<p> </p><p><span style="font-size:22px;"><mark class="marker-yellow"><strong><u>Description</u></strong></mark></span><strong> </strong></p><p><strong>TSUTSAR NAMA BOOK 3 COMPELET </strong></p><p> </p><p><strong>Samraah!</strong></p><p><strong>His call to my name was filled with genuine care. I responded respectfully, acknowledging his presence. He let out a deep sigh, briefly lowered his gaze as if in contemplation, then raised his head to look at me again.</strong></p><p><strong>"Samraah, I don't think we should be talking about building right now. We need to focus on saving for your wedding expenses. You've grown up, finished your education successfully, secured a good job, and you have Mansoor by your side. I believe it's time to consider marriage before the deadline Abba gave you expires. You know Mom's disposition; her silence on this matter is not a good sign. We should face reality. You're no longer a child; time is passing, and people see you as a young woman, not a little girl anymore.</strong></p><p><strong>As for me, my case is simpler. I'm a man; even ten years from now, I won't be considered too old for marriage. Hafizzullah has just started his education. I feel it would be best if I waited until he graduates before thinking about marriage again. Besides, I don’t have anyone special in mind." He concluded with a playful tone.</strong></p><p><strong>Pouting, I replied in a playful but firm manner, “Yaya, I can't accept all your excuses. Let’s get some time to sit and discuss this properly. As for you not getting married until Hafiz graduates, that’s out of the question. If it’s about finding someone, I’ll help you with that. But I won’t let you keep relying on those random girls out there. Those days of reckless behavior are over. We know better now.”</strong></p><p><strong>He just shook his head, clearly amused by my indignation. Instead of arguing further, he motioned toward the gate, indicating I should go inside. Without protest, I bid him farewell and walked into the house, fuming silently.</strong></p><p><strong>When I got to our office, where five of us shared a workspace, Asiya—one of my colleagues—walked in holding some documents and greeted us. After we exchanged pleasantries, she informed me, “Samraah, the MD asked for you. He said you should hurry because he’s expecting visitors.”</strong></p><p><strong>Nodding, I stood up and adjusted my facemask, which had slid slightly down my nose. With measured steps and composed confidence—often mistaken for quietness by others—I headed toward the MD's office. Along the way, I exchanged brief greetings with anyone I met. My quiet demeanor often led people to perceive me as reserved, but they didn’t know I could be quite outspoken when provoked.</strong></p><p><strong>Upon reaching the MD's office, I knocked and waited for nearly a minute before being granted entry. One glance at him, and I quickly averted my gaze. He had this intimidating habit of staring at people as if he was analyzing their very essence. To dispel the awkwardness, he finally said, “Sit.”</strong></p><p><strong>I sat, slightly on edge, and greeted, “Good morning, sir.”</strong></p><p><strong>He replied curtly, “How are you?” Without waiting for my response, he slid a glossy magazine and an envelope—resembling an invitation card—toward me.</strong></p><p><strong>On the cover of the magazine was a striking image of a man in a sky-blue suit, seated with one leg crossed over the other. He held a glass cup with a small amount of drink inside. His hand, adorned with a single elegant ring, rested on the arm of the chair. Though his face wasn’t entirely visible, his poised and confident body language was captivating.</strong></p><p><strong>I was still studying the image when the MD cleared his throat, snapping me back to reality. Flustered, I straightened up, signaling that I was paying attention. His expression softened as he began to explain.</strong></p><p><strong>“Samraah, I’ve chosen you for this task because I believe you can handle it. This is a copy of ‘Our Stars Today,’ a magazine released just yesterday. The entire edition is centered around a young businessman, Awwab El-Mu'azz, popularly known as Maash. He’s a northern Nigerian, originally from Kano but based in Lagos, with business ventures spanning across Africa, the Middle East, and parts of the West. However, it’s curious that despite his roots, he has never established a business presence in Northern Nigeria until recently.”</strong></p><p><strong>The MD paused briefly, gauging my reaction, then continued, “There’s been significant public scrutiny over his wealth, given his young age, despite his father and grandfather being well-known figures of affluence. Just a few months ago, Maash launched an airline service with ten aircraft operating between Nigeria and international destinations. However, he has refused all interviews and media appearances, delegating everything to his P.A.</strong></p><p><strong>“Now, here's the opportunity: He’s opening a state-of-the-art automobile manufacturing company here in Kano—the first of its kind in Africa and the third globally. Maash himself will be attending the grand opening. I managed to secure an invitation for us, but attendance is strictly by protocol. Your task is to ensure he speaks directly to the press for the first time.”</strong></p><p><strong>Stunned, I hesitated before voicing my doubts. “But sir, you mentioned he has never granted interviews. What makes you think I can succeed where seasoned journalists have failed? I’m new to this job. What standing do I have to accomplish such a feat?”</strong></p><p><strong>“It’s not about experience or position, Samraah,” he reassured. “Sometimes, success depends on luck and being at the right place at the right time. I believe in you.”</strong></p><p><strong>After a moment of silence, I sighed and replied, “Alright, sir, I’ll give it my best shot. After all, one learns by trying. But I won’t be going there alone, right?”</strong></p><p><strong>He laughed lightly. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid! I see you as a bold star among the crowd.”</strong></p><p><strong>“Hmmm, sir, you wouldn’t understand. People like Maash see others as insignificant. They’re constantly surrounded by security, making them seem unapproachable. I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself.”</strong></p><p><strong>“That’s the spirit of a confident professional! You’ll have Davido, Mansoor, and Khulsoom accompanying you. Your role is to coordinate and present. For now, take this magazine, study it thoroughly, and prepare a set of thoughtful questions. Submit your draft to me before Monday, even if it’s via WhatsApp. We have about ten days before the event.”</strong></p><p><strong>With a determined smile, I agreed. “Thank you, sir. I’ll get to work immediately.”</strong></p><p><strong>As I left his office, I felt his gaze lingering on me, prompting me to mutter inwardly, “What a strange man! But I’ll prove myself regardless.”</strong></p><p> </p><p> </p>
