Muwaddat Part 2 Complete Hausa Novel

Restless Thoughts of Ayshatul Muwaddat
 
Ayshatul Muwaddat lay on her comfortable bed in Italy, not asleep but lost in thought. The subject of her wandering mind was Muhammad Auwal, who had become inseparable from her heart. Whenever she withdrew into solitude, her mind offered no task except dwelling on him—his voice, his appearance, the rhythm of his life. His resonant voice lingered most in her memory, and each time she recalled it, her heart throbbed as though in surrender.
 
Breathing heavily, she reached for her phone on the bedside table and dialed his number. On the second ring, he answered softly, “Hello, my Aysha…”
 
Hearing his tender tone, she shut her eyes, exhaling deeply as waves of sensation coursed through her body. Neither of them spoke, only their breathing filled the silence, echoing between them like unspoken confessions.
 
Finally, he broke it gently:
“Aysha, you called me but said nothing. My heart tells me something weighs on your mind. Share it with me… please.”
 
She hesitated, tongue tied though longing to speak. He coaxed her again:
“Tell me, Aysha. Knowing your worries brings peace to my soul. Otherwise, my heart races with anxiety. Please, trust me.”
 
His gentle plea softened her stubborn silence. At last she whispered, “Nothing… I only called to greet you.”
 
“You miss me, don’t you?” he asked.
“Miss you? Not really,” she lied, though her breath betrayed her.
He chuckled softly, “I don’t believe you. Your heart hides more than your words.”
 
Though close in friendship and bond, she rarely let herself speak freely over calls, unlike in their chats where her heart poured out with ease. He sensed this, smiling quietly. “Let’s continue on WhatsApp,” he suggested, ending the call.
 
Without delay, she activated her data and opened their chat. Recording a voice note, she asked warmly, “Auwal, my brother, how are you? Is everything fine? As for me, I am troubled because of your absence. Life feels dull without you.” She pressed send, leaned back, and closed her eyes, her heart racing.
 
Two minutes later, his reply arrived. She quickly lay down again, plugging in her earpiece to listen in privacy. His firm voice filled her ears, pulling her deeper into longing.
 
“Muwaddat, I knew something troubled you. Truly, the distance hurts me too. I feel drained of life without you. Tell me, what do you feel for me?”
 
She fell silent, body and heart overcome by his voice. He pressed again:
“My dear, are you well? Please, speak. Don’t remain so quiet.”
 
Instead of replying with a voice note, she typed: “Nothing’s wrong. Thank you for caring. I’m fine.”
 
His reply came swiftly: “No, I won’t accept that. Say it—or I’ll send you crying emojis until you give in!”
 
His display picture caught her gaze—his small lips in the photo stirred her imagination. For ten minutes she stared at his face, zooming in on his eyes, longing to taste the lips she saw. Then she messaged, “Why do you never look at the camera in your photos?”
 
“Because I’m shy,” he teased. “Or is it because you want to stare at my lips?”
 
She responded with a playful emoji. Then, hearing her name in his tender voice, “Muwaddat… my plea to you,” her heart skipped.
 
“What is it, M.A.?” she asked.
 
He lowered his tone, almost whispering: “I’m working on a project here in London. It needs the form of a young woman. I’m lost, unable to find anyone… and I need your help.”
 
Curious, she typed quickly: “What project, M.A.?”
 
“Promise me you won’t refuse?”
“I promise. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, especially for your studies.”
 
His heart pounded as he typed, erased, and retyped the words several times before finally sending: “I just want to see your breasts now, Muwaddat. Please don’t say no.”
 
Crossing Boundaries of Desire
 
When she read his words, her eyes widened. She read them again and again, over ten times. His request echoed in her mind, colliding with the promise she had just given. Torn between reluctance and loyalty to his academic pursuit, she finally surrendered.
 
“You naughty brother,” she murmured, pulling out her full breasts from beneath her long gown. They gleamed, firm and round, her nipples standing proudly. She captured them and sent the photo instantly.
 
Within seconds, his voice note came, loud with passion:
“Muwaddat! By Allah, these breasts… Oh God, I feel like sucking them right now. Your nipples are perfect. Please, when I return, let me taste them. Don’t deny me, let me feel your warmth. Even if you refuse me your body, at least let me have these breasts.”
 
She typed calmly, “I feel no desire, Auwal. That’s just how my nipples look. I only sent the photo for your project, nothing more.”
 
His heart sank at her words. His reply came weak: “You’ve driven me mad, Muwaddat. How can I bear not having them in reality?”
 
She responded firmly, “You can’t, unless you marry. If your wife has breasts like mine, good. If not, then endure.”
 
He sighed deeply, biting his lips, then confessed:
“You’re merciless, Muwaddat. Even if you don’t agree, I swear I must have them someday. Unless fate keeps us apart…”
 
Just then, her phone rang—it was her father. She excused herself quickly, messaging, “I’ll be back,” and hurried downstairs to greet him.
 
Portrait of Muwaddat
 
Ayshatul Muwaddat was no ordinary girl—she was a beauty of the highest order. Though not fair-skinned, her chocolate complexion glowed with radiance. Tall and well-shaped, she was neither thin nor fat, but endowed with a lush figure of leisure. Her skin shone, her wide eyes sparkled, and her nose stood straight and fine.
 
Her lips were small yet perfectly shaped, much like Muhammad Auwal’s. Her teeth gleamed white when she smiled, and her whole presence radiated privilege and charm. Though her face did not scream spoiled, her playful demeanor around her parents betrayed her pampered upbringing.
 
Muhammad Auwal, in contrast, was fair-skinned but otherwise shared nearly identical features. Together, their looks mirrored one another, as though fate had carved them in similar molds.
 
Entangled in Love and Temptation
 
Their bond deepened with each exchange, teetering between affection and forbidden desire. For Ayshatul, Auwal had become the constant rhythm of her thoughts, the warmth in her silence. For Auwal, her beauty, her voice, and now the glimpse of her body had ignited a fire he could barely contain.
 
Yet, hidden beneath their playful chats and passionate confessions lay the tension of restraint. She promised loyalty, he pleaded for more. She teased with denial, he swore with desperation. Their love—tinged with temptation—wove a story both intoxicating and dangerous, with hearts chained by distance but aflame with longing.
 
And so, their nights continued: calls turning to silence, silence breaking into whispers, whispers swelling into pleas, and promises hanging between them like stars just out of reach.