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In a pleading, sorrowful voice, Mumtaz said, “My head is aching severely, Mama; that is why I didn't come out.”
Mama scoffed disdainfully. "As if I don’t know your true nature," she retorted. "If you aren't doing the sweeping at the mosque, you would surely be doing it at the market." Turning away, she exited toward the living room of Abba Qarami, who had just arrived himself.
Mama headed straight for the kitchen in his living room. She placed a tea kettle on the gas stove after adding water and aromatic spices. Once it boiled thoroughly, she poured the tea into a small, golden-colored flask. She carefully placed it on a medium-sized tray alongside two small cups and a sugar glass container, then walked back out to Abba Qarami’s living room.
He sat there with his head buried dejectedly against his knees. The moment Mama walked in and saw the state he was in, her heart sank with heavy apprehension. With a weak, heavy spirit, she approached, set the tray down beside him, and sat close to his side. She placed her hand gently on his shoulder, remaining silent while softly stroking his back in a soothing, comforting gesture.
Abba Qarami exhaled heavy, successive sighs. They remained in that quiet position for a while before he finally raised his bloodshot eyes.
Before he could utter a word, Mama spoke up reassuringly: “With every hardship comes ease, sir. Since the previous advice I gave you will not work out, we must simply embrace patience and intensify our prayers to Allah. He alone knows what we know and what remains hidden from us.”
In a frail, subdued voice, Abba Qarami replied, "Your words are completely true. Yet, deep down in my soul, I feel a terrible foreboding that is trying to grip my heart. This racing heartbeat I feel never allows me to execute anything in peace. But it is nothing; perhaps it is just my high blood pressure causing me to feel this way." He concluded his sentence with a forced, artificial smile.
Mama softly remarked, "Yes, that could certainly cause it as well." She then pulled the tea flask closer and poured a cup for him.
While they were in the middle of this, Ahmad and Mus'ab entered the room together, uttering their Islamic greeting (*Salam*). Abba Qarami answered them under his breath, waiting anxiously to hear what bad news they had brought this time.
Mus'ab was the first to speak, his voice hesitant and stammering: “Abbah, actually... it is regarding the Umrah trip. Ahmad and I have finished our preparations. We will be leaving tomorrow afternoon.”
Mama, who was sitting closely by, stared at them with profound shock and disbelief written all over her face. Abba, on his part, offered a smile that was more painful than bitter weeping. He knew he could hear worse things from them than this; he knew that even this brief visit was not done out of their own free will.
Nevertheless, in his capacity as their father, it was improper to remain silent about their toxic habit of completely bypassing consultation—a disrespectful independence they practiced not just with him, but even with their own mother.
Abba Qarami cleared his throat, setting his mug down on the table in front of him. He looked intently, one after the other, at Ahmad and Mus'ab, who both sat with their heads lowered in shame. His simmering anger was on the verge of erupting openly, but he suppressed it, locked eyes with them, and demanded: "Do you truly think you have done right by adopting this shameful attitude?" Without waiting for their reply, he pressed on: “As your father, do I not at least deserve the basic respect of being informed before you execute your plans? I have been keenly observing the strange, new behaviors you both have been cultivating lately. So, you have suddenly grown wealthy enough to sponsor your own Umrah trips? And you only deem us worthy of hearing about it on the very eve of your departure, is that it?”
Keeping their heads bowed low, they replied in unison, “No, Abbah.”
He smiled bitterly once more and asked, “So now, does this mean I have completely wasted the money I previously paid to sponsor both of you?”
Mus'ab quickly interjected, “You can just request a refund for your money, Abbah. As for us, we have already finalized our arrangements.”
Abba fell completely silent. Noting that Mama was on the very verge of bursting into tears right in front of them, Abba Qarami quickly intervened, saying, “Get up and leave. May God grant you a safe journey.”
Rising like people sitting on a bed of thorns, they hurriedly stood up, practically bumping into each other in their haste to exit the room.
The moment they stepped out, Mama’s tears broke free in torrents. She was entirely unable to hold them back because of the excruciating pain tearing through her heart. Abba said nothing; he drew her into a tight, protective embrace against his chest, gently rubbing her back to soothe her.
> *[Note: Promotional text from the author Zainab Falalu (Mrs. Sulaiman), urging readers to share and comment on the novel "Lauje Cikin Naɗi" (The Hidden Agenda) on Wattpad, alongside a list of her other works: "Makirci", "Kishi da Aljana", "Wani Hanin ga Allah", and "Ƙaddarar Mu".]*
>
#### **Part 2: Maternal Pressure and the Discovered Theft**
Only when he felt Mama's breathing stabilize into slow, rhythmic sighs did Abba open his mouth to speak in a low, comforting tone: “Please be patient. I am merely acting in accordance with Hajiya’s directives. The one thing I am certain of is that everything has its designated time.”
