This is beautiful....
'He watches her, sees her and desires her'
___________
The soft, melodic call of Fajr prayer threads through the stillness of dawn, carrying into Hanan’s room. The call coming from the mosque in the palace grounds. She groans lightly, stretching her limbs beneath the smooth cotton sheets, before rolling over to see Khalida still asleep, her face buried against the pillow.
“Lida,” Hanan murmurs, patting her friend’s shoulder. Khalida groans, swats lazily. "It's time for fajr Lida" Hanan reminds Khalida though she knows it'll be hard to wake up since she'd slept late but then Khalida blinks awake, her eyes adjusting to the pale light seeping through the curtains.
The two girls rise quietly. They take turns at the sink, performing their ablution, the cool water sliding over their skin and refreshing their senses. Hanan spreads out two crisp white prayer mats on the polished marble floor just as the door creaks open.
Sameera slips inside, a mat tucked under her arm. She says nothing, simply joins them. Side by side, they bow, rise, and lower their foreheads to the mat, their voices soft in whispered supplications.
It was almost like a routine and the girls felt nothing but peace at that moment.
When they finish, they remain seated, each taking turns reciting verses from the Qur’an. The cadence of their voices fills the room—soothing, grounding. When they close the mushaf, Khalida lifts her palms high.
“Ya Allah, grant me a billion dollars,” she declares dramatically.
'Kai Khalida and money' Hanan sighs internally.
Hanan and Sameera dissolve into laughter. Between their giggles, they chorus an “Ameen!”
They collapse onto the bed afterward "I'll have the middle" Sameera racing to claim a spot in the middle and plopping down with triumph. The three girls snuggle close, chatter fading, until sleep carries them away once again.
By the time the sun rises higher, the soft glow of morning fills the room. Hanan stirs first.
Lazy humans see how they are sleeping like dead fishes.
Her gaze drifts to Khalida and Sameera who are in weird sleeping positions and she almost clicks a picture to show Sameera who brags about 'Perfect princess sleep'
Hanan yawns, stretches her arms, and pads into the bathroom. The sound of water running follows as she showers, steam curling under the door.
When she emerges, her skin glistens, her hair swept into a neat bun. She slips into a fitted black sports bra, a t-shirt slipped to cover her body and grey joggers, then rolls her yoga mat out onto the balcony. The morning air is cool, carrying the faint scent of blooming hibiscus from the palace gardens.
Her phone plays a recording of Mufti Menk’s gentle voice, words of reflection weaving into the rhythm of her movements. She stretches, bends, breathes deeply, her body flowing through her morning practice. A faint trail of Bakhoor Oud Al Qasr drifts from the incense burner she left inside, mixing with the fresh morning air.
Halfway through, she pauses. The sensation prickles at her—a weight of eyes on her. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t flinch.
It's him.
This is more like a routine.
When she'd come to Makarfi Emirates a special
CCTV was always there.
Hanan doesn't falter Instead, she straightens with a small smile curving her lips and resumes with more vigor, stretching further, bending deeper.
No man is going to make her not act herself.
Not when she's still the Hanan Dikko.
She pulls her top over her head, leaving only the sports bra. The sun glints against her light skin, sheen from her workout catching the light. She steps further onto the balcony, refusing to hide.
Across from her, on the upper balcony, he stands.
The Alkali.
Immediately his gaze dropped on her exposed skin he blinks the side of his lips twisting slightly. She's temptation and she knows it.
His chest rises and falls slowly, sharply, as his eyes narrow. Between his long fingers, a slim—Davidoff Gold Slims burns—its smoke curling upward in lazy, silvery tendrils. The faint scent of his Amouage Interlude Man cologne mixes with the smoke, sharp incense and leather threading the air like something dangerous, something magnetic.
He continues staring imprinting every movement of hers into memory until his gaze moves below where the patrolling dogarai's are and he freezes, jaw tightening.
A vein ticks on his forehead and Raul glares towards Hanan's direction before letting out a breath. She'd be the death of him.
He takes a final drag, exhales slowly, and turns. His voice is low when he speaks to his head guard. “Tell the dogarai to vacate this area. They’ll be needed here later.”
Not when she's dressed like temptation, no man is allowed to see her so.
The thought alone makes him livid
The order is carried instantly. Below, the guards scatter, leaving the courtyard strangely open. Hanan notices the sudden shift and sighs softly, shoulders loosening. She returns to her stretches, sinking deeper into the comfort of solitude.
'Thank God' She'd been slightly uncomfortable from the thoughts of being seen by strange men but now that they've left freedom returns.
'But you weren't uncomfortable from his eyes' True but she isn't about to admit that to anyone or herself.
