BEYOND AMBITION

CHAPTER SIX

Omar drove straight to his family house, his mind still occupied with thoughts of the feisty girl everyone called Gomnati or Manager. The name alone made him chuckle, and he found himself repeating it in his head, unknowingly breaking into a smile. His thoughts drifted back to the way she had lashed out at him at the poultry farm, her confidence and boldness unlike anything he had encountered before.

Before he knew it, he had arrived at his mother’s house.

Inside the living room, he found his mother sitting comfortably with Suleim beside her, both of them engrossed in a game with Abdallah. Omar greeted them with a warm "Salamu alaikum" before casually sprawling across the couch, resting his head on his mother’s lap like a child seeking affection.

With a loving smile, Mama ran her fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp as she soothed him. Omar, fully embracing the moment, let out a contented sigh.

"Come on, my son," Mama finally said, pulling him up and leading him to the dining table. She personally served him food, feeding him like she used to when he was younger, ensuring he ate to his fill.

As she watched him, her heart ached with motherly concern. She knew her son was suffering in silence. His wife was not the kind of woman who nurtured a home with love and warmth. Every day, Mama prayed for Allah to grant Omar a better life, a better fate.

Despite being a married man, Omar spent most of his time in his mother’s house. It was almost as if he had never married at all. Half of his clothes were still in his room in Mama’s section of the house, and his daily routine was no different from that of a bachelor.

And Mama? She never stopped him. Instead, she welcomed him with open arms, providing the comfort he lacked in his own home.

After his meal, Omar went straight to his room, took a refreshing bath, performed his prayers, and fell into a deep sleep.

Meanwhile, Iklas and Suhaila arrived home, carefully carrying the food items they had bought, ensuring they had spent exactly within their budget.

Kaka Ummi prepared white rice with a delicious stew, salad, and fish—a luxury for them, but one that Iklas insisted on. Despite their financial struggles, she believed that good food was non-negotiable. In her eyes, even if they had little, they deserved to eat well. It was her philosophy: they could lack everything else, but not a decent meal. Since they had a steady source of income, she made sure to plan their meals wisely.

Iklas handled most of the household responsibilities, practically running their home like the head of the family.

After freshening up, they sat together, chatting until Maghrib prayers. Later, after performing Isha, Iklas went to the kitchen and prepared Indomie with Irish potatoes and fish. She personally fed Suhaila, ensuring she was full before they settled down to study.

After reading for a while, they performed extra prayers (Nafila) before heading to bed. Kaka Ummi, as always, preferred sleeping on her mat. She would jokingly say that sleeping on a bed made her feel too high above the ground. Meanwhile, Suhaila and Iklas shared a large bed, chatting softly until sleep took over.

Elsewhere…

Hajiya Rahina was busy plotting evil with her best friend, Hajiya Binta. They sat in Umma’s living room, their voices hushed but laced with venom as they discussed their latest scheme against Omar and his mother.

"Binta, should I even go to the bokaye (witch doctors)?" Rahina asked, her voice dripping with malice.

Binta chuckled darkly, waving the suggestion away. "Forget the bokaye. Sometimes their work fails. Don’t you know Mama is strong with prayers? We are women—we don’t need black magic to destroy them. We have other ways."

Rahina smirked, nodding in agreement. "You’re right. We are masters of manipulation. If we play our cards well, we’ll make their lives miserable until they have no choice but to leave this house for good."

They burst into wicked laughter, their hands clapping together in satisfaction.

Rahina’s daughters, Sadiya and her siblings, were nearby, overhearing everything. Instead of feeling disgusted by their mother’s plotting, they clapped along excitedly, thrilled to be part of the chaos.

With every passing moment, the two women refined their evil plan, determined to ruin Omar and his mother’s peace.

Omar walked with his usual confidence, dressed in a fitted blue pencil jeans and a long-sleeved red shirt. His jeans had a few stylish rips from the knee to the thigh, but nothing too revealing. As he approached his car, his driver swiftly opened the door of the sleek, white luxury vehicle for him. Just as he was about to get in, another car, a flashy white ride, pulled up aggressively into the compound.

He glanced at his expensive wristwatch—almost 5 PM. His eyes narrowed when he spotted Sahar inside the car with two of her friends, all giggling and chatting loudly. A surge of irritation washed over him.