Mama was unable to say anything in response. Instead, she slid down slightly on the couch, lay down, and closed her eyes. Abba Qarami left his tea unfinished, lapsing into a deep silence as he became consumed by the heavy thoughts that had plagued him for years.
**THE NEXT DAY**
Abba Qarami was seated in his modest upstairs living room—a private space where visitors rarely entered. His attention, along with Mama's, was entirely focused on a Quranic exegesis (*Tafsir*) program broadcasting on Sunnah TV. The house was dead silent except for the audio from the television and the steady hum of the running air conditioner.
They listened intently to the *Tafsir* for nearly an hour until the broadcast concluded. They were casually chatting in low voices when Abba Qarami suddenly requested, “Hand me those phones over there.”
Mama stood up, gathered all his mobile phones from where he had kept them, and brought them over. The moment he received them, he directly dialed Ya Faruk's number.
Ya Faruk had just stepped out of the shower when he heard his phone ringing. Seeing Abba Qarami’s name flashing across the screen, he quickly answered it, placing it to his ear with a respectful greeting.
As soon as Abba Qarami heard him answer, he instructed, “If you aren't busy, come meet me in my living room.”
With deep reverence, Ya Faruk replied, “Right away, Abba.”
Due to the intense, scorching heat of the day, he didn't bother applying any body cream; he merely used some roll-on deodorant and body spray, threw on his clothes, and hurried out to answer Abba Qarami's summons.
The moment he emerged from the young men's wing of the estate, Hafsata spotted him through Mama's bedroom window. Nearly tripping over herself in her rush to turn around, she called out, “Umma, come look quickly!”
With a stern, frowning face, Umma Babba asked, “What am I supposed to see?”
Hafsat urgently repeated, “Wallahi, he is about to go inside!”
Umma Babba quickly hurried over to the window. Right before her eyes, she watched Ya Faruk disappear into Abba Qarami’s quarters. Hissing in irritation, she turned back and sat down, her face completely unreadable. "Give me my phone, Hafsat," she ordered.
Hafsat turned around, fetched the phone, and held it out to her, but hesitated. "Please don't call him, Umma," she pleaded.
Umma Babba glared at her. “Call who exactly?”
Hafsat burst into laughter. Sometimes Umma Babba's behavior deeply amused her, while at other times it baffled her. Noticing her mother's unblinking, stern stare, Hafsat explained, “I assumed you were going to call Ya Faruk.”
Umma Babba snapped at her in annoyance and resumed typing on her phone screen.
Meanwhile, Mumtaz was lying down, refusing to do any chores under the pretext that today's Ramadan fast was taking a heavy toll on her. Suddenly, she heard Ya Faruk’s voice greeting the household downstairs. In a panic, Mumtaz bolted upright and rushed toward her bedroom, completely forgetting the hunger she had just been complaining about. The moment she burst into the room, she slammed the door shut, locked it frantically, and stood there panting heavily.
Her dramatic entry drew the full attention of Sakina, and even Altine poked her head out from the kitchen upon hearing the loud crash of the slammed door.
Ya Faruk shook his head in disapproval outside. Deep down, he thought to himself, *I will deal with you. You deliberately ignored me when I called for you earlier.* He casually acknowledged Sakina and the others' greetings before heading straight for the stairs leading up to Abba Qarami’s living room.
He spent a considerable amount of time upstairs with Abba Qarami. When he finally descended, anyone who knew him well could tell he was in an extremely foul mood, though a stranger would hardly notice it beneath his composed exterior.
The moment he walked into his room, before even sitting down, he picked up his phone with the intention of calling Ahmad. He noticed about five missed calls from Umma Babba. Slipping the phone into his pocket, he turned around and headed over to Umma Babba’s quarters.
He found her right in her bedroom, seated with a prayer bead string (*Carbi*) in her hand, reciting supplications. He offered his greeting and walked in. He took a seat on the armchair facing her bed. Hafsat was seated on a single-seater couch near the window, pretending to be utterly absorbed in studying her school handout. However, Ya Faruk knew her mischievous nature all too well; he also knew that Umma Babba was completely unbothered by boundaries and would speak her mind regardless of whether her younger children were present.
