Abokin Rayuwa Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Struggle in the Storm
 
I lowered myself and looked at where my son was sitting—my autistic son—crying loudly and rubbing his eyes, which I suspected had been irritated by sand. Tears mixed with sweat rolled down my face even though the wind was blowing everywhere, but the pain of the labor blocked any comfort that could have reached me.
 
Slowly, I held onto the broken wall in front of me and leaned against it, then slipped down to sit on the ground. Rain began to fall. My son’s cries became louder, sending panic through me. The contraction hit me violently, my vision blurred, and my breath grew shallow…
 
There was no one with me. No one to say “Emily, push, you can do it.” No one to tell me what to do or what not to do. I had no one who cared enough to take me to the hospital. Could I give birth alone? Or would they have to cut me open again, like the previous time? My first birth—my son London—had been delivered through CS.
 
A sharp, burning pain shot from my abdomen to my thigh, forcing a scream out of me with all my strength, in a place where no one could save me.
 
“What’s wrong with you? Are you in labor? What are you doing here? Who are you?”
 
I heard a strange voice. My eyes met an unfamiliar face bending over me, trying to look clearly into mine. The rain and the contractions didn’t allow me to see his face properly. I stretched both hands toward him, gripping his tightly as I breathed hard, unable to speak.
 
“Subhanallah… are you a Christian?”
 
As he tried to pull his hand away, his wristwatch slipped off and remained in my grip. I held onto it tightly, panting in pain.
 
“Is there anyone you know close by?”
 
I shook my head. Who did I know in this whole world, let alone nearby?
 
“Okay, I’ll take you to the hospital right now… is that your child over there?”
 
All I could do was nod. I just wanted the pain to end. He seemed strong; suddenly he lifted me with ease, murmuring istigfaar.
 
“Astagfirullah, God forgive me, I didn’t touch her intentionally…”
 
He placed me in his car without caring about the mess on my body, without caring about my son’s screams that could burst an ear, without caring about our different religions, without caring about poverty or wealth. He drove fast, comforting me—“Sorry… be patient… we’re almost there…”—as if I were his own sister.
 
The sound of her room door opening brought her back from her thoughts. Gently, she touched the expensive gold wristwatch on her hand as hot tears slid down her cheeks.
 
“Emily…”
 
She lifted her head and looked at the one calling her name through the mirror in front of her. He quickly walked toward her and stood beside her, worry, love, fear, and anxiety all mixed in his eyes because of her tears.
 
He knelt beside her as she sat before her makeup mirror. He was fair, with a brooding, stormy face—no sign of joy or warmth, but undeniably handsome, a man with the full stature of a man. A cross necklace hung on his neck, just like hers—the difference being his was big, filling his chest decorated with tattoos, while hers was small.
 
His eyes fell on the wristwatch in her hand, and his expression hardened.
 
“How long will you keep holding onto that watch that reminds you of your past life?”
 
She looked at him with her stunning, captivating eyes and said quietly:
 
“Until the day I can forget kindness.”
 
Her gaze returned to the watch—the one belonging to the man who had saved her life when death was ready to take her.
 
“Whoever owns this watch is kind, compassionate, with a beautiful heart. He is unlike the other Muslims.”
 
He jerked as if about to slap her, shouting:
 
“There is no difference among them! You’ve met one, you’ve met two—you’ve seen for yourself! What’s in your mind? Why can’t you forget your past? You have everything now. You don’t need anyone. I’m here for you. And I love you.”
 
He hugged her tightly. She burst into tears and clung to him. He rubbed her back gently, calming her.
 
“You have everything you ever wanted, Babe. Luxury home and cars. Everything.”
 
She pulled away, wiped her tears, opened the mirror drawer, placed the necklace inside, and stood up. She went into the bathroom and washed her face. In the mirror, she studied herself:
 
She had changed—her looks, her nature, her beauty had blossomed.
 
“You can do this, Emily. You must do this. You are Emily now, not the Emily of before. You are Emily… not Aysha. You don’t need anyone.”
 
She told herself this because no one else would.
When you have no one to push you, push yourself.
She stepped back, stared at herself again, then looked at the bathroom door and exhaled before walking out.
 
