Mr Romantic Book 2 Hausa Novel Complete
Maleek's mother, Hajiya Rahinat, took a deep breath, her body trembling with the weight of the harsh decision Maleek’s father was trying to enforce. While she sat in her room drinking coffee, Zubaida entered quietly, whispering respectfully. Hajiya Rahinat paused, shook her head, and said, “By God, Zubaida, I don’t need to see anyone. I’ll go upstairs.”
Zubaida lowered her head in obedience, standing aside as Hajiya Rahinat passed her and ascended the stairs. Watching her retreating figure, Zubaida’s heart felt heavy with guilt. What is happening? she wondered. You caused all this. You pushed Abdool Maleek into this situation with your own hands, yet you act as if nothing has happened. Lost in thought, Zubaida turned away, her mind spinning with unspoken questions.
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Meanwhile, in another part of the house, Billy had accepted Nihla’s advice and wasted no time preparing Hasile for her new life. Hasile, now dressed in a Hausa outfit, had her Fulani attire stripped away. The only piece she refused to part with was her Fulani necklace.
As Billy worked, a woman’s voice interrupted them, sharp and sudden, “Come out, Hajiya! I’m waiting for you.” The woman barged in without greeting, her commanding presence startling Hasile, who quickly began gathering her discarded Fulani clothes. Hasile looked at the woman, her hands trembling as fear crept into her heart. Her lips quivered, words forming but never leaving her mouth. What is happening? she wondered. Am I walking into a trap?
“Hasile,” the woman began, her voice cold, “are you one of those who destroy lives? Have you ruined your own life as well?”
Billy, unbothered by the tension, led Hasile outside to her car. Opening the door, she motioned for Hasile to get in. Without hesitation, Billy started the car and drove to Nihla’s house.
Throughout the drive, Hasile sat quietly, her eyes darting nervously, searching for answers in Billy’s expression. When they reached their destination—a crumbling house surrounded by armed guards—fear gripped Hasile. She hesitated, looking at Billy with wide, pleading eyes.
“Where have you brought me?” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Is Baffa Haro’s warning true? Are you one of those blood-drinkers people speak of? What are you planning to do to me?”
Billy sighed, gripping the steering wheel in frustration. “Calm down, Hasile,” she said softly. “Listen to me. I swear I mean you no harm. Believe me, this is for your benefit. In time, you’ll see that I’ve done you a favor.”
Hasile’s fear didn’t abate, but Billy continued, pulling out a small device and handing it to her. “Keep this hidden,” she instructed. “Place it somewhere private—your hair, your clothes—anywhere no one will find it. This is your secret.”
Still unsure, Hasile stared at Billy. But something about Billy’s tone soothed her nerves. “What kind of work am I here for, Adda Bilkisu?” she asked timidly.
Billy smiled faintly, her voice softening. “Nothing difficult. You’ll be helping with tasks—cleaning, organizing. Nothing more.”
Relieved, Hasile nodded, her anxiety fading slightly. “That’s simple enough, Adda Bilkisu. Don’t worry—I’ve hidden money in my hair while selling milk in the market. I know how to keep secrets.”
Billy smiled at Hasile’s innocence, but deep down, both women knew this was just the beginning of a much more complicated journey.
