CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: LIKITA

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The minute Asma'u stepped back into the confines of her room, she found her fingers quivering. Her breathing turned laboured, each one coming slower than the last as she gripped her chest in a tight vise. A few tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Had...had she failed her sister? How hadn't she noticed what Rayyana had been going through All this time? The room suddenly tilted.

Asma'u stumbled backwards, her palm slamming against the wall behind her for support as dizziness swept through her. Her knees gave way beneath her before she could steady herself, and her body slid down the cold wall, hitting the cold floor with a soft thud. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, but no matter how hard she tried to pull in a proper breath, her lungs refused to cooperate.

"Rayyana," she whispered, though the name barely made it past her lips. "I've failed... I've failed you." She shook her head, the words falling from her tongue heavily as if saying them enough times would somehow make everything inside her make sense. "Forgive me, forgive me Rayyan—" The room around her was silent, painfully silent, yet her mind was anything but. Images of her sister lying cold in bed, her room stained with blood, flashed repeatedly through her mind. Asma'u squeezed her eyes shut, but it did nothing.

The images remained, pressing harder and harder against her thoughts until her stomach twisted and nausea climbed up her throat. Rayyana had been so depressed that she had resorted to self-harm, and Asma'u had failed to see it. Failed to protect her as an elder sister. The thought crushed her and along with it came a strained gasp.

It was unfortunate.

One would say she and her sister had gone through the same thing, except Asma'u had had her virginity forcefully taken from her, while Rayyana had been a victim of a vulnerable moment.

Sniffling, she wiped away the few tears that had escaped. She swallowed, carefully regulating her breathing before getting back on shaky feet. There was no time for tears, nor breakdowns. She quickly moved to the small wooden desk in the corner of her room where all her files and documents sat. She pulled out the chair and sat down before unfolding her MacBook. The light from the screen reflected in her irises as it booted up.

Mahmud Gidado. Mahmud Gidado.

What could she dig up on him? What could she find out about him? Her fingers began typing furiously across the keyboard, her back bent over the desk as she went through every piece of information she could find. Statistics, names, dates, connections, everything went through her head. And so, for the next few hours, Asma'u spent the entire night learning about the Gidado family, Masu Sarautan Sakwatto, and every detail she could find about their family members.

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DARUL HAYAT SPECIALIST HOSPITAL. 

They rushed her through the doors of the emergency hallway on a stretcher, doctors and nurses moving alongside Hassan. "Sannu, Hajia," he muttered, his heart pounding incredibly hard, sweat pooling at his hairline. "Sannu, kin ji?" His voice came out strained, his fingers wrapped tightly around her palm.

"Hassan..." A frail voice came. "I'm here, I'm right here, Hajia." His palm wiped the beads of sweat that remained on her cheek. "Don't you worry, okay? You'll be fine. Just stay strong, kinji?"

The stretcher was moving faster now. "Sir, we're going to need you to back up. We understand that this is a very difficult moment for you, but we need to take her into surgery." A doctor in a mask spoke, using his palm covered in blue gloves to gently hold him back.

"Likita, Dan Allah, don't let her die." He gripped onto the doctor's shoulders, fingers tightening against the fabric of his scrubs, scared to let go. "Please, I'll do anything," he begged. "Dan Allah..."

"We'll do our best." The doctor's voice remained calm, even with the chaos around them. "But the treatment she's been receiving at home hasn't been enough. With her condition, especially with the cancer and the problems with her kidneys, she needed proper medical care. You shouldn't have managed this at home alone."

Hassan shook his head. "I tried...to reason with her. She insisted on a home doctor." He swallowed hard. "It was my mistake. I tried to convince her, but..." His voice faltered, the guilt weighing heavily on every word. "I shouldn't have listened to her."

The doctor only nodded. "We'll do our best. But we can't promise anything." He spoke before disappearing through the doors. "Hassan," a gruff tone came from behind. "Kar ka ji komai. Don't worry." Lawal emerged from amongst the blurred figures standing in the hallway, his hand settling on Hassan's shoulder. Hassan barely registered the faces around him, or the sound of his friends voice. His eyes fixed on the doors they had taken her through. "Have faith in Allah, kaji? In sha Allah, she'll be fine." Lawal spoke

"It's all my fault, Lawal. It's all my fault." Hassan shook his head, his breathing uneven. "I should have paid more attention. I should have been there during every procedure at home. I should have known something was wrong..." He looked away, blinking rapidly as he tried to hold himself together. "Hassan." Lawal's hands came to rest on his shoulders. "Hold it together. This happened only because Allah has written it. Haka Allah ya ƙaddara. Nothing you would have done could have stopped it—"

"But it wouldn't have reached this stage, it was all my fault, I've been careless—" Hassan's voice rose.

