Matar Mutum Book 1 Hausa Novel Complete
Ashraf looked at Hajia and pleaded, “For God's sake, Hajia, let me go outside. I feel much better when I'm out.”
Hajia replied calmly, “Ashraf, I didn’t stop you. Just wait until your body gets fully accustomed to it.”
On the verge of tears, Ashraf insisted, “Hajia, I’m fine. I don’t feel any discomfort right now.”
With a trace of doubt, she asked, “Are you absolutely sure?”
He nodded with certainty, “Yes, Hajia, I’m sure. God willing, nothing will happen. Please relax.”
Hajia sighed and said softly, “Ashraf, my only wish in this world is for you to recover. Your stomach aches worry me more than you realize.”
Ashraf smiled and teased, “Why, Hajia? Don’t you want to see me get married?”
She playfully pouted and patted his shoulder. “I wanted to see you married, Ashraf. I even lined up girls for you, but you closed your eyes and acted uninterested. They didn’t even accept them for you.”
He shook his head and replied, “Hajia, none of them were my type.”
She raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Oh? So, you have a different type in mind? Tell me, maybe I can help you find one.”
Laughing, Ashraf straightened up. “Hajia, I want someone educated, modern, clean, stylish, and who can calm me down.”
Hajia held her head dramatically. “Ashraf, are you searching for a woman or designing a car?”
He chuckled, stood up, and left the house, running toward his car and driving away.
---
Sheikh
As Sheikh stood outside, he slowly tilted his head upward, closing his eyes. In his hand was an invitation card from an Islamic institution organizing a Quran recitation event. He sighed deeply, overwhelmed by his thoughts. Although Hafsat brought him happiness, he yearned for the reward and status of having another wife.
What held him back were the girls of today—impatient, distracted by phones and friends, and lacking perseverance. These thoughts gave him pause, but his resolve grew stronger. He decided to seek permission to search for a wife who embodied good upbringing and character, someone worth fighting for. With that thought, he sent a message to his secretary, confirming his attendance at the event at 4:30 PM.
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Maryam
By noon, Maryam and Asma'u had arrived. Their journey was tense, marked by disagreements. Maryam was furious at Asma'u for mocking her over a man she had long forgotten, despite the resources she had spent on him.
Suddenly, Maryam erupted, “I never told him I loved him! I never said such a thing, and yet here you are dragging me into this.”
Mas'ud, sitting in the car, glanced up from his phone and murmured, “And what is he doing at our doorstep?”
Asma'u smirked, “You’re even asking? He’s here for you.”
Maryam, surprised, snapped, “I want to see him, but not like this. I won’t tolerate being treated this way.”
As she turned to leave, Asma'u grabbed her hand. “Mimi, don’t do this to him.”
Shrugging her off, Maryam retorted, “Leave me alone. I’ll go inside and deal with this my way.”
Asma'u, puzzled, asked, “But who is this man to you?”
Maryam ignored her and stormed into the house. The man at the doorstep, standing in disbelief, watched her pass. It was clear he harbored a deep, complex love for her. Despite the pain she had caused him—belittling him and treating him as inferior—he clung to hope. He believed she was about to leave his life for good, yet even in his anger, he could not hate her. Revenge was tempting, but a part of him still longed for her happiness.
