The Adhan echoed through the air, the melodic call to prayer brushing softly against Imani's ears like an old lullaby. It had been months since she'd stepped into a mosque without her stethoscope buzzing in her coat or a pager vibrating against her hip. Today, she came as just Imani. Not Dr. Imani. Not the daughter of a man buried in a grave she no longer believed was filled.
Masjid Al-Quds was a peaceful sanctuary, tucked between a bakery that always smelled like burnt sugar and a tiny bookstore where the owner never knew how to categorize anything. Fiction sat next to biographies; medical texts next to children's fairy tales. It was chaos, but oddly comforting.
Earlier that week, her supervising consultant at the hospital, Dr. Amara, had insisted she take a break.
"You're no good to your patients if you're burning out," Dr. Amara had said, not unkindly. "Take a vacation, Imani. Recharge. Travel. Istanbul's lovely this time of year. Take a friend if you don't want to go alone.The hospital's got it covered"
It was a strange suggestion, almost too specific, but Imani had found herself booking the flight anyway.
She'd called Zara to vent and possibly invite her along, only for Zara to scream, "No way! I'm heading to Istanbul too. There's a story I'm digging into. Maybe we could sync up!"
And just like that, the vacation turned into a mission neither of them fully understood.
Now, after prayer, Imani lingered in the courtyard, seated on a stone bench under a neem tree. Her thoughts swirled like a whirlpool: Kora Foundation, her father, her mother's secretive glances, and that stupid blue-eyed stranger, Omar, who now worked for Zara, her impulsive, always-snooping childhood friend turned journalist.
"Imani?" a familiar voice called.
She turned, startled.
"Zara?"
Zara grinned, scarf loose around her curls, recorder hanging around her neck like an expensive pendant. "Girl, you still give that same deer-in-headlights face. Come here!"
They hugged tightly, and for a moment, Imani let the weight of confusion slip from her shoulders.
"So, we really ended up in Istanbul together. Who would've guessed?" Zara chuckled.
"Apparently, Dr. Amara did," Imani replied.
"What are you doing here, though? Like really?"
"Trying to breathe. You?"
"Investigating," Zara said nonchalantly, pulling out a thermos from her oversized tote. "And hydrating. Kora Foundation is on my radar. You ever heard of them?"
Imani almost choked on her breath. She played it cool. "A bit. They do good work, don't they?"
Zara raised an eyebrow. "That's what I thought, too. But girl, when I tell you I heard a voice recording dated two months ago... and it sounded like your dad?"
The world tilted a little.
"Zara, that's not funny."
"I'm not joking. I haven't released it yet, I'm still verifying it. But you should listen. Here."
Zara handed over her phone. Imani took a deep breath and pressed play.
"---we must pause funding to branch L for now. The data leak risk is higher than expected. No more casualties. No more mothers mourning ghosts."
The voice was unmistakable.
"That's him," Imani whispered. "That's...Baba."
She couldn't breathe. How could he be alive?Was her mother aware?Why would her mother let her believe he was dead? Why bury an empty coffin?
Zara placed a firm hand on hers. "We're going to find out the truth. But first, you're coming with me."
"Where?"
Zara pulled out two tickets. "Istanbul duh"
--
That night, Imani sat on the edge of her bed staring at a text message on her phone:
"Your investigator is being investigated. -O"
She called him immediately.
"Omar?"
"Still not stalking you, if that's your concern," his voice teased gently.
"What do you know?"
"You trust Zara, right? Enough to tell her things you don't tell me?"
"You literally blackmailed someone to get my number."
"Fair. But I need you to know that Kora's security has flagged her. And they know about Istanbul."
Imani blinked. "You're saying... someone is watching her?"
"Watching both of you."
"How do you know this Omar?"
"I have my sources".
---
The airport was chaos, as usual. Children crying. People arguing about luggage. A man fighting over a sandwich he claimed had been swapped. Imani and Zara boarded the flight with minimal drama, but once in the air, things didn't feel lighter.
Zara flipped open her laptop. "You want the rabbit hole or a rom-com?"
"Rabbit hole. Always."
She showed Imani a photo.
"This is Dr. Rania Ismail. Used to work with your dad. We meet her tomorrow. She requested we come with... a lot of caution."
"That sounds safe."
"She also said bring a taser."
Imani frowned. "You brought one?"
"No. I brought two. Because I plan ahead."
---
Dr. Rania lived in a quiet neighborhood in Istanbul, lined with colorful tulips and bakeries that opened before the sun.
She was older than Imani expected. Sharp eyes. Hijab pinned perfectly. Her house smelled like rose water and steel.
"Your father," Rania began, skipping pleasantries, "was never supposed to die. But he was supposed to disappear."
Zara leaned forward. "Why?"
"Because he knew the cost of truth. Kora isn't just an NGO. It's an umbrella. For what? Depends on who you ask. I left when I realized some branches weren't treating diseases. They were treating people like experiments."
Imani swallowed. "Do you know where he is?"
Rania hesitated. "No. But your mother might. She was Layla Kareem."
"My what now?"
"That was her alias while working with us. A brilliant strategist. Terrible cook."
Zara showed Rania the voice recording.
"That's him," Rania confirmed. "He's not dead. But he's not safe either."
When they returned to the hotel, Zara handed Imani an envelope she'd been holding since Nigeria.
"Your mom gave me this years ago, told me to give it to you if things ever felt... weird."
Inside was a photograph. Her mother shaking hands with the founder of Kora. On the back, one line:
"Some secrets are better buried. Just not in coffins."
There was also a USB. Written on it in marker:
L.K. - The Real Records
---
Imani stared at the USB that night, the city lights of Istanbul glowing in the distance.
She didn't know what was worse: finding out your mother was living a double life, or realizing your dead father was better protected than most living men.
The door buzzed. A package was delivered: a simple wooden box. Inside it, a prayer bead her father always carried and a note:
"Tell no one. Not even Zara. — Azeem"
Imani blinked.
She hadn't told Azeem she was in Istanbul.
---
That night, Zara was ambushed while trying to interview a former Kora informant in a café near Taksim Square. She returned bleeding, her recorder smashed, whispering one last warning:
"Your mom... is the reason he's missing."
To be continued...