Amani Part 4 Complete Hausa Novel

He entered his house—rather, his private wing—with a worsening headache. He himself knew something was wrong with him that day, because all his endurance had been exhausted. Truly, he was only forcing himself to endure. The thoughts of Amani—thoughts he went to sleep with and woke up with—and his longing to be with her, even if just once in their lives, had begun to cause unrest throughout his body.

He passed through the last living room where their bedrooms were located and saw Amani sitting there, visibly anxious, waiting for him to come in. She had refused to go into her room, let alone lie down. She had sworn that that day she would see Mukhy’s bed and his bridal gifts.

He lowered his head and was about to walk past her without saying a word, but he was touched by how much weight she had lost—she looked so thin and fragile, no longer like the lively Amani Faskari. That sight pierced his heart deeply. It instantly reminded him of Alhaji and how he cherished his daughter, and Mukhtar felt as though he was not treating her well, as though he was betraying Alhaji Usman’s trust.

Even so, Amani still had not shown the level of change he desired. And unless he was sure she had changed—at least in the behaviors he disliked, even if not all of them, since character is said to be carved in stone—at the very least, that she had removed what God dislikes (arrogance), pride, boastfulness, and her belief that she was better than everyone else—he could not fully give himself to her. He wanted to be certain that she truly loved him for the sake of God alone, the kind of love that would make her surrender herself to him—her heart and her entire body—not out of mere physical desire, but out of pure love and devotion for God. Only then would he be able to relax and begin the life he had planned for the two of them.

He climbed onto his large bed and curled up, absorbing the pain that had overtaken his body. His body began to tremble violently; fever had already attacked him. He pulled the blanket over himself and wrapped it around his head.

Amani, despite the fact that he had ignored her and passed her by, did not hesitate to follow him into the bedroom. He had not locked the door that day—he himself did not even know where his head was. She saw no bridal gifts in the room, only him.

Amani released a deep sigh of relief. The quarrel she had come in with evaporated when she saw how he was lying there, curled tightly in his duvet, with the air conditioner not even turned on. Her body cooled a little, and the fierce energy she had arrived with diminished greatly. Just from the way Mukhy was lying, anyone could tell he was unwell.

She was wearing a smooth white nightdress that reached her knees, with a patterned wrapper draped over her shoulders. Her hair was completely disheveled—no style, no braids. She was better described now as a disordered Amani rather than the glamorous Amani Faskari, because all her composure, joy, and cheerfulness were gone—entirely due to her lack of closeness to Mukhtar Issouffou Massaoudou.

At that moment, her heart burned for him, longing to see them in the position of a complete husband and wife, living in love and affection like other couples—not the state they were in now. Just like the Emir of Diffa and Ummami: you couldn’t even say they were old; they were always full of love and care for each other. If you sat with either of them, you would hear them mention the other constantly, citing examples of kindness and goodness.

The love and jealousy she felt for Mukhy combined and overwhelmed Amani until she no longer resembled the glamorous, untouchable lady—the “wash your hands before touching” type—she used to be in Hon. Usman’s house.

But now Mukhtar himself was struggling inwardly. He wanted to ask her why she had lost so much weight and why she looked so disheveled, yet he didn’t even want to talk. He couldn’t explain the sudden collapse that had overtaken him. Seeing him shiver uncontrollably, something she had never witnessed before, made her whole body grow cold. She sat on the edge of the bed, her own body trembling, and in a soft, shaky voice she asked,

“Mukhy, are you alright? Why are you shivering?”

“Umh,” he replied, forcing strength into his voice.

She sat closer to his head and said, “I’m glad you came back early today, but it looks like you’re not well.” She herself began to tremble. “How can I help you? Is there medicine in the room?”

“Umh,” he said again, his voice like that of someone burning with fever.

Amani became truly alarmed. She lay down close beside him to confirm that he was indeed unwell, noticing the way his breathing came in hot, labored bursts. At that point, she abandoned the complaints she had intended to make—about where he slept and whether they had brought him other women, since she had not seen him spend the night there.

Instead, she found herself persistently asking, “Yaya Mukhy, please, how can I help you?”

Indeed, in that state he needed her help—but still…

“I’m not well,” he answered with great difficulty.

She moved even closer, bringing her mouth near his ear. “What’s wrong with you, Yaya Mukhy?”

Briefly he said, “Cold. Amani, I feel cold—an intense cold, even inside this blanket. Even though I’m covered, it feels like I’m inside ice. Am I going to die?”

Amani panicked even more and jumped up. “Then let me turn off the A/C.”

She stood up to go turn it off when she felt Mukhtar grab her with his left hand, warm yet trembling. She turned to look at him, her eyes wide with shock, her whole body shaking as she froze, completely confused and unsure what to do. Then she heard Mukhtar’s voice softly saying,

“Amani, give me the warmth of your body. It will be absolutely okay for me.”

She tried to understand what he meant—that the warmth of her body alone would help relieve the cold he was feeling—but it hadn’t crossed her mind at all. In her confusion, she couldn’t grasp what he meant by “the warmth of your body.” She stood there uncertainly until Mukhy gently pulled her down and laid her beside him. She did not resist; she obeyed him.

He lifted the hem of her nightdress and removed it from above, then with trembling hands loosened the wrapper around her body and tossed it to the floor. With a sudden intensity, Mukhtar pressed Amani tightly against himself, burying his neck and face into her neck. He wrapped them both together in the blanket—to share the heat of his fever together.

If he were to die, he hoped to die clinging to her body. Perhaps that would cause them to rise together on the Day of Judgment as husband and wife, since in this world God had not destined them to truly live together.

Gradually, Mukhy’s body heat began to transfer to Amani. The way he clung to her caused everything about him to begin to change—even his breathing pattern shifted. Amani found herself holding Mukhtar even tighter as they shared his fever together. Though it was not easy for her at all—the heat felt almost unbearable.

Around midnight, the fever began to subside. She realized this by the way he started sweating heavily, soaking her. Yet Amani did not get up, even though she hadn’t slept the entire time. Instead, she felt a deep sense of calm settle over her, immersed in this intimate body contact with her husband, Mukhtar Diffa. Her love for him—and an overwhelming affection—continued to flood her. Her own body began to respond, and she held him even more tightly.

By then, Mukhtar had fallen into a deep sleep. She pressed herself closer to him, wishing they could remain like that forever. She wished that morning would never come.

That was how they spent the night. At dawn, Mukhy was the first to wake, struggling to separate his body from Amani’s, as she had clung to him completely, her body soaked through with his sweat. She felt like holding him back, preventing him from getting up—she wanted them to remain that way.

Mukhy went to bathe with cold water, performed ablution, and came out, marveling at what had happened to him the previous night—it felt like a seizure, like an attack by spirits. It was only then that sleep finally came to Amani.

Mukhtar tried to recall what had happened the night before, astonished to see Amani lying on his bed. He had completely forgotten how she came there, so intense had the fever been. Amani sensed Mukhy standing over her, so she opened her eyes slowly, looking at him with sleepy eyes. He looked back at her with his beautiful eyes, finding himself loving everything about her even more—a woman like her was created with everything captivating and alluring to a man.

She gently closed her eyes into his gaze, feeling an increase of love for him in her heart, and tears flowed down without reason, without restraint.