fated hearts

chapter 29

Ibrahim sat up, his eyes locked onto Asiya, unblinking, as if searching for answers in her face. "What's happening?" His voice was laced with concern.

She put the phone on speaker, her hand trembling slightly. "Mariya has already taken him to Kaduna. He said he’s flying in to get him." The words hit her like a wave of cold reality, and she felt anger flare up inside her, a burning she hadn’t felt in years. "Wallahi kome yake ji dashi! Bazan bashi yarona ba, ai ba hauka akeyi ba! Yana kwanciya da mata a palour, yakeso nabashi yarona? To, yayi abinda zai yi!"

Ibrahim reached out, gently rubbing her shoulder, trying to ease the tension. "Calm down, Sia’m." His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it held a firmness that anchored her. "Baba zan nemeshi muyi magana, In Sha Allah. Don’t worry, we’ll do what’s necessary."

"Baba, Asiya zata bani wayanshi," Ibrahim continued, his tone steady and reassuring.

"I don't have it," Asiya’s voice quivered, betraying her inner turmoil.

"Ok, Baba, a turamun," Ibrahim said, still soothing her with his touch.

"Ok, I will send it," Baba’s voice was calm before he ended the call.

Asiya turned towards Ibrahim, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. "Aşkim, what does he want from me? I'm tired of all this. He wants to ruin my son's life? What kind of life should I expect him to live being raised by Muhsin?" Her voice broke as she clung to him, her body shaking with silent sobs.

"Baby, it’s going to be fine," Ibrahim whispered, holding her close, his heart breaking at her pain. "He’s unfit to take care of Muhammad Islamically, and the kid has no emotional attachment to him, so he’s at a disadvantage here. Don’t worry, okay?"

She nodded, her tears soaking into his shirt, her heart pounding as the weight of the situation bore down on her.

Just then, Muhsin’s number appeared on Ibrahim’s phone. "Let me call him," he said, his voice hardening.

Asiya sat up properly, her eyes fixed on him as he dialed Muhsin’s number. It rang once, twice, but there was no answer. He dialed again, but still, no response. "Get your hijab, let's go to Kaduna," Ibrahim said, his voice determined. "Since Ya Mariya has no right to stop him from taking Muhammad, but you have every right to."

Asiya rushed to her room, quickly grabbing her hijab. She didn’t have any clothes in the house apart from the ones she wore yesterday, so she picked something wearable from Ibrahim’s wardrobe, throwing a long hijab over it.

They drove straight to the airport, the tension between them palpable. They boarded one of Alhaji Na'Allah's private jets, the silence between them heavy with unspoken fears. When they arrived at the airport in Kaduna, they saw Muhsin’s private jet already there, indicating he had arrived.

Goggo Zainabu, Alhaji Na'Allah's eldest sister, had already sent a car for them. They drove straight to Ya Mariya's residence, the air thick with anticipation.

Inside, Muhsin had called ahead to let Ya Mariya know he was around. She instructed her gateman to let him in. Moments later, he was seated in her central living room, his demeanor cold and unyielding. "Muhsin, I cannot let you take him," Ya Mariya said firmly, glancing at her buzzing phone. "Once the holiday is over, I can take him to his mom. You can take him from her."

Muhsin’s eyes narrowed, his voice laced with bitterness. "Wallahi, nothing is stopping me from taking my child. Your dad had me divorce my wife on what? 100 million naira for khul’i? Muhammad is mine, and I'm taking him today."

"Muhsin, please," Ya Mariya pleaded, her voice trembling slightly. "Let’s handle this amicably."

"Muhammad!" Muhsin suddenly stood, shouting his son’s name, his voice echoing through the house.