Kwai Cikin Kaya Book 2 Hausa Novel Complete 

I left the room and sat in the living room, trying to calm my racing heart. The tension between me and him was overwhelming, and I couldn’t figure out how to handle the situation. It wasn’t fear, but something deeper—something I couldn’t name. Why did I feel this way? I desperately sought an answer.

Unable to stay still, I got up and moved to the courtyard, hoping to escape the turmoil within me. I looked around for Aunty Aamilah or anyone familiar, but I couldn’t find them. With no one to turn to, and no phone numbers to call, I settled in a quieter spot, away from the noise, to gather my thoughts.

?????

The way Jawaad dismissed Bilkisu's presence with indifference, you’d never suspect he noticed her at all. Yet, as he left the room, his gaze flickered toward her, albeit briefly. Deep down, a part of him wondered, "Did she bring the soup?" But outwardly, he betrayed no emotion, leaving his thoughts unreadable.

At the entrance to the room, Jawaad greeted his parents respectfully. They returned his greeting with condolences, praying for the deceased. Their conversation shifted to memories of Jawaad’s late father and the loss of his mother, bringing a heaviness to the air.

Jawaad listened quietly, tears streaming down his face, but he said nothing. Finally, he stood, excused himself, and told them he needed to lie down for a while. He also promised to arrange food for them.

Recognizing his need for rest, they didn’t protest. His weary expression spoke volumes.

?..::..?

Around five o’clock, I noticed Mom greeting a group of visitors who had come to pay their respects. I stood up, feeling restless. I had grown tired of sitting alone, so I decided to distract myself by playing cards with Rebecca in our small group. Only five of us remained, and I lingered, watching as the visitors left.

Eventually, I approached Rebecca, greeting her casually. To my surprise, she responded warmly, asking where I’d been all day. Her question struck a chord in me, triggering a wave of sadness. As an orphan, I longed for even the smallest gestures of maternal care, but they were rare. I swallowed the pain and answered her respectfully. She then instructed me to go inside and eat.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, and it wasn’t until after the Isha prayer that we prepared to leave for home. Mom and Aunty Shahudah seemed to be avoiding me, though they didn’t say anything outright. I sensed it clearly.

Before leaving Mama Atika’s section, we found out they were leaving with Yah Salman. I wasn’t surprised; I simply smiled. The driver would take Mom, and they would leave together.

As Mom paused to greet some women, I noticed their reserved and shy demeanor. One glance at them revealed Naira was among them. After greeting them, I returned to the car, leaning against it while observing Mom. Her interaction with them was cordial, even warm—unlike her usual sharp, dismissive tone.

My heart began to race again, a foreboding sense of unease creeping in. I didn’t realize at the time that it signaled something deeper—something new and unfamiliar in my life that I was slowly beginning to accept.

I looked up and saw him standing a short distance away, one hand casually tucked into his trouser pocket while the other held his phone to his ear. He stood with effortless confidence, leaning slightly on one leg as he spoke. His calm, composed demeanor contrasted with the storm brewing in my chest.

He wasn’t fully dressed—his outfit consisted of white trousers with bold red stripes down the sides and a matching white shirt with red writing on the front. Even his slippers were white. The glow of the ceiling light illuminated the vivid colors of his attire, making him impossible to ignore. Despite the ache in my heart, my eyes were drawn to him, captivated by his presence.