Doctor Shazim Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Silent Night
 
The cold wind swept through the quiet town, rustling the tree leaves with a calm, chilling sound. Rainwater still lingered on the ground, soaking into the soil, while streams ran through gutters — a sure sign that the rainy season had fully arrived.
 
The neighborhood was eerily silent, as though no one lived there. It was night, mixed with the dampness of rain, and even during the day, few people moved around in this elite district. Only the faint bulbs and the tall streetlamps illuminated the empty streets.
 
This was no ordinary neighborhood — it was home to wealthy merchants and top government officials.
 
The Chase
 
A car sped out of the corner, headlights cutting sharply through the night. Behind it, four other vehicles followed in close pursuit.
 
The driver pushed harder, the vehicle racing as though life itself depended on it. In his rearview mirror, he saw the chasing headlights growing closer. He knew he was driving between life and death.
 
With bruises on his body from an earlier beating, he struggled to stay focused. Sweat mixed with blood, and exhaustion gnawed at his strength. Still, he pressed on. His only companion was whispered prayers and desperate pleas to God.
 
For a moment, the chasing cars disappeared from his mirror. Hope flickered — perhaps he had lost them. But before relief could settle, a thunderous crash struck his car from behind.
 
It wasn’t the same cars. This time, a giant truck loomed behind him, its headlights blazing.
 
Panicking, he swerved off the main road into the bush. He had no direction — only escape. His car skidded and suddenly halted at the edge of a deep ravine. With no choice, he slammed the brakes, heart pounding in despair.
 
Before he could even catch his breath, the truck rammed him again, slamming his head against the wheel. Darkness swallowed him.
 
The truck driver reversed and hit the car once more, sending it tumbling into the abyss. No sound came from below; the depth of the ravine swallowed everything.
 
He parked his truck, stepped out, and peered into the darkness with the aid of his headlights. The pit was so deep that nothing could be seen at the bottom.
 
A cruel laugh escaped his lips.
“Now I know I will receive my full payment. This one is gone for good. Only his mother can give birth to another.”
 
His phone rang. The caller ID read Boss.
 
“Ina fatan ka gama da shi?” the voice asked immediately.
“I’m done. He has gone to meet his ancestors. His story ends tonight.”
“Good. I’m pleased,” Boss replied.
“And what of his wife and children?” the truck driver asked.
“Leave that to Big Boss. Just send me your account number. The balance will be transferred right away.”
 
“Thank you, boss.”
 
He ended the call, sent the account details, returned to his truck, and drove away — leaving the ravine to hold its deadly secret.
 
The Grand Mansion
 
Far away, in a different part of the city, stood a grand mansion. Neither too large nor too small, it was a perfect blend of wealth and elegance. Its roof shone, its walls painted in white and blue, matching the towering gate.
 
Inside the compound stood a guardhouse, a spacious parking lot with at least five luxury cars, a lush garden, and neat boys’ quarters at the back.
 
The parlor inside gleamed with costly furniture, designed in onion and peach colors. Twin staircases rose gracefully from one side, while the other led to a well-furnished kitchen, store, and dining area with seven chairs. A corridor connected four bedrooms on the ground floor, while the upper floor split into three wings — one for the wife and children, one for the master of the house, and one for their only son.
 
The Morning Routine
 
From one of the bedrooms, a graceful woman emerged, calling out,
“Aaimah! Aairah! Aairah!”
 
She was in her fifties, fair-skinned, dressed in a satin pink sleepwear resembling a Pakistani design. Not too slim and not overweight, her beauty was dignified and timeless.
 
She pushed open a bedroom door. Inside, everything was pink and white, neatly arranged — from the bed and wardrobe to the shoe rack and laundry basket. Yet, one daughter still lay fast asleep.
 
“Aairah, why haven’t you woken up yet? And where is Aaimah? Are you girls not going to school today?”
 
Just then, the bathroom door creaked open. A young girl stepped out, wrapped in a towel. She was strikingly beautiful, just like her mother. Her wet hair clung to her neck, her eyes large with brown irises and long lashes, lips pink and small. At 18, she carried herself with youthful grace.
 
“Mom, I’ve been trying to wake her since, but she won’t budge,” Aairah said, exasperated.
 
“Don’t worry, she will get up. Go and get ready,” the mother replied gently.
 
She approached the bed and shook her daughter.
“Aaimah! Wake up, it’s time for school. Do you want to be late?”
 
Still drowsy, Aaimah grumbled. Her twin sister Aairah pouted.
“Mom, why do you always call her your baby? Am I not also your youngest?”
 
Their playful argument drew laughter. Eventually, Aaimah sprang up, teasing her sister with faces and giggles.
 
“See, Mom, she’s been awake all along!” Aairah complained, crossing her arms in mock anger.
 
Both mother and sister laughed. The mother finally said,
“Enough, both of you. Hurry up! Abie is downstairs, preparing to leave. He’s returning to Abuja for work today.”
 
The twins chorused together, “Yes, Mom! We’re coming!”
 
The mother left, pulling the door behind her.
 
The Sisters’ Bond
 
As soon as she was gone, Aaimah turned to her twin, “My twin sister, please bring my uniform out before I finish bathing.”
 
“Oh, so now you’re pleading?” Aairah teased, pretending to refuse.
 
“Please, twinee,” Aaimah begged, tilting her head cutely.
 
“Hmm, you’re too sweet-tongued,” Aairah muttered, but went ahead to fetch the uniforms from the wardrobe.
 
The wardrobe was neatly arranged — pairs of school uniforms, Islamic outfits, dresses, hijabs, and sleeping clothes. She pulled out two sets of their pink-and-white school uniforms and placed them on the bed, along with matching shoes and pink schoolbags.
 
By the time Aaimah returned, her sister was already dressed, powder and Vaseline giving her a soft glow.
“Thanks, sis. Give me five minutes,” Aaimah said, rushing to the mirror.
 
Soon, both twins were ready, glowing in their uniforms — white blouses, pink skirts, white socks with pink stripes, and sneakers. They looked almost identical; only a slight difference in height set them apart.
 
Side by side, they were the pride of the household — and a picture of beauty, innocence, and youth.
 
End Note
 
From the silent streets haunted by death, to the vibrant home filled with love and life, two worlds existed in parallel. One drowned in betrayal and blood, the other blossomed in family warmth and laughter.
 
But fate had a way of weaving both worlds together.