head was tilted towards the sky, yet his eyes remained closed, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the clay brick beside him. For a while, he seemed completely lost in the quiet.

"Kande." His voice cut cleanly through the stillness, a low rumble beneath the calm, even though his eyes never opened.

The woman, who had every intention of tiptoeing her way past him, froze like a deer caught in headlights. On shaky legs, she swallowed a gulp, her hands wiping furiously against her black hijab, which was stained with stew and flour from spending too long in the kitchen. "Ina kwana, General," she said after coming to a stop before him.

The man didn't bother opening his eyes. His body swayed back and forth on the swing, his fingers continuing their familiar tapping, and for a moment, she almost thought he was asleep. "Sit," he finally said.

She shouldn't have delayed. An instruction from General Isyaku wasn't something anyone in their right mind would think of disobeying, unless they had a death wish and fancied seeing their body hung from a tree. No kidding. She had heard the horror stories about how much pleasure he took in punishing bandits, and the measures he used were far from pretty.

Kande's hands twisted and fumbled with the fabric of her hijab, a bead of sweat rolling down her back as her eyes quickly scanned the garden for another swing. Except there was none. So what exactly did he mean by sit? Sit where? On his head? Maybe he was still asleep and speaking in his dreams, she thought. Except, why would he say her name in his dreams? All sorts of questions raced through her mind, and before she could settle on an answer, his left eye opened and fixed itself on her.

"Ina kwana, General!" she said, louder this time the minute his gaze landed on her. "An tashi lafiya? Do you need something? Food?" Her heart felt as though it were threatening to leap out of her chest as she bent at the waist in greeting instead of crouching. There was something in his eyes that made her want to flee, yet somehow, his presence alone kept her rooted to the spot.

He said nothing, only watched her for a moment before scooting towards the end of the swing. It was huge, with more than enough space for two people. "Sit," he said again.

Kande nodded furiously, not needing to be told twice. Except, instead of the swing, she promptly lowered herself onto the floor beside his legs with a loud thud, her head bowed.

His brows immediately furrowed. "Kande?" he called.

"Na'am, General?" she answered.

"Ke wawiya ce?"

"A'a, General." Her voice came out quieter this time, embarrassed.

"Get up," he said.

She instantly did.

"Sit." His eyes moved towards the swing. "On the swing," he added.

"Ae General?" Kande blinked rapidly. "It's like I didn't hear you well. Kasan these days, the heat in the kitchen and the noise tend to affect our hearing." Her words came out in a rush. "I'm starting to think it's affecting my sight too. Maybe I'm the one sleeping." She gave a nervous little laugh, as though that somehow explained why she had just sat on the floor.

"Kande." This time, she heard the army in his voice, that unmistakable tone he used whenever he had no intention of having his words ignored.

"Right." She immediately shut up and climbed onto the swing, settling as far away from him as the space allowed.

"How's your hand?" he asked after a moment of silence.

Because of how rigidly she sat, Kande could almost swear the bones in her back were minutes away from cracking. "This little thing..." she started dismissively, glancing at her hand. "Ai, this is nothing."

"Yau ga ikon Allah." He muttered frustratedly. "That's not what I asked you."

"Right. Hakane." She cleared her throat. "It's healing." Her eyes immediately returned to the garden, silently praying for an angel to descend and save her from this conversation.

"And the kitchen?" he asked. "Are they treating you well there?"

"Yes. Everything is fine. Usual drama here and there." She shifted on the swing, suddenly finding her hijab a little too tight around her neck. "But no one has disturbed me ever since," she added.

"Good," General said. He seemed to sense her discomfort from where he sat. "You can leave."

"Okay." Kande practically sprang to her feet. "Toh, sai da safe, General." She said only to realise how stupid it sounded.