"Kayi addu'a. That's the only thing Hajia needs right now." Lawal said, worried for his friend.

Inside the operating theatre, the strong smell of antiseptic burned through the air as four surgeons leaned over her. The surgical lamp above illuminated her thorax, while the metallic stench of blood hung heavily in the room.

"Pass me the scalpel," the surgeon breathed beneath his mask. The cold tool was pressed into his palm, and he immediately returned his attention to the area he intended to open. "Suction," he said, and a nurse moved immediately, clearing the blood from the surgical site so he could see what he was doing.

"I can't get a clear view. I need more exposure. Retractor." The assistant surgeon grunted, his breathing controlled as his fingers tightened around the instrument while he held the tissue back. He shifted closer, his eyes narrowing behind his mask. "Suction. Apply pressure to the vessel."

The suction tip moved in immediately, clearing the blood pooling over the surgical field, while the assistant pressed down on the bleeding vessel. "Her blood pressure is falling. She's becoming profoundly hypotensive," a nurse said, monitoring the readings on the device.

"How low?" he asked.

"Seventy over forty and dropping."

The surgeon's jaw tightened. "That's not a transient drop. She's losing circulating volume faster than we can replace it. Find the source of the haemorrhage and control it now." His voice was urgent.

"I'm suctioning, but the field is filling faster than I can clear it," one of the surgeons said, his voice strained.

"Then keep the field clear. I need to see what I'm dealing with." He held out his hand. "Clamp."

The instrument was placed into his palm. He leaned closer, his eyes fixed on the blood pooling across the surgical field.

"There. I can see the vessel. Give me the suction and increase the pressure here. We need to get this under control before she decompensates."

He kept his focus on the area he was working on.

"Pressure's still dropping."

His fingers stopped. "Start the massive transfusion protocol. We're not waiting for her to crash."

HOURS LATER...

08:00 PM

Hassan had been pacing the hallways while Lawal sat on a chair, his arms folded across his chest, his back resting against the wall. When the red light above the operating theatre finally turned off, Hassan stopped mid-step. The doors opened.

"Likita. How is she?" He immediately rushed forward, his heart pounding as a bead of sweat trailed down his jawline.

"Her condition was severely critical." The doctor sighed, his stance rigid as he carefully looked between the two friends standing beside each other. "It should have been close to impossible, yet somehow her body pulled through. You're a very lucky man, Mallam Hassan. We were able to stabilise her." Hassan's shoulders sagged in relief. "And fortunately, the tumour has been removed."

His words caused for Hassan to pause, jaw hanging loosely. "Likita..." He swallowed hard. "Are you... are you saying she's cancer-free?" His body tensed, too afraid to hope for the answer.

"Yes," the doctor replied after a brief pause.

Hassan's eyes widened, his lips parting as the word seemed to settle somewhere in his chest. "But that doesn't call for a celebration just yet." The doctor continued, his expression turning strict. "She's still very unstable, and the kidney stone could become a serious issue. We're working on that as well, and we'll continue to monitor her closely. Aside from that, her body is responding to treatment, and she has a fair chance of making it through this." He finished.

Hassan exhaled shakily, only then realising he had been holding his breath. His shoulders sagged, the tension that had kept them rigid finally giving way as he lowered his head and dragged a trembling palm down his face. 

"Alhamdulillah..." His voice broke. He swallowed hard, blinking against the sudden sting in his eyes as he looked towards the ceiling. "Alhamdulillah. Alhamdulillah," he repeated, chest rising and falling unevenly. Beside him, Lawal muttered the same words, his voice low with relief.

"Can I go in and see her now?" Hassan asked.

"She's going to the ICU shortly. Give us about thirty minutes to get her settled, then you can see her. In the meantime, there are still a few documents you need to sign, and the remaining payments will need to be sorted out," the doctor said.

Hassan's mind immediately went to how much he had already spent since coming to the hospital. A total of ten million had been removed from his account. He hadn't spent that much money in a long while. He only nodded in response.

He was led to the lobby, where he filled out all the necessary documents. By then, the world outside had gone dark, and about an hour later, he was taken to the upper lobby. "That's the room, sir," the nurse who had led him said.

