K
freeBOOK INFORMATION
AvailableDetails
- Category
- Love Stories
- Format
- DOC
- Access
- Free
- Reader
- Prepared
- Reading parts
- 48 chapters/parts
- Published
- Jul 24, 2025
- Updated
- Sep 14, 2026
BOOK IDENTITY
Author & publisher
- Author
- Amnah El Yakub
- Publisher
- Ashwar Media Hausa
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Description
A Veil of Dignity
She walked gracefully, as usual. A flowing black abaya draped her body. Though slightly loose, it couldn't completely hide her shape. Her face was covered with a black niqab. At first glance, you’d mistake her for an Arab woman from Saudi Arabia—that’s how refined her appearance was.
She glanced at the watch on her wrist—it read N400. Her hands were fair, with long, graceful fingers. Seeing the time, her heart skipped a beat and she whispered, “Subhanallah,” then quickened her steps, realizing she was almost late.
Like every day, she had to walk past a group of three guys sitting on a car. They always tried to speak to her, and every single time, she ignored them completely—as if they didn’t even exist.
One of them said,
“Dude, look at that stubborn girl again. Here she comes.”
The one called Dude responded,
“I don’t understand you guys. You keep talking. Why don’t you face her and do what you want?”
The third guy said,
“No, Anwar. Honestly, I can’t. The girl has this aura… I mean, we don’t even know who she really is.”
“Who else could she be, if not Malam Shehu’s daughter? One look at her shoes and you’ll know poverty lives in her home,” Anwar said.
They all burst into laughter, clapping and mocking. One shouted,
“Oh boyyyyy!” like a typical street rascal.
Just then, she walked past them.
Anwar jumped down from the car, saying,
“Let me show you what I’ll do today. Today, I’ll unveil that face of hers. These girls act like saints—staring at you but won’t even let you see them.”
As she walked with her mind focused ahead, a figure suddenly appeared in front of her like he was thrown there. Her heart almost burst.
Terrified, her eyes darted around. In a firm voice, she said,
“A’uzubillahi…”
He looked into her eyes—white, clear, with sharp black pupils that only enhanced her beauty. He could see genuine fear in them.
He snapped,
“So I’m a devil now, that you’re seeking Allah’s protection from me?”
She replied,
“And who else would do what you just did if not a devil?”
He pointed at her,
“Don’t you dare compare me to Shaytan again. If you do, I swear I’ll do something you’ll never forget in your life.”
Her heart pounded even more. Softly, she said,
“May Allah guide you…”
Before she could finish, he grabbed her hand.
“You’re responding to me now? So you do have a tongue!” he mocked.
She snatched her hand away and stepped aside, trying to walk past him. But he blocked her again, raising his hand to remove her niqab.
He had finally pushed her too far.
Calm but cornered, she didn’t hesitate. She lifted her hand and slapped him hard across the face. 😳🙆ðŸ»
His hand instinctively went to his cheek. His eyes turned red with rage. A girl? Slap him? And not just any girl—a tiny one, clearly from a poor background?
She said in a fiery tone,
“Did someone tell you I’m a loose girl? Do you think I’m like those cheap girls you mess with? I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my dignity—do you understand?”
She stormed off toward the main road to catch a Keke Napep to school. Her body was trembling. Even the hand she used to slap him was shaking.
“Innalillah…” she whispered.
“What have I done? Slapped a man? And not just any man, a reckless brat I considered a street dog.”
Fear gripped her. Even the sound of a loud horn could make her take off running. 🤣
Just then, a Keke Napep stopped in front of her.
"Madam, where are you going?"
"B-B-BUK... New Site,” she stammered.
“Hop in, let’s go.”
She jumped in and exhaled deeply. Even the rider turned to look at her in surprise.
Meanwhile, the guys burst out laughing.
“Look at you, man! You always brag about that girl. Now look—she slapped you and all you could do was hold your cheek. 🤣”
Nabeel hissed,
“Jazy, stop it. You’ve always been afraid of her. Look at Anwar—his pride is crushed.”
Anwar growled,
“She slapped me? That’s impossible! She’ll regret this. I promise you all, she’ll pay.”
He stormed into his car angrily and drove off, dust flying. His friends just watched.
“His pride’s hurt bad,” Jazy said.
“Well, a slap is no joke,” Nabeel replied.
“I feel sorry for that girl though. He won’t let this go…”
She arrived at the school gate at exactly 11:16am. Too late. Her lecturer had already locked the door. It was his habit—five minutes late, and you miss the class.
Some girls were already standing outside, five of them.
One said,
“This man doesn’t respect women. He didn’t even accept our apologies.”
Another added,
“He’s not married—that’s why he’s like that.”
(You know how some girls are—once a lecturer denies them access, he “hates women” 😂)
One of them raised her voice mockingly,
“Malam, Innallaha ma’assabireen.” 😂
He ignored them all.
She, however, simply went to stand by the window, quietly listening to his lecture.