With a firm, stern expression, he ordered Hafsat, “Get up and clear out of here.”
Hafsat knew exactly who he was talking to. She quickly gathered her papers and slunk out of the room, pouting in protest.
Once he verified she had left, he turned to his mother. “Umma, I am here.”
She turned around, set her prayer beads aside, and faced him squarely. Clearing her throat, she remarked, “I have been waiting since last week to see the package you promised me, but I've heard nothing from you.”
Ya Faruk smiled subtly, thinking to himself: *Ah, so she saw me entering Abba Qarami's quarters just now.*
Before he could speak, she pressed on: “Faruk, I do not appreciate this silence from you. Even the Messenger of Allah (SAW) stated that a mother takes precedence over everyone else.”
In a reassuring tone, Ya Faruk replied, “Your words are entirely correct, Umma. I have not forgotten the package. I expect it to be delivered later today, and once it arrives, everyone will receive their share, including your people.”
Umma Babba scoffed, looking as though she wouldn't say another word. However, she eventually added, “If you truly want to ensure my happiness, then I must be honored and prioritized before those who exploit you under the guise of showing care.”
Ya Faruk fell silent, bowing his head. Hearing Umma Babba speak in such a divisive manner made him incredibly uncomfortable. Once she finished her speech, he gently replied, “Well, let us always strive to think well of others, Umma.”
Surprised, Umma Babba challenged him, “Explain exactly what you mean by that, Faruk.”
He smiled again and stood up. "Oh, Umma. Let me head out so I don't miss the congregational prayer." Before she could argue further, he exited the room, his mind deeply unsettled.
He fumbled through his pockets to check for his car keys. He hissed in frustration upon realizing he didn't have them on him, so he headed back to his quarters to retrieve them. As he entered, he crossed paths with Mus'ab and Ahmad, who were on their way out.
Mus'ab averted his gaze coldly and muttered, “Good afternoon, Ya Faruk.”
Without even looking at him, Ya Faruk walked to his bedroom door, pushed it open, and then paused. Turning back around, he commanded, "Bring me your passports, you and Ahmad, right this second." He then stepped inside his room.
The moment the door closed behind Ya Faruk, Ahmad and Mus'ab exchanged worried glances. In a hushed whisper, Mus'ab urged, “Wallahi, let's just run away!”
Ahmad hissed in exasperation. “We aren't running anywhere, Mus'ab. Let's just hand them over to him. I know that once he sees our flight is scheduled for today, he will give us our documents back.”
They went into their respective rooms and fetched their passports. When Mus'ab stepped out, he handed his over to Ahmad. “Take mine to him; I refuse to go in there.”
Ahmad took it, knocked on Ya Faruk’s bedroom door, and entered upon receiving permission. He stood waiting silently after handing over the passports, expecting Faruk to inspect them and hand them right back.
Although Ya Faruk knew exactly what Ahmad was waiting for, he coldly demanded, “What are you still standing there for?”
Ahmad’s eyes widened in shock. “Ya Faruk, didn't you look at the date?”
Ya Faruk carelessly tossed the passports onto the bed, picked up his keys, and pointed toward the door with his eyes, signaling Ahmad to get out. Without a word of protest, Ahmad meekly turned around and slunk out, his heart heavy with resentment.
Right before their eyes, Ya Faruk locked his door, slipped his keys into his trouser pocket, and walked past them, leaving a trail of his incredibly pleasant cologne behind.
> *[Note: Another promotional break from the author Zainab Falalu (Mrs. Sulaiman), thanking readers and reminding them that frequent comments lead to frequent updates for the novel "Lauje Cikin Naɗi".]*
>
#### **Part 3: Family Confrontation and the Hidden Cameras**
Fuming with rage, Mus'ab snapped, "Wallahi, this is pure tyranny! I am sick of this; I am going to report him to Umma Babba right now!" He stormed forward, intent on leaving.
Ahmad quickly grabbed him, warning in a hushed tone, “Have you lost your mind, Mus'ab? Are you really going to report Ya Faruk? Control yourself and touch base with reality!”
Mus'ab could do nothing but pant heavily with rage. Ahmad grabbed his hand and pulled him out into the courtyard. As they stepped into the yard, they ran right into Ya Faruk, who was sitting casually on the boot of his car with his phone pressed to his ear. He cast a brief glance at them, looked away, and continued his phone conversation.
Once they had walked past him, Ahmad lowered his voice further and suggested, “Should we perhaps go back and apologize to him?”