For the past two days, Sahar had been nowhere to be found, always using her hospital shifts as an excuse. She had insisted she was on night duty and had to sleep at the hospital, but now, here she was—driving around in broad daylight, laughing with her friends as if she had no responsibilities.

With a scoff, Omar ignored her and got into his car, instructing the driver to take him to his best friend’s office.

---

At Sultan’s Office

Sultan, his childhood friend, was a well-respected doctor. They had gone to school together in London, from secondary school through university. Unlike Omar, Sultan had inherited a fortune from his late father and lived comfortably with his mother. He was engaged to a stunning beauty queen named Yasmin, and though he wasn’t married yet, the wedding preparations were underway.

When Omar entered the office, Sultan greeted him with a teasing smirk, extending his hand for a handshake before pulling him into a quick hug.

“my man! How far? You came back, and I’ve only seen you once since then.”

Omar exhaled, shaking his head. “Man, you know work is hectic. Baffa has me tied up with office duties.”

Sultan leaned back in his chair, grinning mischievously. “Oh? And here I was thinking your beloved Sahar was the reason you went MIA. You’ve been busy ‘dragging the sheets,’ huh?”

Omar clicked his tongue in irritation. “You’re an i***t, Sultan. You know there’s nothing special between me and Sahar, yet you keep making these stupid jokes.”

Sultan burst into laughter, raising his hands in surrender. “God forbid! But seriously, bro, you need to sort out whatever mess is going on there.”

Omar ignored the remark and changed the topic. “Anyway, tomorrow around 1 PM, you’ll be following me to one of Baffa’s companies. I need to inspect some work going on there. It’s outside Abuja, so we’ll have to leave early.”

Sultan nodded. “No problem, bro. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

As they continued chatting, Omar pushed all thoughts of Sahar out of his mind. Something about the situation with her didn’t sit right with him, but for now, he had bigger things to focus on.

Omar and Sultan sat comfortably in the back seat of the car as their driver navigated through the wet streets. The rhythmic tapping of raindrops against the car windows filled the air, but Omar’s mind was elsewhere—until he caught sight of a familiar figure ahead.

There, in the middle of the bustling road, was her.

Iklas stood under the light drizzle, her worn dress clinging to her form. The rain had drenched her completely, causing the fabric to mold against her body, outlining every curve—the swell of her hips, the rise and fall of her chest, and the way her wet hair clung to her forehead as droplets trailed down her face. She was lifting apples and eggs in plastic bags, calling out to passing cars, her voice determined despite the harsh wind that kept tossing her loose hijab away from her shoulders.

Omar felt something tighten in his chest.

As their car came to a halt at the junction where she stood, Iklas instinctively approached. She didn’t hesitate, just like before, lifting her hand and calling out as she recognized Omar.

The moment their eyes met, Omar startled, sitting up abruptly and pointing at her through the glass. “You?”

She couldn’t hear him through the closed window, but she read his lips easily. A slow, knowing smile spread across her face as she raised a hand in greeting. “Boss!” she called playfully, her voice barely rising over the rain.

Omar let out a small chuckle despite himself. He didn’t even realize he was smiling. With a nod, he signaled the driver to roll down the window. As the glass slid down, the cold breeze carried her scent—fresh, like the rain, with a hint of something warm beneath.

The driver reached for an apple and some eggs from her hands, as per Omar’s instruction. Then, Omar handed over a crisp ₦5000 note.

Iklas blinked, looking at the money in surprise. She inspected it, lips parting slightly before plucking out a single ₦1000 note—the exact amount for what they had taken.

Then, without hesitation, she extended the remaining cash back to the driver.

Omar’s brows shot up. “Take it, it’s yours. I gave it to you.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

Iklas, however, simply smiled and shook her head. Through the open window, she met his gaze directly and murmured, “Thanks, Boss. But I won’t take it.”

She saw the way his jaw tensed, the way his brows furrowed slightly. He understood exactly what she had said.

Then, without another word, she gave him a small wave, adjusted her hijab—though the wind kept tossing it off—and walked away with quiet dignity.

Omar’s eyes followed her.

Sultan, who had been silently watching, finally exhaled and let out a low whistle. “Man, Omar…” He shook his head in disbelief. “That girl… one look at her, and you can tell she’s something else.”

Omar didn’t respond.

His fingers drummed absentmindedly against his knee as he continued staring after Iklas, his expression unreadable.