Noor Albii Book 1 Complete Hausa Novel

She tried to return to sit on the plastic chair placed in front of the wheelchair her father was sitting on, after setting the cup she had just finished giving him his oral medication into on the small table beside her. Slowly and calmly, she lifted her eyes and looked at him without saying a word for two full minutes. Then she slightly moved her lips and, in a gentle manner, gave him a smile—a smile that melted his heart with overwhelming pity and love. For he felt pain and hurt in every one of her smiles, knowing too well that beneath them lay nothing but worry, loneliness, orphanhood, and the absence of both a mother and a father. Even though her father was still alive, it was as though he was not—for there was nothing he could do for her beyond offering pure love, from sitting to lying down.

Seeing the way he looked at her—a look that always reflected his sense of failure in his role as a father—she never once saw him as a failure, because she knew it was their destiny, all of them, starting from her mother who had passed away, to Momy, whom she believed suffered the most, wounded in every aspect of their lives.

She lowered her gaze from his face and reached out, pulling several tissues. She gently wiped the side of his clothes where drops of the colored medicine had spilled. Letting out a soft breath, she slowly opened her mouth and said:

“Abba…

Stop looking at yourself and your condition as something you deserve because of what happened.

Stop seeing yourself as the one who ruined his daughter’s life and could give her nothing—when you are everything to me.

I am the reason my birth and arrival into this world shattered the peace of your life…”

He closed his eyes in pain the moment her words reached him, just as two hands were placed firmly on her shoulders to stop her from finishing her sentence.

She gently released a breath she had been holding, without lifting her head. She exhaled again—cool, quiet, and restrained—before turning her beautiful face. Her eyes did not land on her sister or her aunt who was holding her, but instead fell on Momy, who stood behind Aunt Sa’adah. Momy’s face was just as she had always known it since childhood—tight, rigid, neither relaxed nor angry—only a look that still pointed clearly to how deeply the pain of childbirth, which had ruined her daughter’s life, continued to wound her.

She slowly withdrew her gaze from her, slightly bowed her head, and gently stood up from where she was. Stepping past Aunt Sa’adah, she moved behind her and stood there. In a soft, obedient voice, without looking at Momy again, she said:

“Good morning, Momy.”