Mus'ab hissed defiantly. "Wallahi, I will never go, but you can go if you want!" He marched off furiously, looking as though he might explode. Ya Faruk simply smiled; he had heard every single word Mus'ab said.
Mus'ab was the first to storm back into their parents' living room, his face twisted in a dark, venomous scowl. Just then, Mama and Abba Qarami were descending the stairs. They stopped in their tracks, seeing the two boys standing there looking like confrontational roosters.
Incensed by his attitude, Mama demanded, “What is the meaning of this dramatic standoff in the living room?”
Mus'ab barked back furiously, “Honestly, Mama, people have started policing us too much in this house, and frankly, we are not going to tolerate it anymore!”
It wasn't just Mama who was shocked; even Abba Qarami felt a terrible wave of apprehension wash over him. It was the very first time they were witnessing such a blatant display of disrespect and rebellion from a son who had always been known for his modesty and absolute obedience.
Before Abba Qarami could open his mouth to speak, Mama cut in fiercely: "Mus'ab, what exactly do you mean by saying people are policing you? Are you implying that we, your parents, are policing you, or what?" She finished her sentence, her eyes widening and turning bloodshot with anger.
He flipped his hands in a dismissive, disrespectful gesture and retorted, “I don't need to mention names, Mama. Just stop enabling Ya Faruk to treat us however he pleases, especially after we stepped aside and left him in possession of everything that rightfully should have been ours!”
In a flash of pure maternal fury, Mama stepped forward and delivered two thunderous, blinding slaps across Mus'ab's cheeks.
Mumtaz, who was sitting nearby, was paralyzed with shock at Mus'ab's audacious words. The slaps happened so fast that she recoiled in terror, clutching her own cheek as if she had been the one struck. Ahmad instinctively took a step back, horrified by the twin slaps his brother had just received.
With bloodshot eyes, Mus'ab glared at Mama, panting heavily with rage. Abba Qarami, clutching his head in distress, sank onto the edge of a nearby couch.
Seeing the defiant glare Mus'ab was giving her, Mama stepped even closer. In a booming, enraged voice, she dared him: “That glare won't satisfy me! Why don't you strike me back so I can feel your ten fingers across my face, you insolent child!”
Mus'ab balled his hands into tight fists, looking for a terrifying second as though he might actually strike his mother. He resisted the urge, turned around, and stormed out of the living room in a blind rage, with a terrified Ahmad hot on his heels.
Seeing the entire household implode into chaos, Mumtaz burst into tears, crying out weakly for her mother.
The moment the boys left, Mama turned around and ran back upstairs. Reaching Abba Qarami’s upstairs living room, she collapsed into tears, clutching her head, which felt like it was spinning violently. She repeatedly invoked the name of Allah as she felt her breath failing her completely. A frail Abba Qarami followed her up, also tightly clutching his throbbing head.
Downstairs, Altine slowly backed into the kitchen, gently closing the door behind her while exhaling a long, anxious sigh.
It wasn't until late afternoon that Mama finally came back downstairs. One look at her face revealed she was profoundly traumatized; only her deep spiritual faith was keeping her upright. Her voice was weak and raspy from prolonged weeping. She headed straight for Mumtaz’s bedroom and found her fast asleep on a prayer mat.
Mama scanned the messy room before gently nudging Mumtaz and calling her name. It took a considerable effort to wake her up. In a groggy, sleep-deprived voice, Mumtaz complained, “Wallahi, Mama, today's fast is giving me a really hard time.”
Turning to leave, Mama sharply commanded, "Save me the complaints, lazy girl. Get up and go help Altine in the kitchen. I am not feeling well at all." With that, she exited. Mumtaz lingered for a while longer before finally dragging herself to the kitchen, where Altine had already begun preparing the Ramadan fast-breaking meal (*Iftar*).
**AFTER THE FAST-BREAKING**
At around 9:30 PM, Ya Faruk lay on his bed, deeply analyzing the conversations he had earlier with Mama and Abba Qarami. The entire situation was incredibly perplexing to him. He glanced over to where he had carelessly tossed Ahmad and Mus'ab's passports and saw they were still there.
Deep down, he thought, *They probably tried to sneak in and retrieve them.*
He slowly climbed off his bed and walked over to where his laptop was kept. He sat down on the edge of his bed and opened the screen. He watched a recorded video clip showing Mus'ab pacing around nervously and talking. He stared intently at the screen, recalling how respectful and compliant the boys used to be. Once he finished watching that segment, a sudden instinct prompted him to review other recorded footage captured by his room's hid