She sat before the mirror again and finished her makeup. Vito didn’t comment, simply sitting with one leg crossed over the other, his eyes never leaving her face. She went to pick her outfit, changed in a small room, then came out adjusting her long, horse-tail–style attachment hair.
 
“You look beautiful.”
 
He approached her. Indeed, her beauty was breathtaking—her face sculpted, her body perfectly shaped.
 
“I don’t know why you insist on working. I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve. I’ve given you wealth. Why isn’t your heart satisfied? The money you seek elsewhere is nothing compared to what I’ve already given you. But whatever it is—you have my support. I love you and I want your happiness.”
 
He circled her as if assessing every detail.
 
“I’m not chasing wealth. I just want to live a normal life. You’ve changed me, and I’ve changed. I left everything behind because I want to live like normal people. Don’t be afraid.”
 
He stopped right in front of her, their breaths mixing.
 
“Vito fears nothing… but fear knows Vito. That’s why it hides when it sees me. You belong to me. Don’t forget that.”
 
He kissed her.
 
“Wish you all the best. May your first day at work be successful. I love you. Good luck on your new job.”
 
He smiled, touched her face, and left. She stood still for a few seconds, exhaled, then grabbed her phone and bag and headed to where her son was.
 
A Mother’s Pain & A Son’s Regret
 
TURHAN POV
 
“You haven’t left yet?”
 
He stood up, looking at her with distressed eyes full of worry.
 
“Ammy…”
 
But he couldn’t continue because of the stern, disciplinary look she gave him.
 
“Your staying here is useless. You know I will never let you spend the night in my house. So there’s no point staying.”
 
He opened his mouth but closed it again, stepping closer to his mother.
 
“Ammy I’m sorry. I regret everything. I’ve repented. Please forgive me.”
 
He knelt and held her hands.
 
“What should I do for you to forgive me? What should I do for you to believe I’m truly remorseful?”
 
“Your regret cannot fix what you destroyed. I’m not offended by anything—you simply severed a bond I worked hard to build.”
 
“Ammy, what should I do for you to understand that I regret it? What should I do for you to forgive me? I’m troubled, worried, lost.”
 
“I forgave you long ago, Turhan. I already told you that.”
 
“That’s not the forgiveness I want. I want the kind that makes you miss me when I travel, that makes you happy when I return, that lets us talk, laugh, and spend time like before. Ammy, what should I do for that forgiveness?”
 
He was on the verge of tears.
 
“You’ll get that kind of forgiveness only if Aysha forgives you…”
 
He shook his head.
 
“Ammy don’t do this. If you link your forgiveness to Aysha’s, you will never forgive me. I don’t know where she is. I don’t know how to find her. Ammy, that’s unfair…”
 
She snapped at him:
 
“Did you treat me fairly? Because of you, that girl left Islam. Because of you, every support I prepared for her vanished. Because of you, every comfort I wanted to give her disappeared. I wanted to be a mother to her because she never knew that love. Every hope I had for her and you—you ruined them.
 
Your actions—how you treated her, how you humiliated her—erased every lesson I taught her about Muslims being kind people. When you dropped her in this city, I saw her with my own eyes standing in front of a church begging for help because she believed Muslims failed her.
 
You made Aysha believe Muslims cannot love a convert.
You made her believe we lack kindness.
You forced her heart away from Islam.
You destroyed everything I built for you both…”
 
“Ammy, I wasn’t the first man in her life, and I didn’t treat her the way you think. You’re exaggerating.”
 
She pointed at the door.
 
“Get out of my living room. This country isn’t ruled by your father, is it? Your kingdom’s power ends in Sudan, so go back there. Rule your kingdom, your wife, your siblings, your father. Leave me to my peace.”
 
He stood, head down, and walked out. Ammy watched him leave, then turned and saw Amal standing halfway up the stairs.
 
“Ammy I’m sor—”
 
“If you say a word about this issue, pack your bags and leave my house.”
 
Amal quickly turned and went upstairs. In his car, Turhan leaned on the steering wheel, unable to find any comfort. His phone rang; he picked up, clearing his throat—exhausted, defeated.