Ahalinmu Daya Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Knocking / Entering
 
She gently, calmly knocked on the fourth door of the ward and softly said, “Please, how can I come in?” She spoke in a low voice, showing tiredness, and added, “Are Ummeetha and the others in the car waiting for me?” Silence — she heard no answer as if nobody would speak. Then she sensed movement and the door began to open a few seconds later, before she could finish saying, “May I come in?”
 
In a cool voice she heard, “Yes, come in.” Calmly she pushed the door open. As she entered the office, the man at the desk acknowledged her with a greeting; he answered without lifting his eyes to look at her: “Good day. How are you? Hope you’re fine?” He didn’t give a long answer and she too seemed to have nothing to add. At a glance, it was clear he had no mood for much company today. Everything in the office was black and white. Looking around, the office felt like a senator’s or MP’s — tall and grand, very formal with minimal decoration. The furniture included white chairs shaped like an L laid on their side, a black fridge, and long heavy curtains. The ceiling of the office was thick and also black; the nets were white — everything matched the town’s cold weather so the office looked even more handsome. Awards lined the walls in various colors, some with pictures, others hung on the floor as decorations. In the middle of the seating area there was a soft coffee table, also black and white. Small cushions were arranged around the room in different styles — nothing matched; it was obvious the owner loved those colors. There was another door covered by the west side of the office and you could not tell what was inside. He was sitting on a cushioned chair gently rocking. In front of him was a large table covered with documents and folders, an iPhone-like computer, and a small cup holding many colored pens. A small plaque in front of him on the table had big black letters: DR. SULAIM HAMEED ARAB.
 
He had been sitting silent for a long time; that made him stand up. He blinked slowly, eyes narrow, and looked at her. He seemed sleepy. She fixed her eyes on him and they met. She lowered her gaze; she did not intend to ask permission to sit. That made her start to speak.
 
“Uhm, Sir — I’m Ummeetha,” she said. “She wanted to see you. She called but your phone didn’t pick up. Right now they are in the car waiting for you.” She finished speaking and lifted her eyes to look at him. He had reclined on his second chair and closed his eyes as if asleep.
 
But she couldn’t leave the place yet — she heard his voice in her ear. She kept watching him as he appeared to be as if he hadn’t spoken. Then he raised his hand, signaling for her to stop.
 
“You can go now. I’ll see you later,” he said.
“Okay, Sir,” she replied and stole a glance; she noticed his eyes were still closed. She frowned a little — feeling offended — then turned and left the room quietly, closing the door gently behind her as she walked away.
 
One of the larger parked cars among three in the center she headed towards to get in.
“No, who do you think you are? You don’t have the right. We’ve been waiting for you a long time,” someone said.
“By God, Aunty Raziqa, it’s not that I wanted to be rude — he only disrespected people. What did he do to you?” another asked, trying to calm the situation.
 
She explained in a broken voice: “When I went and knocked, he didn’t open. He only opened when he saw fit. When he did open, he inhaled deeply before allowing me in. That’s what upset me most — he looks at me like he doesn’t know me.” Tears filled her eyes; she spoke in sobbing laughter, and you could see the depth of her upset.
 
Indeed, since that moment in the car she felt humiliated. “Please forgive me, my princess,” someone teased and she laughed heartily; her teeth showed brightly — she liked the name. But two people were calling her by it: Ummeetha — her mother — and Aunty Raziqa, their uncle’s wife. Even though her friend teased with that nickname, she loved hearing it.
 
“Aunty,” Ummeetha said, “maybe you should let him come and I’ll speak to him.” Aunty Raziqa said this, but deep inside she prayed that Aunty Raziqa would not mention it to him because she knew if he heard it he’d be upset, maybe wouldn’t forgive. Still, she smiled and nodded because she knew there were still some of her children with her.
 
