The Crown And Her Shadows

chapter 11

They arrived at Hyba Hospital with sirens blaring, police vehicles clearing the road ahead of them. Umar had ensured that traffic parted within minutes.

As soon as the car stopped, four officers rushed forward and opened the doors. Umar stepped out without acknowledging them. They greeted Iman politely; she responded with a curt nod.

Inside, the hospital atmosphere was tense. The receptionist trembled behind her desk while Umar towered over her.

“Wallahi, tallahi, if you do not tell me where they are, I will make sure this hospital dismisses you. I swear it,” he thundered.

“S-sir, I need to confirm who they are to you. It is hospital policy,” she stammered.

“They are our parents,” Iman said quickly, stepping forward before Umar could react further.

“Room 2… at the end of the hall,” the receptionist whispered.

“Thank you,” Abdullah said calmly.

When they entered the room, two bodies lay still beneath white sheets.

Iman’s breath caught. Her vision blurred. The room tilted.

She collapsed before reaching the ground.

Iman regained consciousness three days later — after the burial, after condolences, after the house had grown unbearably silent.

When she opened her eyes, all her siblings were present except Umar.

Hanifa slept on Halima’s lap. Halima, exhausted and red-eyed, had been reciting the Qur’an. Hanif sat beside Iman’s bed, asleep — unusual for him, as he was normally the one holding her hand whenever she was admitted.

Halima noticed first.

“Hey,” she said softly, setting Hanifa’s head aside and moving closer.

“They’re gone,” Iman whispered.

Halima swallowed. “Insha Allah, they are in a better place.”

“Insha Allah.”

Hanif stirred. “Iman…”

“How are you?” she asked gently.

“Alhamdulillah,” he replied, though his eyes were swollen from crying.

Hanifa woke next. The moment she saw Iman awake, she broke into tears.

Iman pulled her close. “Be strong.”

The doctor entered shortly after.

“Good afternoon. I am Dr. Yusuf. I’ll be overseeing your care until discharge.”

She examined Iman briefly and left with quiet professionalism.

“What would you like to eat?” Halima asked later.

“Lemon and cucumber water.”

Halima handed it over immediately, as if she had expected the request.

Iman drank gratefully. Afterward, Halima placed a tray before her — puff-puff, samosas, meat pies, and sliced fruit.

Iman ate slowly.

A week later, they were back home.

The house felt unfamiliar — too quiet, too heavy. Everyone stayed mostly in their rooms. Iman had not seen Umar since the day she fainted.

At 3:30 p.m., the family lawyer, Mr. Muhammed, arrived. Only Uncle Hassan and Uncle Hussin had been informed beforehand.

They gathered in the parlour.

“Bismillah,” the lawyer began. “As-salamu alaikum. May his soul rest in peace, insha Allah.”

He adjusted his glasses and began reading.

Abba Dikko had divided his estate carefully.

Umar would oversee all his companies except the Kano branch, along with twenty-five million naira.

Halima would manage the Kano company and receive twenty million naira.

Iman had been given something unexpected — an architectural firm established in her name: IAD Firm, located in Abuja, along with twenty million naira.

Their mother, Fatima, had been assigned the family plaza and thirty million naira. In her absence, the plaza would go to Hassan, and half the sum to Hussin.

The twins were each granted twenty million naira and future ownership of a plaza in Kaduna, under Umar’s supervision until they came of age.

Eight million naira was allocated to Mr. Muhammed.

The remaining funds were to remain in trust for the children.

The room remained silent when he finished.

Umar signed the necessary documents. Halima would sign later.

After the lawyer and uncles offered their condolences once more, they left.

“When are you returning to school?” Umar finally asked Iman.

“In two weeks.”

“Allah ya kaimu.”

“Ameen,” they replied in unison.

They sat together in silence for nearly two hours before retreating to their rooms.

Later that evening, Hanif entered Iman’s room.

“Umar wants everyone in the parlour,” he said before leaving.

They gathered again.

“I know it is my responsibility to take care of you,” Umar began, his voice strained, “but—”

“Stop apologising,” Halima cut in gently. “It is not your fault.”

He nodded. “The twins will be transferred from boarding school to day school. Iman, when are you leaving?”

“Next week, insha Allah.”

“Alright. Get ready. We’re going out. Thirty minutes.”

They drove to Jabi Lake Mall in a white Prado.

Inside Mango, Iman and Hanifa browsed quietly.

“What about this one?” Hanifa asked, holding up a black dress with a keyhole neckline.

“It’s nice,” Iman replied. “I’ll take the maroon one.”

They purchased only those two dresses and left the store.

Suddenly, Hanifa froze.

“Look.”

“Who?”

But Hanifa was already moving.

“Hanny, wait—”

Too late.

A small crowd had begun forming around a tall, composed young man.

“That’s Ayman Abdul Hamid,” Hanifa whispered excitedly when Iman caught up with her. “Interior designer. Architect. Crown Prince of Zazzau. He was a substitute lecturer in your department.”

“That is entirely too much information,” Iman muttered.

Then the man turned.

“Iman Dikko,” he said smoothly. “What a surprise.”