Auren Kwangila Complete Hausa Novel

As his mind wandered restlessly in that lounge, he knew that only Muazatu could calm his worries. He had wronged her—he had hurt her feelings by ignoring her calls since yesterday. Even before reaching his room, he called her. He held the phone to his ear, turned the door knob, entered, closed the door, and even fumbled with the key.

It was like a dream for Muazatu Rufai, who had been restless for the past two days due to the turmoil in her heart. She saw the name Habeeb-Qalby, which she had saved for Abdulazeez Dakata, flashing on her phone screen. She thought it was just a trick of her eyes, as had happened yesterday, and so she never answered the call. Instead, a few meaningless tears fell, driven by the frustration she felt.

The second time, the phone rang again, showing Habeeb-Qalby. She grabbed her hair, biting her lower lip between her teeth, praying to God that it was just a dream and that she would wake up.

For Abdulazeez, his body felt cold with worry. He realized he had wronged his beloved; he felt like a man married in love who pulls away from his wife just because a bride was presented to him. So what did that bride have to do with him withdrawing from Muazatu? Another part of his heart told him: It’s not about the bride—it’s about her words. She cannot speak. He doesn’t like anyone interfering in his personal life, not even his parents. That’s how God made him.

This made him resent the marriage even more because, in his eyes, Mammah had interfered too much in his life, ruining his future by marrying him off to a girl who didn’t fit the life plan he had carefully mapped out. He would do whatever it took to fix his life the way he had planned ever since he gained control over his own mind.

He was angry with Muazatu, but he calmed down, reaffirming to himself that he could not live without her—he had to make her forgive him.

“Please forgive me, Muazatu.”

He sent her the message.

Muazatu read what Abdulazeez had sent. She closed her eyes, and a wave of compassion touched her heart. Though his words were short, they meant a lot to her. Their weight, like a river, washed over her heart. Still, she didn’t reply or call back, until he insisted and sent a second message:

“Muazatu, please, I’m sorry.”

He called her again.

This time, she answered, but instead of speaking, she cried into the phone. He let her cry until she grew tired. She wiped her tears and then said,

“I forgive you.”

He smiled, adjusted his position on his comfortable bed, pulled the quilt over half his body, and switched the phone from his right to left hand.

"So soon?" she murmured, as if he could hear her.

“Since you know you wronged me, and you’ve admitted it, why are you still angry with me?”

“Ah, don’t you realize you wronged me? Look into my eyes and tell me...”

"When reconciling, don’t nitpick," she interrupted.

“Just admit that I’m not the only one at fault—both of us have wronged each other. Muazatu, I don’t want to humiliate you. Even if marriage between us didn’t happen, you shouldn’t have told me not to approach my wife. Mind your own business. This is my personal world. I’m sorry again for not picking your calls. If I said I didn’t miss you, that would have been a lie. I love you, Muazatu—you are the goal I want to achieve now, believe it or not.”

Muazatu let out a long sigh. Though his earlier words had pained her, his final words washed away the hurt. That was how he was—God had made him like that. He never hid the truth of his heart to please anyone, and he didn’t lie for anyone’s affection. If someone wanted to love him, they had to love him as he truly was. She had long understood that.

“I’m sorry too… and I love you more…”

She laughed, letting out a delighted, carefree chuckle. They continued their usual conversation, but today it felt even warmer than usual.

After he left and closed his door, Hafsat came in, picking up the parcels he had left. She opened them: roasted chicken (Yahuza), juice, fresh milk, and five shawarmas. She greeted her and asked permission to enter. She placed the food she had cooked (expressly) for her, and in a gentle voice said,

“He also bought it for you, uncooked.”

“It’s okay, I’ll heat it tomorrow and eat it.”

She handed her one of the parcels, and Hafsat took it, thanked her, and left, saying,

“May God wake us in good health. After eating and drinking, take your medicine.”

Hafsat replied, "Insha’Allah" and closed the door behind her.

Muazatu sat in the center of her room, ate the chicken to satisfaction, took her medicine, then prayed her usual Nafila prayers. She put on soft sleepwear, made du’a, turned off the bright light, left a dim light on, and lay down.