Safiyya Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

An Author’s Note and Promise
 
I hope we all observed the fast and Eid prayers in good health. May Allah accept our acts of worship and make us among His freed servants, Ameen.
 
So, just as I promised to write Safiyyah after the Eid prayers, here I am trying to fulfill that promise 😁. Please pray for me that Allah grants me the strength to complete it. Lol.
 
Believe me, at first I decided to do this on an impulse, then later I began to ask myself, “Am I really sure?” But then I had already told you all. And whenever I make a promise, I sincerely try my best to keep it—except when it is beyond my control, because nobody is perfect. So we will try, in shaa Allah. But you’ll have to be patient with me if there are delays in updates. Please keep it in mind that I’m doing my very best.
 
As I said earlier, the book Safiyyah will hopefully be free from the beginning to the end, in shaa Allah—depending on whether we can get at least twenty sponsors. Dear readers, I kindly ask for your support by appreciating and encouraging the sponsors so they feel motivated to keep providing the book for you to read. If there are no sponsors, Safiyyah will become paid after the free pages.
 
I hope we will enjoy this journey together with Safiyyah and Gidado. It’s going to be rough 😁, but I promise you a smooth landing.
 
Tell Me You Love Me
 
“Tell me you love me,” he heard her voice echo clearly in his ears, as if she had just said it. He covered both ears with his hands and tightly shut his eyes, but instead of fading, his vision and hearing became even clearer. What he had forgotten was that the voice was coming from inside his head, not from his surroundings. In his mind’s eye, he could see her face—clear as the full moon.
 
She was sitting in his car, her face wearing that smile which felt like the cure to all his worries, her eyes filled with love for him.
 
“Tell me you love me,” she said as she adjusted her phone camera toward his face. He raised one hand to shield his face, smiling.
“Stop it!” he said, laughing.
She giggled and changed the camera angle to where his hand couldn’t block her view.
“Say it then. Why are you shying away from a simple question? Do you love me?”
 
He tried to frown but failed—he could never stay upset around her. Leaning his head against the car seat, he looked at her camera and said, “Do you really need to ask?”
“Of course. I want to hear you say it.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. “Then what’s with the camera?”
“As evidence,” she replied. “I want to record you saying it and keep it, so that if someday you say you don’t love me, I’ll have proof to take you to the lovers’ court.”
 
He laughed hard and tried to push the phone away, but she moved it out of his reach.
“Confess! Say you love me.”
He dropped his hand, realizing she wouldn’t give him the phone. “Come on! Why do I have to say it? Why won’t you say it instead?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Because I said so. And whatever I want, I get. Now I want you to say you love me,” she finished in a playful, teasing tone.
 
He sighed. “You’re impossible, Piya. What can I possibly tell you that you don’t already know?”
“That you love me?”
“You already know that. You just enjoy… enjoy…”
“Enjoy teasing me,” she completed, mimicking his voice, then laughed. “You’re right. I knew you wouldn’t say it. I just wanted to see that.”
“See what?” he asked, touching his face.
“Your face is red, my dear. You’re blushing,” she said, laughing again.
 
“Piya! You are—”
“Impossible,” she cut in, copying him again.
“Stop that,” he said.
“Stop that,” she repeated mockingly.
 
He leaned toward her, snatched the phone from her hand, and turned the camera toward her face. She quickly covered her face with both hands, laughing. He zoomed in, admiring her beautiful fingers.
“Who did I catch?” he teased. “Now tell me you love me.”
 
She uncovered her face, glared at him, and twisted her lips at the same time. He smiled.
“If you’re really that shameless, then say it,” he said softly.
She reached for the door handle. “Open the door for me. I’m going back to the hostel.”
“Not a chance. Today you must say it. And I’ll record you. When we marry and have children, I’ll show them how their mother tortured me.”
 
She rolled her eyes. “Who even told you that?”
“I just know,” he said. “From the first day you saw me, you couldn’t stay away. You saw a fair Fulani guy and lost your mind—you said if not me, then the well.”
She laughed. “The day I first saw you, loving you was the last thing on my mind. I didn’t even know what love was.”
“Oh? Then why did you leave your seat and come to mine? Admit it, Piya—you were attracted to me.”
She turned her eyes away. “That’s why I noticed you followed me everywhere from that day.”
“Exactly. And this is just the beginning. Wherever you go, I’ll follow. I accept it—I’m the follower. And someday I’ll be the ‘husband before she says yes.’”
 
