So Babbar Cuta Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Kano is a bustling city, densely populated and filled with numerous neighborhoods. It is a historic center of commerce, as well as a home to prominent Islamic scholars and wealthy merchants. Among the city's affluent elite was Alhaji Raheem Kwangila (the contractor).
Anyone involved in the contracting business, regardless of the sector, knew Alhaji Raheem and his bosom friend, Alhaji Abdulazeez. The two had grown up together, sharing a bond that stretched from primary school all the way through higher education and university. They grew up in complete harmony and mutual affection; no one had ever heard of a dispute between them, and each lived with a pure heart toward his brother. They partnered in business and practically every life venture. Their parents had also been close friends, and it seemed Allah had beautifully intertwined their family lineages.
They even got married at the exact same time. Alhaji Raheem married his wife from Maiduguri—a beautiful, well-mannered woman of noble character, exceptionally kind, hospitable, and well-grounded in Islamic education; she was loved by everyone. Alhaji Abdulazeez, on the other hand, wedded his wife from Yola, the 'land of beauty'. She was a pure, quintessential Fulani woman with a very fair complexion and flawless features, equally educated and refined in all aspects. Just as one wife was exceptionally kind, so was the other; each possessed her own unique, heartwarming virtues.
Matching the deep affection and kinship shared by their husbands, the two wives maintained an excellent relationship. Sometimes, they would even have identical clothes tailored for themselves. They harbored no jealousy or malice, and each was careful to protect the harmony of their extended family.
Alhaji Abdulazeez was blessed with nine children: four boys and five girls. By this time, he had given all his daughters away in marriage, leaving only the boys. His youngest son was Imam Deen, whom he loved dearly, not least because the boy was named after his own father. Of all the children, Imam Deen resembled his father the most, save for his fair complexion and soft hair, which he inherited from his mother. Moreover, he was a well-behaved, calm, and quiet young man who possessed a deep sense of family responsibility and respect.
Alhaji Raheem had four children: three boys and one girl. The girl was the third child, followed by her younger brother, Sultan. Her name was Saleema—a cherished, well-mannered, and intelligent girl who disliked unnecessary drama but was never aloof. She showed profound respect to everyone. Saleema was the spitting image of her mother, a striking beauty with rich, flowing Shuwa Arab hair that cascaded down her head like a crown.
The children of both families were deeply united; there was never any friction among them. They attended the same school and were chauffeured together by a single driver. Saleema's father lived with his family in the Matan Fada neighborhood, while Deen's father resided in Lamido Crescent. Although they lived in different neighborhoods, anyone looking at them would think they belonged to a single household, as the children of one house were constantly at the other, and vice versa.
Deen and Sultan, Saleema's younger brother, were incredibly close friends. They did absolutely everything together and shared every secret. Although Saleema was older than Sultan by a year and a half, the way he respected her made it seem as though she were five or ten years his senior.
That was the state of affairs.
A brand new, trendy Accord car slowly turned into the street leading to Saleema's house. The driver moved with such deliberate gentleness, it felt as though he were being careful not to hurt the ground or the car's tires. As I was about to pass by, I paused, curious to see who this stylish individual might be.
The car gracefully pulled up and parked right in front of Saleema's house, opting to stay outside rather than driving through the main gate.
The driver extended one leg out of the car. Wow, Masha Allah! It is often said that a man’s cleanliness can be judged right from his feet to his toenails, and for this guy, it was a solid 100%. His foot alone was a sight to behold—adorned in a black, toe-strap Buffalo sandal, his long, neat toes added an extra elegance to the footwear. His skin had a healthy, reddish-fair glow, and his trimmed, white toenails looked perfectly rounded and attractive.
As he finally stepped out, I quickly looked up to see his face. It was none other than Imam Deen, a handsome young man who couldn't be more than 23 years old. He wore a crisp, light milk-colored fabric that was so fine and smooth that his spotless white singlet was subtly visible underneath. He wore no cap, leaving his neatly groomed, glossy hair—the hallmark of his Yola Fulani heritage—exposed to the sun.
In his hands, he held both a smartphone and a tablet. He was on a call, using an earpiece plugged into his ear.
"Sultan, I’ve arrived. Please hurry up, we don't have enough time if we want to make it to Munjibir Park and get back when we planned, okay?"
Those were the words I caught as I walked closer to him.
From the other end of the line, I could hear a voice reply, "Deen, I'm coming right now. Sister Saleema gave me a chore, but I'm heading out now."
"Okay! I'm waiting," he concluded. As if intentionally drawing attention, he turned around with a slight, stylish pout on his face.
Talk about a handsome gentleman! Allah had blessed Deen with a striking, flawless beauty that almost rivaled a woman's. Truly, Allah’s creative power is absolute. He kept nodding his head rhythmically, likely listening to music, as his lips moved silently to a beat.