Abokin Rayuwa Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Storm, the Pain, and the Stranger
 
I lifted my head and looked at the dark clouds already releasing raindrops, the strong wind blowing as if it wanted to uproot the whole town.
 
“Mamy… Mamy… Ahhhh ahhhh ahhhh!”
 
I lowered my gaze toward where my son was—my autistic child—crying loudly while rubbing his eyes, probably because sand had entered them. Tears and sweat began to run down my face, even though it was the wind that was blowing everywhere. But the pain of the labor for the child I was about to give birth to robbed me of every comfort.
 
Slowly, I held onto the cracked wall in front of me and slid down to sit; the rain began to fall. My son’s scream pierced my ears, my labor rushed me fiercely, my sight blurred, and my breathing became heavy…
 
There was no one with me. No one to say “Emily, push, you can do it,” no one to guide me on what 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 like they did during my son London’s birth—my first delivery?
 
A burning pain shot through my abdomen and down my thighs, making me scream with all my strength in a place where no one would save me.
 
“What happened to 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 see mine. Because of the heavy rain and the intensity of the labor, I couldn't even make out who he was. I held both his hands tightly, struggling for breath, unable to speak.
 
“Subhanallah… Are you Christian?”
 
As he attempted to withdraw his hand from mine, his wristwatch slipped off and remained in my palm. I clenched it tightly as another contraction hit.
 
“Is there anyone close by that you know?”
 
I shook my head—no. I had no one in this world, let alone nearby.
 
“Okay, I’ll take you to the hospital right now… is that your son over there?”
 
I nodded. All I wanted was help—anything to end this pain. He seemed strong, because suddenly he lifted me up while whispering prayers.
 
“Astagfirullah… Oh God, forgive me, I didn’t touch her intentionally.”
 
He put me in his car, ignoring the mess of my body, ignoring my son’s deafening cries, ignoring the difference in our religions, ignoring my poverty and his wealth. He drove fast, comforting me as he went: “Hold on… we’re almost there… stay strong.” As if I were his own sister…
 
Emily’s Present, the Watch, and Vito
 
The sound of the door opening brought her out of her thoughts. Slowly, she stroked the expensive gold watch on her wrist as hot tears fell.
 
“Emily…”
 
She lifted her head and looked at the caller through the mirror. He rushed to her side, worry clouding his face—fear, love, confusion—all at once because of her tears.
 
He knelt beside her where she sat before the mirror filled with makeup items. His fair skin against his dark stormy features gave him a look of deep intensity. One glance at him and you’d know joy had no space on his face, yet he was undeniably handsome. A cross necklace hung around his neck—just like hers. Only his was large and filled his tattooed chest, while hers was small.
 
His gaze dropped to the watch on her wrist, and his expression hardened.
 
“How long will you keep holding onto that watch that reminds you of your past?”
 
She stared at him with her captivating eyes and perfectly shaped lips.
 
“Until the day I can forget kindness.”
 
She looked back at the watch—the one she felt saved her life when death hovered near.
 
“Whoever owned this watch was kind… compassionate… a good-hearted person. He was different from other Muslims.”
 
Vito jerked as if slapped.
 
“There’s NO difference between them! Not a single Muslim is different from the other! You’ve met one, you met two—you saw for yourself! You don’t need someone to tell you stories. What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you forget your past? You have everything now. You need no one. I’m here for you and I love you.”
 
He hugged her tightly. She broke down crying in his arms. He comforted her gently.
 
“You have everything you ever dreamt of, babe. A luxury home, cars—everything.”
 
She stepped away, wiped her tears, opened her drawer, and picked up her necklace. She stood and walked to the bathroom to wash her face. She stared at herself in the mirror there—changed, transformed, beautiful, renewed.
 
“You can do this, Emily. You have to. You’re Emily now—not the former Emily. You’re Emily—not Aysha. You are strong. You need no one.”
 
She reminded herself, because who else would encourage her?
 
After getting dressed and fixing her hair, she returned. Vito watched her silently, eyes fixed on her every movement.
 
“You look beautiful.”
 
He walked toward her. She truly was stunning—beauty that seized attention at first sight.
 
“I don’t know why you insist on working,” he said, circling her like someone inspecting treasure. “I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve. I’ve given you everything. What more do you need? But whatever it is… I’ll support you. Because I love you and your happiness matters more than anything.”
 
“I’m not looking for wealth,” she replied gently. “I just want to live like other people. You changed me, yes… but I want to live normally. Don’t be afraid.”
 
He stood close, their breaths mingling.
 
“Vito fears nothing. Fear fears Vito. And remember—YOU belong to me.”
 
He kissed her.
 
“I wish you all the best on your first day. I love you. Good luck.”
 
Then he left.
 
She breathed out, took her phone and bag, and went to her son’s section of the house.
 
Turhan, Ammy, and the Weight of the Past
 
“You haven’t left yet?”
 
He stood quickly, looking at her with troubled, wounded eyes.
 
“Ammy…”
 
He fell silent under the harsh mother-to-son stare she gave him.
 
“Your presence here is useless. You know I’ll never allow you to sleep in my house. Staying the day is also pointless.”
 
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, stepping closer.
 
“Ammy, I’m sorry. Truly. I regret everything. Please forgive me.”
 
He knelt and held her hands.
 
“What can I do for you to forgive me? What will make you believe I regret everything?”
 
“Your regret won’t fix what you destroyed,” she replied coldly. “I don’t hate you. I only cut the bond that once existed.”
 
“Ammy, what can I do for you to understand me? What can I do for you to forgive me? I’m troubled… I’m suffering…”
 
“I already forgave you long ago, Turhan.”
 
“Not THAT kind of forgiveness. I want the kind where you’d miss me when I travel… where you’d be happy when I come home… where we laugh together again. Ammy, what can I do for THAT forgiveness?”
 
Tears filled his eyes.
 
“You’ll get that forgiveness only if Aysha forgives you…”
 
He shook his head quickly.
 
“Ammy, don’t do that. If you tie your forgiveness to Aysha’s, then you’ll never forgive me—because I don’t know where she is. I don’t know where to find her. Ammy, that’s unfair…”
 
She snapped at him loudly:
 
“YOU want fairness? Was what you did fair? Because of you, that girl abandoned Islam. Every support I tried to give her as a Muslim girl—YOU destroyed it. I tried to be a mother to her. Every dream I had for her AND you—you crushed it. Your treatment of her erased everything I tried to teach her about Muslims being good. I SAW her with my own eyes begging in front of a church because she believed Muslims failed her.
 
You made her believe Muslims cannot love a convert. You made her believe we are heartless. You and your people forced her out. Everything she became or will become—YOU are the cause. You chose your kingdom, your father, your people—now return to them!”
 
“Ammy… don’t tell me you love Ay—”
 
Her slap landed before he finished.
 
“I love Aysha more than you, Turhan. You’re right. If you had kept her the way I instructed, she could have been my ticket to Paradise.”
 
“Ammy… I wasn’t her first husband. And I didn’t mistreat her the way you think, it’s not as you—”
 
She pointed at the door.
 
“Leave. This country isn’t your father’s kingdom. Your power ends in Sudan. Go back to your palace, your wife, your people. Leave me with mine.”
 
He lowered his head and left. She watched him until he disappeared, then turned toward Amal who had been standing on the stairs, watching.
 
“Ammy, please calm d—”
 
Ammy looked at her—expression cold as ice.