Yadda Ƙaddara Ta So Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Rising Star: Eshaan Auwal Tafida
 
Clad in a green cricket jersey with “TAFEEDAH” boldly inscribed at the back, Eshaan stood ready. His green trousers, lined with white at the sides, flowed down into cricket pads shielding his legs. He wore protective gloves, a helmet, and held a bat firmly in his grip. It was match time.
 
As Joakim bowled the ball, Tafida met it with the full force of his strength, sending it soaring. The ball crossed the boundary effortlessly. His teammates erupted in cheers, chanting his name—they knew that with Tafida on the pitch, victory was near certain. Smiling, he removed his helmet, revealing a striking face: tall, fair—not African fair but distinctly Indian—sharp facial features framed by a high-fade haircut, a styled razor part, and a neatly groomed beard. His most captivating feature? Light blue eyes.
 
After the match, Eshaan packed his gear into his cricket kit bag. He slipped his phone and signature p-cap, also labeled “TAFIDAH,” from a smaller pocket and put it on. Seeing missed calls from Khabir, he sensed something urgent from the hospital. With the bag slung over his shoulder, he walked confidently toward his home.
 
Eshaan's charisma wasn’t limited to the pitch. His royal-like gait, cool confidence, and effortless charm made people naturally wave at him—he’d return the gesture silently. Though reserved, he was kind and widely admired. As he walked home through the well-paved estate roads, women turned to look. He had that kind of presence; few could look away.
 
He arrived at his modern duplex, identical to the other homes in his block. A small sign read: “DR. ESHAAN AUWAL TAFIDA, B3 NO 122.” Wearing a sleek digital watch and a bracelet engraved with his name, he tapped his device. The gate slid open, and he entered. The house featured tall glass walls, a rooftop seating area, and three parked cars: an Audi RSQ 8-R, a Honda Elevate, and a Mercedes-Benz.
 
Inside, a large living room with luxurious sofas opened up. Facing the entrance was a glass door leading to a backyard garden. A staircase stood centrally, and from below, one could see the glass-paneled upper corridor with four doors: the kitchen, laundry, gym, and a general storage room.
 
Heading upstairs, he entered the largest of the three bedrooms. The room's decor featured hues of light and dark blue, with white sheets, curtains, and furniture. He dropped his kit bag in its usual corner, checked both phones, and plugged one out after confirming it was fully charged.
 
Standing before the mirror, he removed his watch, placed it on the dressing table, and hung his cap on the hat stand. Then, he stepped into the shower.
 
After some time, he returned wrapped in a towel, drying himself. He used a hand dryer on his hair, straightened it with care, and applied his usual hair cream, making it shine. He touched up the areas around the fade, ensuring his signature style stayed perfect.
 
He moved to his expansive walk-in wardrobe. Selecting a plain golden yadi fabric, he dressed up, adjusting his signature Hausa cap. Before the mirror, he sprayed himself with cologne, slipped into a pair of black moccasins, and grabbed his phones and keys. Getting into his Benz, he drove straight to St. Nicholas Hospital.
 
 
Dual Life: The Doctor and the Darkness
 
Parking under a sign that read “Dr. ESHAAN AUWAL TAFIDA,” he walked in, exchanging greetings with familiar staff. As he approached his office, he ran into Khabir.
 
“I called you, but you didn’t pick. I figured you were at the cricket ground,” Khabir said.
 
“Exactly. I came as soon as I saw the calls,” Eshaan replied fluently in Hausa, an unexpected skill for someone with such a mixed heritage.
 
“There’s a patient in urgent need. Dr. Ola said we needed you.”
 
“Let’s go.”
 
They went to the patient, and upon examination, Eshaan determined surgery was necessary. Without delay, he scrubbed in. The operation was a success. After giving nurses post-operative instructions, he went back to his office and then to the washroom.
 