He simply nodded, his attention fixed on the door in front of him. Behind him, he could feel Lawal's comforting presence, and he couldn't be more grateful for it. "I'll wait here," Lawal said quietly. Hassan gave him a small nod before taking a deep breath and twisting the handle. The moment the door shut behind him, he was enveloped in absolute silence. The soft beeping of a heart monitor was the first sound to greet his ears.

He stopped at the doorway.

His mother lay motionless beneath the thin hospital sheets, an oxygen tube resting beneath her nose. Wires stretched from her chest to the monitor beside the bed, while an IV line disappeared beneath the tape wrapped around her hand. A clear catheter bag hung beside the bed, slowly collecting what little urine her failing kidneys could still produce.

Hassan's steps quickened as he approached her bed. He stopped beside her and sat down, gently taking her hands in his. "Ya Allah..." he whispered, careful not to disturb the IV line inserted into her vein. His eyes moved over her still face before he whispered, "Allahumma Rabban-nāsi, adhhibil-ba'sa, ishfi anta Ash-Shāfī. Lā shifā'an illā shifā'uka, shifā'an lā yughadiru saqaman."

His eyes were warm as he stared at her, his fingers gently stroking her hair. "You'll be fine, Hajia." His Adam's apple bobbed. "I made a promise to myself two years ago, and nothing on this earth will stop me from keeping it." His eyes burned. "You have me, even when everything else fades. And I promise you, I will get you justice. I don't care how long it takes or what it costs me. I will see it done."

He looked away, his gaze settling on the wall as the dark look on his face slowly vanished. "So I need you to stay strong. We've come too far to stop now," he added, his voice softer. Almost on instinct, the hand he held tightened slightly, barely giving his fingers a squeeze.

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Outside, Lawal opened a bottle of water and had barely begun drinking when he saw a figure that almost made him choke. "Laila?" His brows furrowed in confusion as he stood up, all thoughts of the bottle escaping his mind.

Looking at how well-dressed and put-together she was, Lawal had to check the time on the wall clock. Why was she dressed so nicely at such an ungodly hour? Then his eyes fell on the small basket she held. Her expression was one of worry, and her steps quickened. "Laila?" he called just as she came within arm's reach.

She stopped so abruptly that the basket in her hands swung forward. "Lawal, how... how is he? Ya yake?" The words rushed out of her mouth, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Yana ciki?"

"Laila." Lawal's voice was calm, steady enough to halt her rush. "Calm down." His eyes dropped to the basket she held. "Hassan isn't the one who's sick. It's his mother. And what are you doing all the way out here at this hour?" His voice had turned dark, almost possessive. His mind was trying to tell him something, yet his heart refused to accept the possibility.

"Yeah..." She tried to calm herself, breathing in and out through her nose. "Yes, of course. Of course it was his mom... I knew that, right?" She swallowed nervously.

Lawal's brows knitted tighter when the sharp scent of her perfume reached his nostrils. He wanted to ask questions, but instead, he said, "Hassan went in a few hours ago. I fear he won't be leaving his mother's side anytime soon." His eyes remained on her, watching closely for a reaction, while hers stayed fixed on the door.

She visibly deflated. "How is his mother doing? Did the surgery go well?" Her voice sounded a little more enthusiastic, the basket swinging slowly in her arms.

"Hmm. Alhamdulillah, it went well," he forced out, struggling to contain the dark jealousy threatening to spill over.

Almost immediately, Laila's face fell. "It did?"

"Yes." Lawal's gaze remained cold. "He won't be coming out anytime soon," he repeated.

"Okay..." She didn't feel welcomed. "I guess I'll just leave this here then." Her gaze returned to the door, something in her clearly reluctant to leave. "I brought this. For him... I meant for his mother." She tried to hide the stammer. "I'll visit again when I can. Have a good night." She offered a small smile before turning away.

"Hmm," Lawal said again, watching as she slowly turned around. Her steps were slow, almost forced, as though every part of her wanted to turn back. He kept watching until her figure became nothing more than a silhouette before disappearing around the corridor.

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FADA

Papers were stuck to both sides of her cheeks, and drool slowly trailed down her face as she sat twisted in an uncomfortable position in her desk chair. Loud, sharp knocks repeatedly reverberated against her door. Startled, Asma'u woke abruptly, her heart momentarily stopping as she thought the world had come to an end. "Uhhh..." Her eyes were red as she stared through her open curtains. It was still dark, and the time on her MacBook—[05:00 a.m.]—only confirmed it.