When she dares a glance back up, he hasn’t left.
The Yerima Alkali is there still, leaning against the carved balcony rail. The smoke from his Davidoff dances around him, half-shielding his face, yet his eyes remain fixed on her.
He doesn't look away, he isn't able to. Not when it's her.
Her breath hitches. She blinks, but she doesn’t look away until she notices what he holds. The cigarette. The disbelief jolts through her—how can someone like him smoke so openly, and yet with such arrogance that it feels like part of his aura?.
She glances around eyes widening slightly at the man.
He smokes? she questions herself internally.
Raul who is standing there continues staring and when he'd felt her gaze he could already guess what is on her mind and he smirks.
Slow and conceding.
She tears her gaze away abruptly, grabs her folded prayer mat, and steps back inside.
That is enough for the day.
The shower’s water is warm against her skin, soothing the tension lingering in her muscles. Wrapped in a silk robe, Hanan sits on the edge of the bed and begins her careful routine. skin cream pressed gently into her cheeks, a stroke of kohl along her lashes. Today is for Yawon Sallah, and her preparations are deliberate.
A soft knock rattles the door. When she calls out "Come in" Nadia bursts in first, hands flailing dramatically.
“Ani, I don’t know which outfit to wear!” she wails, trailing behind her a maid weighed down with folded fabrics.
Hanan stares at her sister, the dramatic frown on Nadia's face almost has her laughing but she holds herself back, it's better to avoid an angry Nadia.
Behind her the maids step in clothes in hand.
Khadija follows, already dressed in an elegant lilac lace wrapper paired with a sequined blouse. “Please, someone should tie my dankwali. I cannot kill myself,” she sighs.
Hanan glances toward the bed. Sameera is sprawled out, scrolling lazily on her phone. Khalida slips into the bathroom, escaping the chaos.
“Dija,” Hanan says dryly, “ask Adda Lida to help you.”
Khalida pokes her head out, laughing. “Come, sit. I’ll fix it for you.”
"Arghh thank you Adda Lida you are a life saver" Khadija groans out dramatically and Khalida bursts out laughing.
Meanwhile, Hanan turns to the maid, eyeing the five elaborate outfits draped across her arms. She touches each—Ankara wax prints in rich purples and blues, Bazin Riche in shimmering emerald, a cream lace with embroidered sleeves.
All this one for one person
“Adda Dia, why are you even getting this dressed?” Hanan asks, one brow raised.
Nadia stares at her like she has lost her mind or saying something absurd like Donald trump just become the president of Nigeria.
“Duh,” Nadia retorts. “Who wants to look dull standing anywhere near the Alkali?”
Ehh.
“Ohh,” Hanan drawls, smirking. “So you’re trying to impress him?”
Nadia shrugs, feigning innocence. “Since you don’t want him…”
Sameera snorts from the bed. “Adda Dee, be careful o. Let Hanan not elbow you.”
Elbow who for man.
Laughter erupts around the room. Hanan only shakes her head, smiling faintly at their antics. She pulls out a fitted Ankara set with bold purple and blue patterns. A sleek straight skirt and a blouse with a daring slit at the back, strings holding it together, and a slanted neckline edged in embroidery.
“This one,” she declares.
Nadia squeals, hugs her tightly, and dashes out to change.
"I'd look like a hot model I'm sure the man would reconsider his choices" Are Nadia's passing words.
Moments later, the older Makarfi sisters step in—Adda Surayya, Adda Adara, Adda Naima, Adda Hanisa—all already dressed in their finery. Their wrappers are bold—Bazin Riche in teal, chiffon lace in soft champagne, richly dyed Ankara boubou paired with heavy jewelry. Gold bangles jingle softly as they enter.
They stop short, gasping. “Hanani! You’re not ready?”
I'm not the only one not ready.
Hanan jumps to her feet with a grin. “Adda Naima! Adda Hanisa!” She rushes forward, hugging them. Their perfumes wrap around her—oud, musk, rose.
They pull away from the hug and Adda Naima spins Hanan who giggles.
Hanisa smacks her gently on the shoulder. “Why are you still like this?” she says eyeing her.
“Yoga,” Hanan pouts.
All three roll their eyes together.
“With all this ass?” Naima teases, shaking her head.
"You are still trying to look perfect, Omo Hamma Alkali go chop"
“Please, stop!” Hanan gasps, pressing her hands to her ears, cheeks warm. The room fills with laughter again, bright and teasing, until the palace walls themselves seem to echo with it.
_______
Alkali will enjoy.....
An: How was it, don't forget to comment and vote dearies.
Adios.......