At the office, where "Dr. Musty" was written on the door, he opened it and stepped inside. At that moment, his phone started flashing because it was on silent mode. He walked toward his desk, where another phone lay, and picked up the one in his hand. When he saw "Mamie" on the screen, he quickly answered.
With a calm and respectful voice, he said, "Mamie."
From the other side, an elderly woman with a gentle and composed voice responded, "Assalamu Alaykum, Mustapha. Hamadi has a fever. His body is as hot as fire, and he refuses to get up. Let’s take him to your hospital, but he won’t even tell me what’s wrong. I didn’t even know he was sick. Have you checked on him?"
Dr. Mustapha sat down on his chair, listening carefully. Without showing much worry, he asked, "Can he talk?"
Mamie, clearly worried, replied, "He won’t even talk to me, so I don’t know if he will talk to you."
"Where is Hameed?" Dr. Mustapha asked.
Mamie sighed. "He left for work before 8 AM and didn’t tell me that Hamadi was sick. I’m sure he doesn’t know either."
Dr. Mustapha took a deep breath and calmly said, "I’m coming now. Meanwhile, soak a towel in water and wipe his body. Don’t worry, Mamie, he will be fine."
Mamie sighed in relief and said, "Alright, may Allah make it easy. See you soon." Then she ended the call.
Dr. Mustapha put down his phone, stood up, and grabbed his car keys. He was a responsible man, around 42 or 43 years old. Instead of calling someone else to handle it, he went straight to their hospital’s pharmacy. He picked up some medicines, a drip, and injections, then placed everything in front of the accountant and paid with his card. The items were packed into a bag for him, and he walked out.
He got into his sleek white Benz and drove to his family home.
Their house was large and old, made of red bricks, the kind that belonged to wealthy families from long ago. It had a huge maroon-colored gate. When Dr. Mustapha honked, a young security guard quickly smiled and opened the gate for him.
Inside was a massive compound with a single, grand flat. To the side, there was a garden with guava, mango, and cashew trees, along with many flowers. The compound was spacious, with enough room for more cars. Two cars were already parked in the driveway, along with a shiny white motorcycle that looked expensive.
Dr. Mustapha stepped out of his car, looking around as if checking for anything new.
He walked into the flat. Even before opening the door, the scent of perfume greeted him. He gently pushed the door open and entered the living room. No one was there except Lami, who was cleaning.
She quickly greeted him, "Good morning, Baban Akram."
"Good morning," he replied.
The living room was beautifully arranged, with carpets covering the floor and a large TV mounted on the wall. It was spacious and well-decorated. A large framed picture hung on the wall, showing an elderly man and woman dressed in traditional clothing. Behind them stood five young boys. They all faced the camera, except one boy who had turned slightly as if trying to run away. His mother was holding his hand to keep him still. In the picture, only his back was visible, not his face.
Dr. Mustapha didn’t stop in the living room. He climbed the staircase and went straight to the first room upstairs…
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