Zayn Malik Part 1 Compelet Hausa Novel

A Charming Trouble-Maker
He brushed his hand aside and turned to leave the place. His eyes fell on a beautiful young lady. He smiled at her the way he always did whenever he saw girls—honestly, he never missed a chance to break a girl’s heart. He gave her a look and raised one eyebrow slightly. She looked away, about to pass, but he blocked her path.
“Are you that man’s daughter?” he asked, wearing a face that looked completely innocent. Startled, she stepped back nervously.
“I want to use this opportunity to tell you—you are so cute.”
Oh Allah! She felt herself melt instantly. He then turned to look at Alhaji Musa Me Gari, warning him with his eyes while pointing subtly at his daughter. After that, she walked away. Slowly, she followed him with her eyes—no lie, he looked hot and sexy. Like a hypocrite, she continued on her way.
He entered the car and released a deep sigh.
“Hey useless guy, play Mandula for me.”
“Not in my car!” Bashir Zayn Malami replied coldly, his face hardened.
“Hm! Just tell me I’m jobless.” Bashir kept quiet—he knew it wasn’t worth responding. They drove off, Mandula playing, until they arrived at the house.
Family Tension and Sharp Tongues
At the entrance of the main parlour, he met his father, who was in a terrible mood, turning on the TV angrily.
“This is exactly what we’re dealing with,” he said. “Because he’s the son of the Secretary to the President, Alhaji AbdulMalik Zain Malami, we can’t do anything to him. Even when he commits an offence, government protects him.”
“That’s his job,” Zayn replied casually, shrugging his shoulders.
“Zayn!!”
“Yes, Dad.”
Another wave of anger washed over Alhaji AbdulMalik.
“It’s not his fault,” Abul Khair interjected. “It’s Senator Musa Me Gari who arranged everything.”
“So he’s bought you too?” he snapped at his nephew.
“Bashir, do you see what this boy is doing to me? Thirty-something years old—no job, no marriage?”
One thing about Zayn was that whenever his father got angry, even if he was right, Zayn would calm down and apologize repeatedly. His patience could make you think he’d never repeat the mistake—yet he would still apologize again.
“May Allah calm your heart, Dad,” he said softly and said nothing more.
Just then, Hajiya Umma entered.
“Ohhh AbdulMalik! So you’re devouring him with your political mouth again? From outside I thought it was the radio—turns out you brought the noise home. Come on, let’s go, I’ll give you mouth medicine. I don’t want my head eaten by words; I’ve struggled too much in this world.”
She grabbed Zayn’s hand and threw a dismissive look at his father.
“Let’s go—I’ll leave AbdulMalik’s house today and rest from the constant scolding you give him!”
“Hajiya, please calm down.”
“Me, a chameleon? Even in Islam I’m still his mother. Children are guided with prayers, not chewed with words. Who doesn’t know today’s children? Even in old age, I know what I’m doing. By the way, isn’t it true you got someone pregnant without using protection?”
“Hajiya Umma!”
“Well, I had to ask. May Allah forgive the Malam—he was a good man. You inherited his strength too. But tell me, did you really cause a pregnancy?”
“No, Hajiya, I didn’t. It’s a false accusation.”
She defended him passionately, insisting she knew his character better than anyone. Eventually, Zayn stood up and left, jumping energetically—a habit of his, like someone propelled by hidden force.
Loyalty, Anger, and Protection
With deep affection and pity, she watched him go. Loving Zayn Malik had become unavoidable for her—he was her shelter, her cloud of shade, her happiness when she had none.
“Zaynu,” she whispered.
“I swear, Mama, I won’t stand by and watch them disgrace this family,” he said firmly.
He entered the parlour with greetings. She stared at him with love and happiness. He slipped his hand into his pocket and headed toward the kitchen. Passing through the parlour, he said to his sister,
“Tell your husband to change his ways. If he keeps following Musa Me Gari, I’ll break his position with my own hands.”
“Useless troublemaker.”
“I agree—that’s why he hid the truth from you and kept a mistress in Kinkinau,” he said quietly so only she could hear.
“Zaynnnn!” He disappeared into the kitchen.
He found her serving food onto a tray. He leaned his head on her shoulder.
“Mama.”
“Zayn Malik!”
“I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t right.”
Just then Kulu entered.
“Mama! Tell him to repeat what he said.”
She looked at Zayn and replied,
“Whatever he says is on the path of truth. Say it again, my son.”
Teasingly, he continued, exposing the man’s secrets and venting his anger. He served the food and left with the tray. His mother smiled softly.
“How can I not love him—whether at home or outside?”
Outside, he heard Ghali, Basmah’s husband, shouting. Everyone was begging him, but he grew more aggressive.
“I told her to do family planning, now she’s pregnant again. I won’t take responsibility—let her remove it!”
Basmah cried helplessly. Zayn snapped. He grabbed Ghali by the neck violently.
“Who are you to disgrace my family? Who got her pregnant?”
“T-it was me!” Ghali confessed fearfully. “From today I’ll obey you.”
Zayn released him with a warning and threatened never to see him near the house again. Basmah ran and hugged him, thanking him through tears.
“Go. I’ll bring her back tomorrow,” he said.
Later, Zayn sat, smoking Mandula, playing Bob Marley’s Stand Up, nodding his head thoughtfully. From afar, Hajiya Umaima watched him. Though she disliked Zayn, what she saw today softened her heart.
“That boy protects everyone—not just friends, but family too,” she admitted.
As the night settled, Zayn calmly cleared the tray and headed back inside, his emotions buried beneath his usual quiet strength.