Deen Marshall Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Deen Marshall Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel 
Najma sat still, her fingers hovering above her laptop, face calm but eyes burdened. A soft knock broke her focus, but she didn’t turn — she already suspected who it was. The name Abbas Lamido floated in her chest like smoke — heavy and unwelcome.
Sarah entered and gently took a seat.
“Naj, Chairman Abbas was here. He didn’t look… well. I think it has to do with Dr. Sa’id’s visit yesterday,” she said, voice cautious.
Najma sighed, placing her hands on her lap. So that was it again.
She attempted to call Abbas, but he didn’t answer. Three calls — nothing. Just then, a call from Hanifa offered her a breath of relief.
“Did you tell Hanifa about Abbas coming to the office?” Najma asked.
“She called me herself,” Sarah admitted, grinning.
As Sarah left, Najma knew the silence wouldn't last long.
 
Storm in a Suit
 
Abbas arrived minutes later, face stern, suit crisp — a storm walking on polished shoes. He ignored Sarah’s greeting, pushed Najma’s door open, and entered like he owned the air in her lungs.
Najma didn’t look up.
“Najma,” he began, voice simmering, “I asked you before — what’s really going on between you and that doctor?”
Najma blinked, her hands still. “Again?”
Abbas stormed closer, snatching her phone and flinging it onto the chair.
“Are you leading him on? You think I can’t see it? All this secrecy, all this dignity you wear — who are you fooling?”
Najma stood up, eyes sharp, and without a word, picked up her bag, walked to the door, and left.
He didn’t follow. He never did. He only burned in his rage, watching her back vanish like control slipping through his fingers.
 
Family Heat
 
Najma’s steps were slow but heavy as she left the Alfa estate office. The tension with Abbas weighed her spirit. Every fight reminded her — he wasn’t the man for her, no matter how powerful or wealthy.
Her taxi dropped her outside the Marshal Alfa family house. She exchanged warm greetings with the guards — a reminder that this place, at least, knew how to show kindness.
At home, she met her cousin Asmau helping Umma Habiba sort fabrics. Umma Habiba gave her the usual glance — a cocktail of pity and judgment.
Inside, her mother sat on the floor surrounded by perfume bottles, counting naira notes. Najma greeted her and walked past.
“You’re back early,” her mother remarked without looking up.
“I needed rest,” Najma replied simply.
Her mother didn’t waste time. “You always need rest, Najma. What you need is a husband. All your mates have children already.”
Najma paused in the doorway.
 
The Burden of Expectations
 
From the courtyard, her aunt Amina tried to intervene. “Umma, please—”
But her mother was relentless. “You, too! You left your husband’s house with a child and returned home. Don’t make Najma follow you.”
Hanifa walked in, her energy a refreshing contrast. “Najma will marry when the right man comes, Umma. Not all that glitters is gold. What she needs is peace, not any man.”
Umma scoffed. “All of you support her pride. But look where that’s led her — engagement after engagement broken. What’s she waiting for?”
Najma listened from her room. The truth pierced her chest: this would’ve been her fourth cancelled engagement. Abbas’ name would soon join the list of painful lessons.
 
Hope or Resignation
 
Najma sat quietly on her bed, the walls of her room familiar but no longer comforting. Her mother’s voice, muffled now, still echoed with disappointment. Abbas' anger, still fresh, left a bitter taste in her mouth.
 
How much longer could she carry all this?
 
She remembered her father — gone. The only man who made her feel seen. And the stepfather, Dattijo, though stern, never raised his voice at her. But he, too, wanted Abbas for her. Because Abbas meant connections, safety, and status.
But to Najma? He was a storm. A beautiful storm, perhaps. But one that never settled — only destroyed.
She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer, her voice shaking:
"Ya Allah, if Abbas is not my path, show me another way before I lose myself."