FreeFreeDescription
English Translation
Then again, I thank my loved ones who stand by me despite all my shortcomings. Thank you for your advice and gifts. I lack the words to express my gratitude, except to say: may Allah reward you. Indeed, in everything you do, there are people who will stand by your side, making you feel special and strong. May Allah preserve our bonds of kinship and keep us together.
And I still thank my haters for making me more popular than I ought to be. Indeed, you have become a ladder to my success. May Allah increase your lifespan, thank you.
Please know that I have never edited any of my novels. I tried, but it is even harder than the typing itself, so you may find loads of blunders—please bear with me. Those who stay with me still understand despite all the mistakes.
On no account should anyone translate or convert my novels into audio/video dramas or other formats without my consent. I do not forgive anyone who edits my novel in any form—not even a single word. If anyone alters it, I withhold my forgiveness and leave that person to face the consequences under the blazing sun and its setting. To those uploading our novels to YouTube, know that you are eating away at our rights, and personally, I do not forgive you. To those who take our storylines into movies and claim they are not ours, still, we do not forgive you. This is why we do not progress. In other countries, they pull up their own people so everyone prospers together, but here, even if someone uses their raw talent, they will never look back to uplift those coming up; instead, they hoard the success entirely for themselves. If Hausa movies frequently bought novels from young online writers, it would produce meaningful new movies. Talent has no age restriction, and sometimes your own child might even surpass you in brilliance; if you pull them up, you reap the rewards together.
Now I am back, 😎😎😎
It was a garden where, looking at the setting, you would know that if you do not belong to the upper class, you could never step foot there. The fragrance floating in the air alone indicated that ordinary people were not the ones sitting around. Nothing occupied the space except dark green grass and pure white royal seats that gleamed as though no one had ever sat on them. By the mere sight of the place, you would not dare enter unless you were somebody or the child of somebody.
About ten young men were chatting and laughing. Everyone you saw was cute in his own way; all the youths looked as though they had been handpicked. As the saying goes, "Nobody is ugly, because as long as you enjoy comfort, have money (dough), or come from a background with money, your flaws are never seen." Most of the guys were holding lightweight red cups.
Today is Saturday, and they were all chilling at a spot called the Mai Martaba Chilling Joint, which was built exclusively for the youths of the royal family and their friends. This entire gathering consisted of cousins and friends of the youngest prince of the royal family—namely Aliyu, a.k.a. Hydar. He is the lastborn son of the royal family in a major northern state whose name I will not mention.
They were chatting away, and whenever someone cracked a joke, laughter would erupt. One of them was holding an iPhone 11 Pro, tapping away on the screen, his attention entirely detached from the conversation. It seemed something interesting had caught his attention on the phone. His lips moved slightly, but he wasn't speaking out loud; one of his hands was near his mouth, with his big finger resting on his lips.
One of the other young men peeked over at the phone screen, his eyes popping wide open in shock as he blurted out, "Prince, what is this?!..." sounding utterly surprised. Quickly, the youth addressed as the Prince snapped back to reality, lifting his large eyes to look at the one who spoke to him, whose name was Mahboob. The tone of Mahboob's voice caused all the other guys to stand up to see what he had seen that frightened him so much: the naked breasts of a girl sprawled across Aliyu's screen.
"What the heck!!" exclaimed one of the guys.
The owner of the phone didn't say a word; he merely stared at their faces with an expression that was impossible to read. He had large eyes as though they were painted, a pointed nose, and a dark skin complexion that seemed to shine even under the moon.
"You mean you were looking at nude pics, and then..." The guy didn't finish his sentence because the one called the Prince raised his eyes and fixed a direct gaze on him without saying a word. The intensity of that stare made the speaker trail off completely. Lowering his gaze, Aliyu looked at the phone in his hand for a moment before sliding it straight into his pocket.
Everyone sat back down, and the conversation resumed as if nothing had happened. Surprisingly, none of the guys uttered another word about it, and the Prince himself didn't say a single word. He remained totally silent; if anyone spoke, he would just let out a subtle smile that revealed a row of pure white teeth framed against dark lips. His lips were so dark that if you didn't know him, you might think he was into substance abuse, yet he wouldn't even drink Maltina because of the natural darkness of his lips. He looked completely relaxed among them, but inside, he was fuming. He had just been deeply disappointed, yet none of the guys sitting there had a clue.
His silence didn't bother the guys around him because they were used to his ways. If you sat with him, you could practically count the number of words he would speak. He rarely talked. He possessed a maturity and respect that would make you swear he was forty instead of thirty-two. He barely spoke, partly because he stammered a little, and small talk or arguments deeply irritated him. Because he was very, very high-tempered, he always stared and smiled even when he was furious.