As he washed his hands, he glanced at the mirror—and froze. His stomach dropped. His usually light-blue irises were now deep red. Panic gripped him. He leaned closer, trembling. This wasn’t new—but it was getting worse. Before, it used to happen once in months. Now, it was daily. Sometimes, his eye color would change without him even realizing.
 
Covering his face, he tried to mutter a prayer, but his mouth felt heavy. Just like always. He knew what was coming. His transformation.
 
He hurried out of the restroom, summoning his phones to his hand with a simple gesture—yes, they floated through the air and into his palms. Avoiding eye contact with people, he rushed to his car.
 
Inside the locked vehicle, he leaned over the steering wheel, breathing heavily. The sensations intensified. His blue eyes flared red again. His jaw widened, and long fangs extended from his upper teeth. His body began shaking violently.
 
Within seconds, he had transformed. No longer Eshaan Tafida—the charming doctor and athlete—but something monstrous. A creature barely able to contain its strength. He growled, twitching and jerking, nearly breaking the steering wheel. This was his other side. The one he could never fully control.
 
Life Beyond the Monster: Maryam, Badar, and the Ordinary
 
Meanwhile, at Binyamin Usman Polytechnic in Hadejia, Jigawa State, two young women walked out of campus, visibly exhausted. One was dark-skinned, dressed in ankara with a matching veil. The other, lighter-skinned, wore a full-length hijab hiding her clothes.
 
The one in the veil, Badar, sighed in frustration. “Useless man! That fool just left with the car and dumped me here in this sun. But let him come—he’ll get what he deserves.”
 
Maryam, the one in hijab, glanced at her. “You really have no patience, Badar. Maybe try drinking leftover ablution water next time.”
 
Badar rolled her eyes. “Maryam, I don’t have your kind of tolerance. If you don’t deal with these guys, they’ll walk over you.”
 
“Just try to be calm,” Maryam said, even as Badar huffed.
 
As they neared the gate, the car meant to pick Badar turned the corner. She scowled. The guy driving already knew he was in trouble. He had detoured with his friend to pick up other girls earlier. Fortunately for him, Maryam was present—she might soften Badar’s wrath.
 
The car stopped, and Badar jumped in angrily. Maryam followed quietly. Still, Badar slapped him across the head while Maryam tried to calm her. They arrived at Garko, their neighborhood. Maryam got off near her street.
 
“You coming later?” Badar asked.
 
“Maybe. Depends if something holds me up.”
 
“Please come. Fulany’s Kitchen just dropped new recipes!”
 
Maryam gasped. “You traitor! You did TikTok without telling me?”
 
“I swear it was just last night. I saved the videos. If you come over, I’ll show you.”
 
“You didn’t even tell me earlier.”
 
“I forgot. Just come.”
 
“Okay. I will.”
 
She shut the door, and the car drove off. Badar lived with her grandmother nearby, as her parents were based in Kano. Maryam, on the other hand, lived with her family—a modest background compared to Badar's wealthier upbringing.
 
Maryam strolled through her neighborhood, which consisted of narrow alleys and matching houses. Reaching her home, she called out her salaam. Her mother answered.
 
“You’re back already?” she asked.
 
“Maanmu, I’ve been gone for a while,” Maryam replied. “It’s late.”
 
“Maanmu” was what all the children in the house called their mother after the youngest ones had trouble pronouncing her name. The name stuck.
 
Maryam was the second of five siblings. The eldest, Fati, had been married for four years and had one child. Then came Maryam, followed by twins Hassan and Hussain, and the youngest, Muhsin.
 
Maryam hung her hijab on the clothesline while her mother cleaned beans in a silver tray. She entered her room—a tidy space she used alone since Fati’s marriage. Her school bag lay on her small foam mattress covered with a plain bedsheet. Though sparsely furnished, it was clean and organized. She plugged in her Huawei 6A phone with a cracked screen guard, a gift from Badar when her father upgraded her to a newer model.