Upon seeing her, the lecturer gestured for her to enter. Something about her demeanor—her calmness, her seriousness—made her stand out.
People started whispering, but he ignored them. Her face was veiled—there was nothing to suggest he allowed her in for anything other than sincerity.
He taught until time was up, then left.
Her best friend walked up.
“Beauty, why were you late? You know how this lecturer is! Good thing he let you in.”
She sighed,
“Besty, I had issues on the way, that’s why I was late.”
“Okay, let’s go eat something. I’ll tell you what you missed.”
They bought Limca soda for ₦100 🤣 and sat down together.
Her phone rang—a small white VIVO. She saw who it was and instantly rejected the call, frowning.
“Beauty, seriously? Why won’t you give that guy a chance?”
“Nasrin, please stop mentioning that man. I don’t like him—not even a little.”
Nasrin teased,
“Okay oh, madam University girl. You’re so grown up now!”
Beauty laughed,
“Level 1, besty! We just started.”
They both giggled as a new lecturer walked in and they went back to class.
Meanwhile...
> “Did someone tell you I’m a loose girl? Do you think I’m like those cheap girls you mess with? I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my dignity—do you understand?”
Her words rang in Anwar’s head. In anger, he flung a bottle, shattering a glass cup on the floor.
His mother walked in, dressed in expensive clothes.
“My son, what’s going on?” she asked.
He didn’t respond. She sat and sighed,
“Anwar, when will you change? You were born by a woman too. Stop harming girls—especially poor, helpless ones. Don’t forget who your father is. One wrong move could destroy everything...”
“Sadaqallahul Azeem,” came a voice.
She turned—Anwar’s father had arrived.
“Your mother’s always lecturing you,” he said.
“Do whatever you like, son. We have power. Nobody touches you.”
She protested,
“But Alhaji—”
“But what? I’m traveling to Kuwait. Son, come with me. Relax while I finish my meeting. Or go wherever you want.”
“Dad, I have a birthday party tomorrow.”
“Okay. My room—there’s money in the drawer. Take what you want.”
Anwar grinned and ran to collect it.
His mother shook her head,
“How long will this go on, Alhaji?”
“Two or three days max. We’ll be back, in sha Allah.”
“Allah ya dawo daku lafiya.”
4:15pm
They left the lecture.
“Besty, we’ll talk tomorrow. I’m starving—and we haven’t prayed.”
“Same here. Call you later.”
On her way home, the morning’s incident came rushing back. Her heart raced.
“Ya Allah, protect me,” she whispered.
As she walked quickly through the street, she avoided the very spot it happened.
Suddenly, a boy nearby counted,
“Affan, look! One, two… nine… ten! TEN black expensive cars!”
Affan looked and pointed,
“That one’s mine.”
She walked gracefully, as usual. A flowing black abaya draped her body. Though slightly loose, it couldn't completely hide her shape. Her face was covered with a black niqab. At first glance, you’d mistake her for an Arab woman from Saudi Arabia—that’s how refined her appearance was.
She glanced at the watch on her wrist—it read N400. Her hands were fair, with long, graceful fingers. Seeing the time, her heart skipped a beat and she whispered, “Subhanallah,” then quickened her steps, realizing she was almost late.
Like every day, she had to walk past a group of three guys sitting on a car. They always tried to speak to her, and every single time, she ignored them completely—as if they didn’t even exist.
One of them said,
“Dude, look at that stubborn girl again. Here she comes.”
The one called Dude responded,
“I don’t understand you guys. You keep talking. Why don’t you face her and do what you want?”
The third guy said,
“No, Anwar. Honestly, I can’t. The girl has this aura… I mean, we don’t even know who she really is.”
“Who else could she be, if not Malam Shehu’s daughter? One look at her shoes and you’ll know poverty lives in her home,” Anwar said.
They all burst into laughter, clapping and mocking. One shouted,
“Oh boyyyyy!” like a typical street rascal.
Just then, she walked past them.
Anwar jumped down from the car, saying,
“Let me show you what I’ll do today. Today, I’ll unveil that face of hers. These girls act like saints—staring at you but won’t even let you see them.”
As she walked with her mind focused ahead, a figure suddenly appeared in front of her like he was thrown there. Her heart almost burst.
Terrified, her eyes darted around. In a firm voice, she said,
“A’uzubillahi…”
He looked into her eyes—white, clear, with sharp black pupils that only enhanced her beauty. He could see genuine fear in them.
He snapped,
“So I’m a devil now, that you’re seeking Allah’s protection from me?”
She replied,
“And who else would do what you just did if not a devil?”
He pointed at her,
“Don’t you dare compare me to Shaytan again. If you do, I swear I’ll do something you’ll never forget in your life.”
Her heart pounded even more. Softly, she said,
“May Allah guide you…”
Before she could finish, he grabbed her hand.
“You’re responding to me now? So you do have a tongue!” he mocked.
She snatched her hand away and stepped aside, trying to walk past him. But he blocked her again, raising his hand to remove her niqab.