She lowered her head, saying nothing, feeling the weight of his gaze. He lowered the phone and sighed.
“Please, Piya, I think it’s time you took me to Daddy. Aren’t you done dragging this?”
She looked up at him. “Only if you pamper me and bribe me.”
He adjusted his seat and rubbed his pocket. “Whatever you want, just say it. You know I can give you the world if it belonged to me. I can go to the… to the…”
“End of the earth,” she completed.
“Yes. I can go to the end of the earth for you.”
 
She smiled faintly, staring at her hand, her mind drifting—as it always did whenever he spoke about marriage. Absent-mindedly she said, “But the earth doesn’t have an end. It’s spherical.”
“I don’t care. You know what I mean. I can do anything for you.”
 
She said nothing, only turned to look outside. He kept staring at her thoughtfully, then asked, “But how do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Finish my sentences. You always seem to know what’s in my mind before I say it.”
She smiled beautifully, her eyes reflecting the deep love in her heart.
“Because I am your soulmate.”
 
Heartbreak and Reality
 
“I am your soulmate,” her voice echoed inside his head. His head felt like it was about to split in two. He pressed his hand to his forehead, yet the pain felt like it was deep in the middle of his head—not exactly pain, but fire being blown inside him, its heat forcing sweat to pour from his hair down his face and body.
 
But worse than the headache was the pain in his heart. A strange burning itch consumed it, yet it was buried deep in his chest, impossible to scratch. He pressed his hand over his heart and sighed, hoping to ease the pain, but it only intensified. So this was heartbreak—the pain people joked about on social media, calling it “breakfast”? Anyone who joked about this had never truly felt it. He had never felt anything like this before. No one had ever done this to him.
 
She was his life. For years, he had never imagined a future without her. He never once thought she could leave him, because she led him on, showed him a love he never suspected could be fake. He had planned everything for their wedding. Everything. In his mind, he had even imagined their children and the love and care he would give them. The house they would live in was already finished. All he was waiting for was her green light.
 
Then suddenly, after a trip, she came back to his office with a big pregnancy and said,
“I am married. I have been married for years. I am sorry.”
 
Then she added,
“It was all a misunderstanding. I never thought you loved me. You never said you loved me when I told you I was married.”
 
“Damn it!” he shouted, jumping to his feet like someone injected with something. He held onto the wall, then sat back down, unsure how he ended up smiling.
“Get a grip, Muhammad,” he told himself. “She has driven you crazy. It’s over. Look at you—talking to yourself.”
He slapped his forehead. “Damn you,” he muttered, smiling again. Maybe madness would be a blessing. At least in an asylum, they’d sedate him for the rest of his life. Then he wouldn’t have to think about her. He wouldn’t have to miss her—her smile, her laughter, the rush of blood whenever she was close, the excitement whenever his phone rang and he saw her name: Piya ❤️.
 
He already missed her teasing, how she enjoyed mocking him because it was his grandfather’s name. She used to say,
“Malam Muhammadu, son of a Fulani man—so you saw a beautiful young lady and ran from your path to stick to her.”
 
Was all of that teasing too?
 
A sudden hope passed through his heart. He quickly searched for his phone, scattering papers on his desk. He grabbed it and dialed her number, putting it on speaker, silently reciting a prayer he didn’t even know the words to. The call rang until it ended—no answer. He tried her other line; same result. Then he called again.
 
“The number you are trying to call is not available at the moment…”
 
“Damn it!” He called again. Same response. A voice inside him whispered the truth.
“She just blocked you,” he said aloud.
“She blocked me,” he repeated, his heart breaking.
 
So it wasn’t a joke. Not a dream. It was real. What she told him was real. What he saw on her body was real.
 
But how could that be? How could she be so cruel? How could she have been married throughout their entire relationship? How did he not see it?
 
“Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un.”