Conversation / Reactions in the Car and Office
 
He slowly opened his eyes; you could swear he had not been sleeping before, but when he did shut his eyes he made them smaller — he lowered his gaze to check his watch: 12:10 pm. He opened a small drawer, took a small bottle, swallowed two tablets, drank from the bottle of water next to him, closed the drawer, stood up, picked up his Samsung Galaxy, and headed straight out the office door to the hospital yard with calm and dignity. You could tell this was typical for him: wherever he went people greeted him, “Goodbye, Dr.” But he could not bear to talk to everyone — he only shook hands as if compelled to.
 
The young man was wealthy, classy, and charismatic. He was tall with a broad chest. His skin tone you wouldn’t call very fair, but due to rest and care his skin appeared lighter and glowing. He was very handsome, noble and energetic — a striking young Arab-looking man with a calm, composed face that had been groomed and shone down to his long neck; he wore a neat beard that suited his long face. He wore a white long-sleeved shirt, blue-black jacket, and similar blue-black trousers — a stylish look that suggested education and status. From his presence you’d say he had deep scholarly life experience and modest taste; his mouth looked as if a spoon could not enter, and he had brown shiny lips — the kind psychologists call fashionable and educated. This was Dr. Sulaim Hameed Arab.
 
He slowly put in his ear’s Bluetooth, adjusted it, then walked to where Ummeetha and the others had parked. He got into the middle seat and, before he arrived, a security guard in a blue uniform came and opened the car cover and bowed slightly as he entered. He greeted the woman on the seat with a warm smile and gently took her hand.
 
“May God soften the heart of a mother who isn’t angry with her children. Please Ummeetha, what wrong did I do? Please smile so my heart doesn’t break,” he said, in a tone of playful pleading. She smiled slightly and then laughed — you could tell she was his mother even though they didn’t resemble each other much; still, blood showed in his face. He tugged at her ear playfully and said, “Ummeetha, you know we’ve been waiting here for some time. Haven’t you given us the time?”
“Forgive us — I forgot. What time exactly will they arrive?” she asked.
“They’ll land at 12:40,” someone replied. “Go ahead, we’ll follow. I’ll give you my office key when we get there.” She didn’t like to look at him; her heart felt pity for her son because of the trouble that bothered him.
 
Just as she was opening the car door to get in, she heard Aunty Raziqa say, “You must run — you know you are at fault.”
 
He turned a little because they were at the back, and the woman who had come to call him to the office saw what she brought into the place — she didn’t know why it had to be there either.
 
A smile appeared on his face as he got into the car. “Aunty, what did I do? I apologized already. Forgive me,” he said in a way that showed he had affection for Aunty Raziqa. The tone between them suggested a strong bond; from the manner he spoke to her you could tell there was affection between them.
 
If this were not so, then why did he leave the car without giving her a seat? He left her standing knocking outside; he didn’t open immediately for her. She was terrified of him — she didn’t fully show her fear but it was there. He then reached forward and gently pulled her from where she sat; she collapsed from standing up, so overwhelmed by crying that she realized he hadn’t noticed the noise.
 
She cried. “Subhanallah, Sulaim, what is this?” asked Aunty Raziqa. She rolled her lips earlier and left his office frowning, then got out of the car. There was no trace of playfulness on his face as he headed to his office.
 
The sobbing that had been building in her burst out: “I told you, Dr. Sulaim — it’s not just about you alone. How do you know I rolled my lips earlier?” She covered her face with her hands, sobbing and talking.
 
“What will Ummeetha and the others do? Won’t they laugh at me?” Aunty Raziqa said. “Yes, Aunty,” she replied, “but his eyes were closed — how did he know I rolled my lips?”
 
“Fine. I heard. But you should know what you did was not right. Don’t do that to anyone who respects you. Go with our car.” She nodded, her face slightly reddening, skin fair and pale — they walked on while Aunty Raziqa tried to calm her.
 
He entered his office again and returned to the matrix-like chairs. He paused, hit a small bell on a side table, and two men in uniforms — security or bodyguards — came in. He nodded to them, signaling he was leaving; they bowed respectfully, and he quickly stepped out. He grabbed an iPhone, dialed, and the screen showed he was calling Dr. Jabir.