Tsutsar Nama Book 1 Hausa Novel Complete 

This stage of my life could be called the "first level." It marked the beginning of everything—my intellectual awakening. At seventeen, I felt I had entered university at just the right time, pursuing a course I loved. It was a fresh start and the foundation of what I hoped would be a bright future.

In my first year, I quickly became aware of the situation at school. Some students, like Dan, had long abandoned their studies, earning a reputation as troublemakers. They frequented teachers' offices, wasted time, and even visited teachers’ homes or went out in their cars. Academic pursuits were the last thing on their minds, yet their names somehow topped the exam boards, as though they had mastered everything except a few trivialities.

Yaya Abbas, on the other hand, was no different. He was more invested in school politics and hanging out with car-owning friends than in academics. After my experience with Yaya Musaddiq, I avoided discussing such matters at home. His scolding had made it clear that my academic journey was mine to navigate. So, I focused on my studies, determined to excel.

It was during the fifth month of school that I met Mansoor Khalil Musa. Mansoor was a young man from Qolisa, currently in his third year at Bayero University, Kano (BUK). He was strikingly handsome, intelligent, and exuded an air of wealth with his fancy clothes and sleek car. His polished demeanor and sharp looks drew admiration from many students, though he paid no attention to them. His aloofness earned him a reputation as a proud and unapproachable person. Mansoor seemed to live in his own world, interacting only with his two close friends and ignoring everyone else.

Our first encounter happened unexpectedly in the school cafeteria. My friend Joy and I were chatting and enjoying our meal when Mansoor entered with his friends. The cafeteria was abuzz with murmurs about him, but I paid no attention to their group. That was until one of his friends approached us and ordered us to vacate our seats.

Joy, visibly nervous, whispered, “Sam Gee, let’s stand up. I don’t want any trouble. You know how disrespectful these guys are.”

I slapped her hand lightly, annoyed. “If you stand up, Joy, you’ll finish this food alone. I’m not moving.”

To my surprise, as Joy reluctantly stood up, Mansoor intervened. "Sit down," he said calmly, gesturing for her to remain seated. He then walked over and took the seat right next to me. His unexpected behavior left the entire cafeteria in shock.

Despite his friends’ rowdy reputations, Mansoor was composed. He sat quietly, eating without a word, while his friends joined at the table without their usual display of arrogance. I didn’t spare them a glance. Once I finished eating, I stood up, adjusted my niqab, and left with Joy.

For context, I always dressed in a full hijab, a niqab, or sometimes a nurse mask with glasses. My appearance was so modest that even my department members wouldn’t recognize me outside. Because of this, I was nicknamed Hijab Girl, a name I had grown used to. Joy, however, affectionately called me Sam Gee.

From that day on, it seemed Mansoor and I were playing a silent game. Every time Joy and I went to the cafeteria, he and his friends would follow, even occupying tables where others were sitting. They didn’t demand we leave, but their presence made it clear they were there for us.

I never acknowledged Mansoor’s actions, nor did I thank him. For two weeks, this pattern continued until Mansoor began paying for our meals. At first, I let it slide, but by the third day, I decided to confront him. I made it clear that I didn’t need his generosity. Instead of getting angry, Mansoor simply smiled and walked away.

Despite my frustration, he persisted. He refused to let us pay for our food, claiming he had already taken care of it. I was determined not to let his actions stop me from enjoying the cafeteria, just as he seemed determined to continue his quiet gestures.

This unspoken rivalry between us continued, and though it annoyed me, I couldn’t help but wonder what had prompted Mansoor's interest in me—a mere “Hijab Girl.”