Alkawarin Zuciya Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

From a distance, she kept peeking at the massive building that stood imposingly there, her eyes moving across the countless cars parked outside as though she was searching for something. At last, her gaze settled on a white Bentley. It was spotless, shining perfectly, without even the sign of a single speck of dust on it. She let out a quiet sigh of relief and said in a low voice, “Alhamdulillah, he’s still around.”

Then she hurried forward until she reached the entrance of the place called Cozy. Just as she was about to stretch out her hand and open the door to go in, she paused. Slowly, she looked herself over. She was wearing fitted white jeans and a very beautiful dark blue top that dropped just a little below her waist. The white scarf on her head added even more beauty to her appearance, while part of her hair was visible, braided neatly with small attachments that suited her very well. In one hand she held two books and her iPhone 13, and she also had a small handbag hanging by her side.

She took another deep breath. One look at her and you could tell she was nervous. Then slowly, she reached for the door, opened it, and walked inside.

It was a very classy eatery and bar, beautifully arranged. There were not many people inside, and most of those present were white foreigners. Even most of the staff were white, making it obvious that it was a place owned by foreigners. She moved carefully, glancing around the place from the corners of her eyes, until she got to a seat, pulled out the chair, and sat down. Then she placed her books and phone in front of her.

Just then, the white bartender came over, looked at her, and said, “What can I get you, miss?”

She turned her face slightly, as though she was looking for something in the place, and said, “Pierre Zēro Rosé please, two shots.”

Seeing that she was speaking without even looking at him, he replied, “Gotcha.” Then he turned, brought the wine she had ordered, poured it into two cups, and returned to place them before her.

“Here we go,” he said.

She quickly turned to look at him, then immediately took off her small bag, brought out some money, and handed it to him.

“Keep the change.”

Before he could even say anything, she turned her head away again and began scanning the people in the place one after another.

“Hey, Zayn, look.”

A well-built dark-skinned man from the far end of the large hall, which was filled with chairs and people all seated doing their own thing, tapped a very handsome, thickly built fair-skinned man who was sitting on a chair with his eyes closed. A shisha pipe rested in his mouth, and he was drawing from it, releasing the smoke through his nose.

He was dressed in a black LV shirt and black trousers. He was fair in complexion and broad-bodied, and because his shirt had short sleeves, his strong, muscular arms were clearly visible. He was one of those men with a large frame and a powerfully built body. Even though his eyes were shut, if you looked at him you would not want to look away, because he possessed a striking kind of beauty, almost like that of a woman.

His lips were an intensely red shade, perhaps because of the shisha he was smoking, who knows. He had a long, slender nose that sat on his face in a way that was deeply attractive. His eyebrows were jet black and full, and there was a prayer mark on his forehead. His hair too was jet black and glossy, curled tightly in a way like that of a Buzu, and there was a calm, graceful elegance in his face, Masha Allah. Even if he himself had carved out his own appearance, he could not possibly have made himself this handsome, let alone since he was not the one who created himself.