Just like now: he had laid a trap to tease his babe by asking her to send a naked photo, fully expecting she would resist and refuse. Instead, she had actually sent it. He felt so utterly disappointed. If he wanted to display his anger, he would have broken up the gathering right then and there, but he simply kept his eyes fixed on them. Because they knew his temperament, they all fell silent; if the noise had continued, he could have thrown an uncontrollable fit. He was fortunate to have friends who understood who he was and avoided getting into heavy arguments with him to prevent headaches.
They sat together chatting, but Hydar’s mind was somewhere else entirely. He never pulled out his phone again, let alone looked at that miserable sight. They stayed together until around five in the evening.
Suddenly, the blaring sound of a phone ringing filled the air. Mahboob quickly pulled out his phone. Mahboob was Aliyu’s cousin; Aliyu’s father was the King (Sarki), while Mahboob’s father was the King's younger brother.
"Hajiya is calling..." Mahboob announced, glancing at the ringing screen. Aliyu looked at him without saying a word. Mahboob stepped away slightly from the group and picked up the call with a greeting. The voice of an older woman came through, asking: "Khalifa, where are you?" "Mummy, we are at the Martaba Garden with Hydar..." he replied respectfully. "Okay... Please go to Tasleem’s Islamiyya school and pick her up..." she instructed. His face twisted in annoyance as he replied, "Mummy, what about the driver...?" Before he could finish, she snapped: "You son of a gun, I know very well about the driver, I said you should go pick her up!" She barked an order at him from the other line. Pouting, he said, "Mummy, where I am is far out of town... and I'm the one who drove Aliyu from home..." "I won't tolerate any nonsense! They close at six... Now it's five... so you can pick her up... The driver's wife just came and told me he is sick... That's why I'm calling you on time to go get her..." she commanded from the other side. "Mummy, how am I supposed to drop off Aliyu right now, and when will I go all the way out to that distant place..." He didn't finish before she ordered: "Put Aliyu on the phone!" Reluctantly, as if dragging his feet, Mahboob walked over to Aliyu, who was staring fixedly at him. "Mummy..." he said, handing the phone over.
Aliyu took the phone, held it to his ear, and said respectfully, "Mummy, good evening..." She acknowledged him before saying, "...Please, you and Mahboob go pick up Tasleem. The driver is sick..." "Okay, Mummy..." he said, trying hard to control his stammer. Without another word, she disconnected the call.
As if about to cry, Mahboob muttered, "The annoying part is being sent to pick up that silly girl... I know she’s going to stuff my car with her numerous friends..." he ranted in frustration.
Aliyu, meanwhile, said nothing. He was still battling his own anger: the girl he cared for among the many chasing him had failed his test. He felt like throwing his hands on his head and screaming, yet making a scene and going straight home would be rude. Mummy’s call to Mahboob actually saved him from an awkward exit.
Slowly standing up, he calmly told the guys, "I think... we should get going..." "It's not even six o'clock yet, and you're saying you're leaving?" asked one of the guys. Aliyu closed his eyes briefly, trying to find the words to speak, but Mahboob quickly stepped in to save him the stress of talking: "We've been called back home... That's why..."
Everyone began standing up, chatting as they walked out of the garden. It was about a seven-minute walk from the garden to where their cars were parked. Everyone had their own vehicle except the Prince, who had come along with Mahboob. Hydar walked majestically; one look at him told you royal blood ran through his veins. With both hands tucked into his pockets, he walked with a haughty swagger. His hair was neatly styled, and he was undeniably handsome. Whoever claimed black skin is not beautiful was entirely wrong—that is, anyone who has never met Hydar.
Young women tripped over themselves for him, constantly calling to declare their love. He would only smile and switch off his phone. He was nice but stubborn, frank, and economical with words. His speech was always brief, and most of his answers were just a smile. Those who knew him were simply waiting to see the woman he would eventually choose to marry, given how fiercely pursued he was. Now, the bitter irony was that the very girl his heart had grown to desire had overstepped by blindly sending him what he asked for—though he never wanted her to go to extremes.
As his mother often warned, most modern girls would do anything to win over already-made guys, so the young princes needed to keep calm and carefully choose their wives. Fortunately, his two older brothers were happily married. Hydar was deeply cherished because he was Hajiya Amina’s lastborn; she adored him endlessly, and his stuttering made him a figure of tender sympathy. As he grew older, he learned how to control his speech so well that strangers barely noticed he stammered.