She slowly rubbed her eyes, a yawn escaping her lips when another fit of sharp knocks tore through her haze. Her heart truly dropped this time. No one should be knocking on her door in the middle of the night unless there was a serious issue. She rose from her seat, but the knocking only grew louder. "I'm coming, I'm coming." Yet it didn't stop. That only irritated her further. "Na ce ina zuwa—" Her jaw clenched as she ripped open the door.

Fadila's fist halted mid-air. The frightened look on her face made it clear she hadn't expected Asma'u to answer so abruptly. "Gafara nake, Nima rai ki shidade." She bowed, her voice low. "I didn't mean to disturb your peace. Forgive me, but Sarki requested to see you... immediately." She swallowed.

Asma'u's fingers paused on the door. Why would her father possibly want to see her at such an hour? When children were asleep and parents were snoring loudly. "I'll come after sunrise." Her voice was flat, her patience clearly thinning. She gave Fadila a sharp look and started to push the door shut.

"Kiyi hakuri, Hajia." Fadila quickly reached out, her hands hovering near the door as though afraid Asma'u would close it before she could finish. "But I fear the Sultan is very serious about wanting to see you." Her voice faltered. "Whatever the reason might be, he doesn't look pleased. And he said you should meet him immediately."

"That's not possible." Asma'u chuckled dryly. "It's time to pray. He wouldn't miss his prayers simply to see me—"

"Hajia." Fadila's voice came out more frightened this time. "I beg of you, meet the Sultan as soon as you can." With that, she bowed and turned, leaving Asma'u alone with her thoughts.

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Asma'u lathered body wash over her arms, her mind racing through every possible reason her father would want to see her. The last time they had a proper conversation, it had been about "her relationship status." The man was incredibly busy, so summoning her at such an hour made her believe it was serious, especially with the way Fadila had acted. Sighing, she stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in a towel before quickly finding a pink atampa gown in her closet and draping it over her body in haste. Her steps were quick the minute she entered the hallway, her heels clicking sharply and echoing through the empty hall.

She took the elevator, and the moment it arrived at his wing, it pinged. Her back straightened as a chill ran down her spine the minute she stepped into his hallway. The place was devoid of guards or paddawa, which only twisted her stomach into tighter knots. Asma'u slowly regulated her breathing before settling her eyes on his door. "Assalamualaikum," she breathed, the cold air from the chamber brushing against her face.

Her eyes didn't have to search for long. He stood at the far end of the room, staring out through the balcony window, his arms folded behind his back. Looking at her father's physique and the way he stood so intimidatingly only reminded her of who she was standing before. Garba Galadima Abubakar. He seemed little like a father in that moment and more like a man who ruled lands.

She cleared her throat. "Assalamualaikum." She was a little louder this time.

He turned, ever so slowly. The fiery look he shot her way could have made her stumble had she not steadied herself. Shifting away from the doorway, her steps quickened before slowing as she came to a stop before him. "Ina kwana, Baba."

He said nothing. Only stared at her.

She swallowed.

"Asma'u." His gaze remained harsh.

"Na'am—" She gulped.

"Do you want to see everything I have spent years building destroyed because of you?" His voice was low and controlled, but there was something beneath it that made her stomach tighten.

"No—" She shook her head, her brows rising. "I don't understand, Ba—"

"Thirty missed calls. Different agencies, the entire ministry, and governors. I haven't had one peaceful minute of sleep throughout the night." He stepped forward. "And do you know why?" His voice lowered, sending a fresh chill through her bones.

"No—" She was still shaking her head when he began to chuckle quietly, though nothing about the sound carried amusement. "Of course you wouldn't. A video. A video you made has been circulating all over social media for days, with over forty million views. It has reached far beyond the borders of Nigeria—"

"What... what video?" Her brows pulled together, genuine confusion spreading across her face as she searched her mind for an answer. What video could possibly have caused this? What had she done?

Then it clicked.

Her most recent video.

The one where she had addressed the issue of child marriage and called out the bandit group, MASU ZAKI.

Her eyes widened slightly. That?

Why would her father be upset about that? What could she possibly have said that warranted this reaction? The more she thought about it, the less sense it made.

"I see it's finally clicked into your thick skull." His gaze hardened. "You know, I used to think you were smart. I would brag about your intelligence in meetings and trust you enough to handle my business affairs, but I can clearly see that since you returned to Nigeria..." His jaw tightened. "Kin rasa hankalin ki."