Samarin Shaho Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

A Breaking Point
 
Sarah stood with a bottle of Hennessy in hand, her eyes wild and filled with anguish. Catherine’s voice cracked with desperation, “Sarah! Stop it, you’re overreacting! Put that bottle down—it’s enough!”
But Sarah didn’t speak. She simply flung the bottle from the upper floor to the ground floor with all her might.
 
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Wiping them away, she stood, turned, and began walking out.
 
Catherine quickly blocked her path. “Come on, stop! Where do you think you’re going? It’s already past 1:00 AM!” She pointed at her wristwatch, concerned. Still, Sarah didn’t speak. Her silence was heavy. She was visibly trembling, trying to steady her breathing.
 
Catherine, refusing to give up, pleaded gently, “Since you won’t talk, let me take you to your room. You need to rest. You’re clearly stressed.” She reached for Sarah’s hand, but Sarah yanked it away with unexpected strength and took a step back, her face hard, her eyes red and swollen.
 
They exchanged intense looks. Then, in a slurred voice, Sarah hissed, “Just shut up, Cath. Leave me alone.” She turned away. “I’m going, okay? Relax. I’ll be back. I just... I’m not okay, alright?” With that, she walked off, leaving Catherine stunned and worried.
 
Haunted by the Past
 
Driving aimlessly through the night, Sarah’s thoughts were clouded with images of Vashika’s lifeless body and the voice of Vashika’s mother at the mortuary earlier that day.
Her heart pounded. The memories hurt.
 
She didn’t stop until she reached Rai Walia Hotel, Room 56. For ten minutes, she stood silently outside the door before finally knocking.
 
A calm, sweet voice came from within. “Yes?” Mahfud opened the door—and froze. “Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un… Sarah?”
 
She didn’t respond. She walked in, sat on his bed, and broke into soft, heart-wrenching sobs, burying her face into her knees.
 
Mahfud’s Concern
 
Mahfud was paralyzed by shock. His body trembled slightly. This wasn’t the Sarah he knew. The unmistakable smell of Hennessy filled the room. Could it really be her?
 
Still trying to process everything, he checked outside—hoping this was a hallucination. It wasn’t.
 
He turned to her, voice low but firm, “This is not like you, Sarah. When did you start drinking? What happened?”
 
Sarah looked up, lips trembling like a scared child. She stood and whispered, “I don’t know, Mahfud. I don’t even know anymore. Will you listen to me or should I just leave?”
 
He didn’t respond, just watched her closely. He knew Sarah had been struggling with the Vashika case. She had taken it too personally. But this? This was beyond what he ever imagined.
 
A Fragile Cry for Help
 
She turned to leave again, sensing his silence. Mahfud acted quickly, grabbing her hand gently, making her sit back down beside him.
 
“I’m listening now. Who gave you the drink? Why would you take something that could ruin everything you’ve worked for?”
 
She bowed her head in shame.
 
“Sarah,” he continued, gently, “You know it’s wrong. You know how much this could affect your career. You’re a public figure. This isn’t you.”
 
She suddenly interrupted with a sharp “Shhhh… It’s not like I wanted to! I didn’t even drink that much! But I felt relief, okay?”
 
Mahfud fell silent, realizing she wasn’t in her right mind. She was slurring, her pain now physically evident.
 
Then, barely audible between sniffles, she whispered, “I’m so scared, Mahfud… Please help me.”
 
A Moment of Truth
 
Mahfud knelt in front of her, eyes filled with compassion. He saw past the brokenness—he saw a woman drowning in pain.
 
“I should’ve known you weren’t okay,” he muttered. “You went alone, and I let you. Let me get you some warm water and milk. You need rest.”
 
As he stood to leave, Sarah grabbed his hand so tightly he almost fell onto her. A soft smile crept on her tear-stained face, “I’m sorry.”
 
He tried to go again, but she pulled him back gently, her gaze now steady, “Listen to me, Mahfud. I don’t want to bathe. I want to talk. I need to get this off my chest.”
 
He knelt again, searching her eyes, “It’s something that’s been with you a long time, right? Your pain? Tell me, Sarah.”
 
She didn’t speak. Instead, a tear rolled down again, and she nodded slowly.
 
Mahfud watched silently. “I’ve known Sarah for years, but I never imagined she carried such a hidden pain.”
 
Was now the time she would finally tell him everything?
 
Her Buried Past
 
Without removing her shoes, Sarah climbed the bed, hugged a pillow, and let tears fall freely. Mahfud sat by her side quietly.
 
Suddenly, she laid her head on his lap. Her skin was growing hot. Fever? Stress? Alcohol?
 
He didn’t say a word.
 
“I’ve known Sarah for years,” he thought, “but I never knew about this hidden wound. Maybe this is the night she finally shares it.”
 
He hesitated. “She’s drunk. Am I doing the right thing listening to her now? But drunk people rarely lie… Especially when the pain is real.”
 
Sarah cuddled closer into his chest, breathing deeply. She wiped her tears and finally began to speak.
 
 Flashback: The Girl Named Saratu
 
Five years and ten months ago, in Alkaleri, Kurwala district, a voice screamed:
 
“Saratu! Saratu! Wake up you witch! Get out of here! Worthless girl!”
 
Baba Laure stood, fuming with rage. Saratu—now known as Sarah—emerged slowly from the shadows where she had been hiding.
 
“I’m sorry, Baba Laure. Good evening,” she mumbled.
 
“Don’t you dare greet me! Leave before I throw you out! Troublemaker!” Baba Laure snapped again.
 
“But… please… just a little more time. I promise I’ll leave soon…”
 
Ignoring her pleas, Baba Laure yelled into the house. “Dan Asabe! Bring my cane! This girl deserves to be flogged!”
 
Panicked, Saratu stepped back, tears filling her eyes.
 
“Tch! You’re always hiding around like a cat! I swear, Saratu, are you sure you’re not hiding something?” Baba Laure accused.
 
“No, Baba, I swear. I’m not hiding anything…”