He sat in the passenger seat of Mahboob’s car looking deeply dull. Their car was the first to drive off, followed by the rest of the convoy. If you stood by the roadside watching, you would think a bride was being fetched or that an elite VIP convoy was passing. Big girls recognized the stylish guys visiting the chilling spot and intentionally hung around hoping for a lucky glance or greeting. Very few ever got lucky—not that the Prince would address them, but occasionally his friends would. Hausas say, "A woman is a needle in a haystack; only the lucky one finds them." But I say, "The Prince is a needle in a haystack, and only a lucky woman finds him."
After about thirty minutes of driving in total silence—since nobody uttered a single word upon getting into the car, as traveling with Hydar required learning the art of silence or else constant friction—Mahboob glanced at him from the driver's seat and called out softly: "Hydar..." Slowly, Aliyu opened his eyes and turned to look at him. "You know I'm not just your friend, right? We are brothers, so whenever I see you doing something wrong, it is my duty to speak up... That picture you were looking at is not something you should be viewing. I didn't know you to have such habits, and I felt compelled to advise you... Stop it," Mahboob said calmly while driving.
Aliyu stared at him for a moment before replying with a flat, "Hmm..." Mahboob glared at him in utter frustration; he couldn't believe that after his long speech, his only reward was a dismissive "Hmm." "Well, it's not your fault," Mahboob muttered under his breath, keeping his eyes on the road.
Over at a massive school—a place where you knew it was impossible for the child of a poor person to ever set foot or engage in anything—the compound was filled exclusively with young girls dressed in light blue hijabs. Everyone looked neat, and the environment was pristine and charming. The girls walked in groups, each with her close friends, with very few walking alone. Every hijab swept down to the ground.
Among a circle of six girls walking slowly was one talking animatedly while gesturing with her hands from beneath her sleeved hijab. On her middle fingers were two heavy gold rings, each worth at least 100k. As she spoke, her teeth flashed with sparkling dental jewelry that immediately caught the eye. All the other girls were laughing, clearly enjoying whatever she was saying. Her mouth moved very fast—she was clearly a talkative. She was fair in complexion, though not extremely pale, with soft bangs framing her forehead. She was pretty, even though some of her companions were arguably prettier. Yet, she had a unique charm, and her voice carried a playful, spoiled, yet coquettish inflection. From the moment they started walking from afar, her mouth was the only one running while the rest listened, laughing or smiling.
"...Did you guys even see the groom's face? Wallahi I almost puked! The man looks like a bulging bundle (bombom), yet the bride is a vibrant young girl. Wallahi, even if they paired me with that monstrosity for a billion dollars, I could never marry him! They say the girl only saw money... I don't even know where they met for her to agree to his proposal. He looks so crappy and disgusting... Ewww..." she ranted, flicking her saliva away in disgust.
The others burst into laughter, and one of them remarked, "Maybe she genuinely loves him like that." Quickly, the talkative girl snapped, "God forbid bad thing! Have you guys seen this man of God... In short, let me show you..."
She stopped, lifting her long hijab to dig into her bag. After some fumbling, she extracted her phone—an iPhone X—handled like contraband. Bringing phones to school was strictly forbidden; if caught, you were personally handed a hammer to smash your own phone to pieces. It was a strict rule that applied regardless of your family’s status or political power.
She unlocked her phone, still obsessed with gossiping about the wedding. Opening her gallery, she pulled up the couple's photo they had been dissecting, thrusting it toward her friends and saying, "Wallahi, I even went right up close to them and took a selfie so you guys could see! Look at this..."
They all paused to inspect the photo. "Me, I swear it's not as bad as she's making it sound..." one of the girls muttered while viewing the picture.
The phone owner pouted with an exaggerated, spoiled expression. "If not for your ignorance, don't you know how Tasleem exaggerates? She could see a mere cockroach and call it an elephant! I knew when she was describing it that it wasn't that bad..." argued another. Before she could finish, Tasleem interrupted, "Look at your attitude! Someone comes back and gives you fresh gist, and you try to gaslight people... Mtwsss..." she hissed angrily, turning away to storm off.
Quickly, the rest ran after her, cooing, "Haba darling... You know we didn't mean it like that! It's just the way you described the groom—wallahi I was picturing someone looking like Sméagol from Lord of the Rings or Dobby from Harry Potter, so when I saw it wasn't quite that extreme..." Tasleem sucked her teeth dismissively, cutting in, "What's the difference between a swamp and a fight? Me, wallahi, Dobby looks much better than that man!"
She revived her scathing critique of the newlywed couple—whose wedding her mother had dragged her to—relishing every second of tearing them apart. Despite her companions showing very little interest in the gossip, she chattered nonstop.
