Noor Albi Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Silent Pain Between Father and Daughter
She tried to return and sit on the plastic chair in front of the wheelchair where her father was seated, after placing the cup she had just finished giving him his medicine on the small table beside them. Slowly, calmly, she raised her eyes and looked at him without saying a word for about two minutes. Then she gently moved her lips and gave him a smile—one that melted his heart with overwhelming compassion and love. Yet he felt pain and deep ache in every one of her smiles, because he already knew that behind them was nothing but worry, loneliness, orphanhood, the absence of a mother, and the loss of a father—even though he was still alive. To her, he was as good as dead, for there was nothing he could do for her except show pure love from a seated or lying position.
Seeing the way he always looked at her—a look that constantly reflected his failure as a father—she never once looked back at him as someone who had failed. She knew this was their shared destiny, beginning with her mother who had died, and extending to Momy, whom she believed had suffered the most in every part of their lives.
She lowered her gaze from him, reached out, took some tissues, and gently wiped the stained edge of his clothes from the colored medicine that had spilled. She let out a thin sigh, slowly opened her mouth, and softly said:
“Abba…
Stop looking at yourself and your condition as something you deserve because of what happened.
Stop seeing yourself as the one who ruined his daughter’s life and gave her nothing—when you are everything to me.
It was my birth and coming into this world that shattered the peace of your life…”
He closed his eyes in pain and immediately placed both hands on her shoulders to stop her from continuing.
She sighed deeply without lifting her head, released another quiet, cool breath, then slowly turned her beautiful face away. Her eyes did not settle on her sister or her Aunt, who was holding her shoulders—they went straight to Momy, who was standing behind Aunt Sa’adah. Momy’s beautiful face was just as Laylah had always known it since childhood: tightly closed, neither soft nor angry, but carrying an expression that still blamed the birth that ruined her life and that of her daughter.
A Greeting Never Returned
Laylah slowly withdrew her gaze, slightly bowed her head, stood up gently, and passed beside Aunt Sa’adah to stand behind her. In a soft, obedient voice—without looking at Momy again—she said:
“Good morning, Momy.”
As Laylah had known all her life, from childhood to her present age, Momy never responded to her greetings. This was nothing new to her and it did not hurt her, just as Momy had never missed a single day of ignoring her. Laylah never saw Momy as wrong or felt hatred toward her. She looked at her as both a mother and a stepmother, with deep respect and reverence.
Momy walked fully into the sitting room with calm steps, reached a chair, sat down, and only then looked properly at Abba. In a composed voice she said:
“Good morning.”
Silence fell on all of them, knowing Abba could not speak—especially since his condition had worsened again in the past two days, after many long years confined to sitting and lying down.
As usual, he looked at her for several minutes before slowly lifting his head, his body heavy and cold with weakness.
She released a gentle breath and softly said:
“Dr. Abbakar called. He’s on his way. Do you think it will—”
She stopped mid-sentence and fell silent, then slowly glanced toward where Sa’adah was standing. Without saying anything, they understood and headed for the door, Laylah leading, her calmness showing more clearly even as her hardened heart concealed it.
Sa’adah led her straight into her room, pointed to the edge of the bed with her eyes, and said:
“Sit here. I’ll be right back.”
Sa’adah went to the kitchen, checked the breakfast, and saw that some yam porridge remained untouched. She served white yam with fried red pepper stew scented with onions onto a plate, opened their slightly old but functional fridge, brought out a cold sachet of water, and returned to the room. She sat beside Laylah, called her name gently with a caring tone that revealed deep love—the kind she had for no one else after Momy.
“Laylah,” she called softly, then said directly,
“So this is how you’ll become a doctor—skipping meals?
Eat, then get up and tidy Abba’s sitting room before his visitors arrive.”
As was her habit, Laylah looked up at Aunt Sa’adah, gave a faint smile, took the plate, and began eating quietly.
Sa’adah watched her closely, studying her beautiful face and calm demeanor. No matter how well you think you know someone, you could never truly understand the heart of Zainab Laylah. She was a girl with deep emotional depth, extraordinary patience, and reliance on God. She never showed anger or bitterness, never displayed loud joy. The only thing that revealed her inner state was her smile—and that smile exposed nothing but the pain she carried within.
A Life Born from Betrayal and Endurance
Laylah’s father had secretly married a distant relative of his closest friend, a man with whom he had grown up, shared wealth, and status. Distance alone separated them, not conflict—they were still close whenever the friend was in the country. He married the woman in secret without his wife’s knowledge. His wife had given him complete loyalty, love, devotion, and affection, never suspecting betrayal—especially since they had only one beloved daughter, Sa’adah.
After six years of secretly loving and living with Zainab, God destined her pregnancy to expose the hidden marriage. The lawful wife only heard of a terrible accident on the road while her husband was taking his other wife—who was in labor—to a distant state. That was the first shock that shattered her dignity and security as a wife. All her love and trust collapsed, replaced by a grief that has lived in her heart for years.
She never knew of the marriage until she saw the corpse of the woman and a healthy baby girl left behind. She avoided looking at the child too much, fearing Satan might corrupt her heart into harming an innocent soul.
She neither loved nor hated the child—who bore her late mother’s name, Zainab. She avoided her entirely, knowing the child was not at fault, yet unable to stop her heart from seeing her as the cause of their shattered lives. Laylah’s birth was the beginning of it all.
After the accident, Abba lost the use of his legs and spent long years confined to a wheelchair. He never blamed Momy, but he never stopped begging her to find a small space in her heart for Laylah, who had no one but him—and even he was powerless.
Laylah grew up in pure loneliness. From childhood, she saw how Momy never looked at her nor answered her greetings, yet never mistreated her either. She grew up with patience, accepting life as it was, believing she was the product of betrayal that destroyed Momy’s peace. That belief drove her to dedicate herself to serving Momy and Aunt Sa’adah, hoping to repay them in some small way.
Momy bore the cost of Laylah’s food, education, and needs, while Laylah took over all house chores after the house help was dismissed. Momy’s life became cold and joyless; laughter and smiles vanished long ago. She lived burdened by resentment, never finding relief.
The only peace in Laylah’s life came from her father’s deep love and Aunt Sa’adah’s unwavering care. Sa’adah fought for Laylah’s right to education, offering to shoulder household responsibilities in return. That sacrifice allowed Laylah to attend public school and gain her level of education, unlike Sa’adah who attended a good private school.
Sa’adah became Laylah’s true guardian in every parental duty. Even with Momy’s wealth, it was Sa’adah who quietly provided for Laylah. Momy survived on a small trading business, enduring life alongside a disabled husband and a daughter who reminded her daily of her greatest trial.
Laylah’s mother died giving birth to her. She never knew affection or play. She opened her eyes to see a father already confined to bed. Aunt Sa’adah became her lifeline—her support, her shelter, and the greatest love her heart ever truly knew.