He had finally pushed her too far.
Calm but cornered, she didn’t hesitate. She lifted her hand and slapped him hard across the face. 😳🙆ðŸ»
His hand instinctively went to his cheek. His eyes turned red with rage. A girl? Slap him? And not just any girl—a tiny one, clearly from a poor background?
She said in a fiery tone,
“Did someone tell you I’m a loose girl? Do you think I’m like those cheap girls you mess with? I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my dignity—do you understand?”
She stormed off toward the main road to catch a Keke Napep to school. Her body was trembling. Even the hand she used to slap him was shaking.
“Innalillah…” she whispered.
“What have I done? Slapped a man? And not just any man, a reckless brat I considered a street dog.”
Fear gripped her. Even the sound of a loud horn could make her take off running. 🤣
Just then, a Keke Napep stopped in front of her.
"Madam, where are you going?"
"B-B-BUK... New Site,” she stammered.
“Hop in, let’s go.”
She jumped in and exhaled deeply. Even the rider turned to look at her in surprise.
Meanwhile, the guys burst out laughing.
“Look at you, man! You always brag about that girl. Now look—she slapped you and all you could do was hold your cheek. 🤣”
Nabeel hissed,
“Jazy, stop it. You’ve always been afraid of her. Look at Anwar—his pride is crushed.”
Anwar growled,
“She slapped me? That’s impossible! She’ll regret this. I promise you all, she’ll pay.”
He stormed into his car angrily and drove off, dust flying. His friends just watched.
“His pride’s hurt bad,” Jazy said.
“Well, a slap is no joke,” Nabeel replied.
“I feel sorry for that girl though. He won’t let this go…”
She arrived at the school gate at exactly 11:16am. Too late. Her lecturer had already locked the door. It was his habit—five minutes late, and you miss the class.
Some girls were already standing outside, five of them.
One said,
“This man doesn’t respect women. He didn’t even accept our apologies.”
Another added,
“He’s not married—that’s why he’s like that.”
(You know how some girls are—once a lecturer denies them access, he “hates women” 😂)
One of them raised her voice mockingly,
“Malam, Innallaha ma’assabireen.” 😂
He ignored them all.
She, however, simply went to stand by the window, quietly listening to his lecture.
Upon seeing her, the lecturer gestured for her to enter. Something about her demeanor—her calmness, her seriousness—made her stand out.
People started whispering, but he ignored them. Her face was veiled—there was nothing to suggest he allowed her in for anything other than sincerity.
He taught until time was up, then left.
Her best friend walked up.
“Beauty, why were you late? You know how this lecturer is! Good thing he let you in.”
She sighed,
“Besty, I had issues on the way, that’s why I was late.”
“Okay, let’s go eat something. I’ll tell you what you missed.”
They bought Limca soda for ₦100 🤣 and sat down together.
Her phone rang—a small white VIVO. She saw who it was and instantly rejected the call, frowning.
“Beauty, seriously? Why won’t you give that guy a chance?”
“Nasrin, please stop mentioning that man. I don’t like him—not even a little.”
Nasrin teased,
“Okay oh, madam University girl. You’re so grown up now!”
Beauty laughed,
“Level 1, besty! We just started.”
They both giggled as a new lecturer walked in and they went back to class.
Meanwhile...
> “Did someone tell you I’m a loose girl? Do you think I’m like those cheap girls you mess with? I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my dignity—do you understand?”
Her words rang in Anwar’s head. In anger, he flung a bottle, shattering a glass cup on the floor.
His mother walked in, dressed in expensive clothes.
“My son, what’s going on?” she asked.
He didn’t respond. She sat and sighed,
“Anwar, when will you change? You were born by a woman too. Stop harming girls—especially poor, helpless ones. Don’t forget who your father is. One wrong move could destroy everything...”
“Sadaqallahul Azeem,” came a voice.
She turned—Anwar’s father had arrived.
“Your mother’s always lecturing you,” he said.
“Do whatever you like, son. We have power. Nobody touches you.”
She protested,
“But Alhaji—”
“But what? I’m traveling to Kuwait. Son, come with me. Relax while I finish my meeting. Or go wherever you want.”
“Dad, I have a birthday party tomorrow.”
“Okay. My room—there’s money in the drawer. Take what you want.”
Anwar grinned and ran to collect it.
His mother shook her head,
“How long will this go on, Alhaji?”
“Two or three days max. We’ll be back, in sha Allah.”
“Allah ya dawo daku lafiya.”
4:15pm
They left the lecture.
“Besty, we’ll talk tomorrow. I’m starving—and we haven’t prayed.”
“Same here. Call you later.”
On her way home, the morning’s incident came rushing back. Her heart raced.
“Ya Allah, protect me,” she whispered.
As she walked quickly through the street, she avoided the very spot it happened.
Suddenly, a boy nearby counted,
“Affan, look! One, two… nine… ten! TEN black expensive cars!”
Affan looked and pointed,
“That one’s mine.”
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