They reached the parking lot where vehicles were parked. Two of her friends climbed into their respective cars and bid each other goodbye for the day. Four of them remained standing, waiting for their drivers to arrive.
"Wallahi, I wonder why some people don't pay attention to personal hygiene. Can you believe Humaira from our class smells? Wallahi, when she walked past earlier, I almost threw up..." She was mid-sentence when she spotted her elder brother Mahboob's car driving up.
Turning slightly so her mouth wouldn't be clearly seen speaking, she whispered, "Wallahi, those rascals have been sent..." Her friends immediately turned their heads to admire the expensive car pulling in.
Two young men were inside: one relaxing with his eyes closed as if sleeping, and the driver (Mahboob) wearing a deeply grim expression, looking as though he loathed driving entirely.
"Wow..." one of the girls gasped. "Babe, are these the ones who came to pick you up?" the girl asked greedily. "Kai Farida, you mean you don't know them? That's Yaya Mahboob and Yaya Hydar," Tasleem replied without even turning back. "Oh, I know Yaya Mahboob, but I don't know the other one... That black cute guy..." Farida whispered, her eyes glued to the car as it came to a halt. "Laaahhh... That's Yaya Hydar... The King's lastborn..." Tasleem said in an indifferent, nonchalant tone. "Hey, are you coming or should I leave you behind and go home?" Mahboob snapped angrily.
Quickly, Tasleem turned around, feigning surprise as if seeing them for the first time. "Laa, Yaya... Welcome..." she cooed, stepping closer to the vehicle. Farida eagerly trailed right behind her, whispering frantically, "Please babe, introduce me..." "No... Don't get me subjected to harsh treatment right now," Tasleem hissed back, opening the car door.
Just as she was about to climb in, Farida pleaded, "Won't you guys drop us off on the way? My driver might not make it..." Her body trembled with eagerness. Immediately, the other girls rushed closer to the car, begging, "Please, drop us off on the way too!" Farida turned around and shot them a murderous glare, clearly annoyed by the competition.
"You see why I hate picking her up?" Mahboob muttered to Hydar, who remained entirely silent through the noise, not even bothering to open his eyes. He merely shrugged lazily, indifferent to the chaos.
They all crammed into the car, and Mahboob drove off. Even before they cleared the school gates, though their own driver had arrived on the other side, they had pretended not to see him simply because they spotted hot guys.
"Anyway, as I was saying earlier... I seriously doubt if that girl ever bathes! Or maybe she has a chronic body odor because she smells so horrible. Wallahi earlier, I almost threw up when she walked past me; I felt something rise right up to my throat. Wallahi it's so disgusting..." Tasleem picked up right where she left off, blabbing endlessly.
The others maintained an awkward silence, conscious of the elite young men sharing the vehicle—especially the Prince.
"And that stupid Hanifa Salisu is so dumb! She can never recite her Haddah (memorization). I always say she's the dullest person in our class. No skills, just a master of nosiness. Yet she's always coming in first place as if her family bribed the school..."
As she babbled endlessly inside the quiet car, her voice grating against the stillness, Hydar suddenly shifted upright and opened his eyes. Glancing at her through the rear-view mirror, he saw her chatting away like a mechanical doll.
Slowly turning his head, he stared straight at her and barked, "You!!" sounding a bit angry. She blinked at him in surprise. "One... more... word... from... you... what's-your-name-sorry," he said, spacing out every single word with chilling precision.
Having delivered his warning, he leaned back, relaxed his posture, and pulled out his phone again.
Tasleem pouted heavily. If there was one thing she hated, it was being interrupted mid-story. The other girls, however, secretly wished he would ask for their names, completely captivated by his unique aura.
Just as Hydar unlocked his phone screen, the naked breasts wallpaper flashed brightly across the display.
Suddenly, someone gasped aloud, "Laaahhh..."
2
S'akaci (Foolishness / Carelessness)
®Zuwairat (Ummumaryam)
Free page
Hydar, upon hearing the exclamation "Laaahhh," quickly blanked his phone screen and turned his head away. Instantly, all the girls dropped their heads in embarrassment. Tasleem froze in shock at what she had just glimpsed. The angle of her seat had given her a crystal-clear view of the screen.
"Who said laaahhh...?" Hydar demanded, fixing his eyes on their faces.
Mahboob, who was driving, glanced sideways at the Prince. Seeing the severe scowl etched across Hydar’s face as he demanded to know who uttered the gasp, Mahboob knew something was seriously wrong. It was extremely rare for Hydar to speak up like that even among close friends, let alone in front of these young girls.
