Turken Gida Part 2 Complete Hausa Novel

The Weight of His Voice
 
This time, from the way he called my name, I felt my whole body respond. My head lowered on its own before I slowly lifted it to look at him. Truly, in his eyes I saw tears filling the corners. I saw exhaustion, patience, and even shame all at once.
 
“Sadiya…”
 
He repeated, his voice carrying a weakness so deep I could hear it trembling.
 
“Sadiya…”
 
“Ta…”
He tried again, the words scattered. It was clear he could barely control himself, almost exposing what he was hiding.
 
I didn’t want him to know that I already understood what was happening. Since he didn’t tell me, I refused to act like I knew. I forced myself to hold on, although all I felt was weakness rolling through my body. My knees trembled so much I thought I would collapse. A heavy weight settled on me, as if my heart itself was dragging down my body.
 
I tried my best not to show fear, so I forced a smile—one that looked more like crying than a smile, because it didn’t come from my heart. As I looked at Yallabai’s face, I realized I couldn’t even see him clearly. He seemed dark in my eyes today, like he wasn’t my Yusuf.
 
“Sadiya ta. I’m back,”
he said, still staring straight into my eyes.
 
My body shook as I struggled to answer, my tongue trembling.
 
“Yes…”
I whispered, my voice breaking. I tried to steady myself, but wallahi I couldn’t. Today I learned that jealousy is a powerful thing. No matter how I tried to be brave, something rushed inside my bloodstream, making me weak. My head felt heavy, my vision swayed. I felt like I was about to fall—not because of love, but because of fear and heartbreak.
 
“Yes, Yallabai, I—”
But the words stuck in my throat. I couldn’t call him mine. Today, for the first time, I looked at him and felt the painful truth: Yallabai was no longer mine alone. He now belonged to me and another woman. So this is how co-wives feel? I always thought if Yallabai remarried I wouldn’t be troubled. But jealousy—Allah created it deep in our hearts.
 
This marriage hit me unexpectedly. I wasn’t prepared. I never imagined this was how I would share my Yallabai. Not even once.
 
Sweat soaked through my slippers, even the phone in my hand was slippery.
 
Fear, Weakness, and His Touch
 
When Yallabai took one step toward me, then another, I quickly moved back. I couldn’t bear for our bodies to touch—not today. I stepped away, but my body betrayed me; fear made my movements clumsy. My foot slipped, my phone dropped to the tiles, and before I could fall, Yallabai grabbed me firmly.
 
“Are you okay?”
he asked, staring at me in shock.
 
I looked at him, but if I kept looking I knew I would burst into tears and expose everything inside my chest. He felt my shaking and realized I was terrified, not normal at all. As he tried to help me stand, I pulled myself away, avoiding his touch. His hands looked unfamiliar to me—today they felt like the hands of a stranger.
 
I clung to the arm of the chair, breathing heavily, my breath almost caught in my throat.
 
“Sadiya? Are you alright?”
he asked again, stepping closer.
 
I quickly moved back, refusing to release the chair. If I let go, I knew I would fall.
 
Sadiya, be strong. Sadiya, hold yourself together.
That’s what my inner voice said.
 
I forced myself to breathe deeply until my heartbeat settled a bit. My eyes fell on my phone on the floor. Yallabai followed my gaze, bent down, and picked it up for me.
 
He held it out.
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
 
I wanted to glare at him, even curse him, but I didn’t. I forced another smile and signaled that I was fine. I released a long breath, blowing air through my lips, grounding myself with Innalillahi. Allah granted me strength again.
 
Slowly, my body steadied. I let go of the chair and managed to stand straight. He stood watching me, arms folded, just as shaken and unsettled as I was.
 
I didn’t look at him again. I walked past him toward the shopping bags he brought, lifted them, and said,
“The girls got tired of waiting. They’ve slept already.”
 
I said it to distract myself, to fix my expression. I walked to the dining table and placed the bags down without opening them.
 
I wanted to look at him, but I avoided his eyes.
 
“Go wake them,”
he said softly.
 
I turned with a small smile.
“They’re already asleep. Let them rest.”
 
He dropped his hands and walked to the living room.
“This is an important day for us. We shouldn’t celebrate without them,”
he said, opening the living room door and leaving. I didn’t follow.
 
From the living room I heard him calling Jidda and Baby. Jidda never sleeps deeply. Baby too, though not like her sister.
 
The Breaking Point Inside Me
 
Standing became too difficult, so I sat on one of the living room chairs, releasing slow breaths as my chest tightened. Before now I judged women who panicked when their husbands took another wife—but now that it happened to me, I finally understood. Jealousy can blind you, choke you, make you lose control.
 
As I sat recovering, he returned with both girls, holding their hands. Baby, the talkative one, came in chattering nonstop.
 
And I just sat there—holding myself together with the last strength left inside me.