"Who said laaahhh?!" he roared, his voice exploding with an intensity that completely mismatched his slender frame. You would swear it wasn't even him speaking, because his lips were relatively small compared to the booming echo that reverberated through the car cabin.
Instantly, Tasleem began to tremble. For one, she harbored a fierce fear of him. Secondly, she thoroughly disliked him because of his dark skin tone. But mostly, her fear stemmed from the stark contrast in how the rest of his siblings treated her versus him. His brothers and sisters loved and adored her because Hajiya Amina (his mother) doted on her endlessly. Yet Hydar had never once cracked a smile in her presence. She never knew whether he hated her just as much as she despised him.
"It wasn't me..." she whimpered, her voice shaking violently. "Yes it was you!" countered Farida, who had no filter and couldn't understand why Tasleem was denying something visible in broad daylight. "What is going on here...?" Mahboob demanded, catching the heavy tension as Hydar knitted his brows together in a furious frown.
Summary
This chapter transitions from the author’s opening personal notes—addressing her loyal readers, warning against unauthorized novel adaptations (such as audio-dramas, YouTube uploads, and uncredited film adaptations), and celebrating her return—into the main fictional narrative.
We are introduced to Aliyu (a.k.a. Hydar), the youngest prince of a major northern state, chilling at an exclusive royal youth garden (Mai Martaba Chilling Joint) with his cousins and friends. Hydar, a handsome yet brooding and taciturn man who suffers from a mild stutter and a fierce temper, is nursing a secret disappointment: a girl he liked (and tested by asking for a nude photo) actually sent it, shattering his romantic ideals.
Meanwhile, at an elite Islamiyya school, the spoiled and hyper-talkative Tasleem is gossiping relentlessly with her friends about a couple's wedding, mocking the groom's looks. When school lets out, Mahboob and Hydar arrive to pick her up because their regular driver fell ill. Tasleem’s friends swoon over the handsome princes and tag along for a ride. Inside the car, Tasleem chatters non-stop about school gossip and classmate hygiene until Hydar sternly shuts her down. As Hydar pulls out his phone to check it, the illicit photo briefly flashes on his screen, prompting an accidental gasp ("Laaahhh") from Tasleem, plunging the car into intense, terrified suspense as a furious Hydar demands to know who saw it.
Expanded Description & Character Profiles
Character Profiles
- Aliyu (a.k.a. Hydar): The youngest royal prince (Autan Sarki). Dark-skinned, strikingly handsome, mature, and deeply respectful, yet plagued by a slight stutter, an explosive temper, and extreme introversion. He uses a stoic exterior, silence, and smiles to mask his inner rage.
- Mahboob: Aliyu's cousin (son of the King's younger brother) and companion. He acts as a buffer and mediator for Hydar, understanding his volatile temperament and trying to save him from social friction.
- Tasleem: A talkative, spoiled, and superficial young girl who is a favorite of Hajiya Amina. She is hyper-critical of others, loves spreading gossip, and harbors a mutual dislike for Hydar.
- Farida & Friends: Tasleem’s schoolmates who are dazzled by elite status and eager to catch the attention of the royal princes.
Settings
- Mai Martaba Chilling Joint: An exclusive, upper-class garden built strictly for royal youths and their inner circle, symbolizing wealth, privilege, and seclusion.
- The Elite Islamiyya School: A high-end, strictly regulated Islamic school for upper-class youth where rules against phones are ironclad.
Literary Analytics
- The Motif of Superficiality vs. Hidden Integrity: The author sharply contrasts the external flashiness of the upper class (the luxury garden, gold rings, expensive phones, gossip) with internal moral complexities. Tasleem judges people purely by physical appearance (mocking grooms and classmates), while Hydar, despite his privileged royal status and brooding demeanor, holds strict, old-fashioned moral standards—which makes his recent disappointment over the nude photo sting so deeply.
- Character Tension & Foil Dynamics: The pairing of Mahboob (talkative, pragmatic, easily annoyed) and Hydar (silent, intense, volatile) creates narrative friction. Similarly, the explosive clash between Tasleem's unbridled chattiness and Hydar's demand for absolute silence generates a suffocating, high-stakes atmosphere inside the car.
- Meta-Narrative Framing: The opening author's note acts as a passionate defense of digital authorship and creative rights in the Hausa literary space. By critiquing piracy, unauthorized adaptations, and industry gatekeeping ("talent has no age restriction"), the author grounds the text in the real-world struggles of modern online writers, establishing a protective, fiercely independent voice before diving into a story heavily themed around privacy, exposure, and boundaries (symbolized by the leaked photo).
