ABBAKAR SARAKI 

BOOK COMPELET 

Part 1: The Weight of an Unspoken Longing

He kept tossing and turning, but sleep stubbornly refused to come. Ever since the semester-ending break began, sleep had completely abandoned him. No matter how much he tried to lie down and rest, it was impossible; he would just find himself restlessly flipping from one side of the bed to the other. True happiness had long since fled his heart. Everything he did nowadays was accompanied by a forced, hollow smile that barely masked his inner torment.
Today marked the absolute eve of their resumption at school. Although it had never been his habit to show up on the very first day of a new semester, here he was, having spent the entire past month counting down the days and eagerly anticipating this exact return.
He felt as though the night was stretching on forever, artificially prolonged. It seemed to him as if dawn would never arrive. Finally realizing that sleep was truly a lost cause for the night, he rose from his bed to perform ablution.
At the very first break of dawn, he woke up from a brief, shallow sleep that had overtaken him without his knowledge. Even though a deeply enticing drowsiness was tugging heavily at his eyelids right now, he forced himself up, bathed, and stepped out to the mosque for prayers.
By exactly six o’clock, he was fully dressed and ready. He didn't even pause to eat any breakfast; his heart was racing with such intense anticipation that he wished he could grow wings and fly straight to the campus. Moving with a sharp, hurried stride, he came down from his upper quarters and headed toward his mother’s section of the house, strapping on his wristwatch as he walked.
Just as he had anticipated, she was seated on her prayer mat, performing her post-dawn Witr prayers, consistently following her daily spiritual routine. He sat down quietly for about thirty minutes, waiting for her to conclude. Unable to help himself, he kept checking his watch. Seeing that it was already half past six, he stood up, moved toward the edge of the parlor, and called out for Maryam.
Maryam rushed out from the kitchen area, holding a cooking spoon in her hand. "Oh, Good morning, Yaya!"
"Good morning, Maryam. The clock of hard work, you're already up and cooking?"
"Yes, Yaya!" she replied cheerfully.
"Alright, that's good. Please tell Hajiya that I came by, but since she was deep in her prayers, I had to head out."
"Okay, Yaya. But what about your breakfast?"
"No, don't worry about it. When I get to the office, I’ll just have some hot water and tea."
"Alright, Yaya. Safe journey and have a great day at work."
Just as he reached the main doorway that connected to the grand entrance of the house, Hajiya’s voice echoed across the room: "May Allah bring you back safely."
He spun around instantly, walked back, and knelt all the way down to the floor in deep respect. "Good morning, Hajiya."
"Good morning, my son," she replied with a warm, maternal smile.
"I am heading out to work now."
"Alright. May Allah guide your footsteps, grant you a safe journey, and bring you back to us in peace. Amin." He rose and exited the parlor.
By half past seven, he was already at Bayero University, Kano (B.U.K.). He walked straight into his private lecturer's office, organized the lecture materials and papers he would need for the day, sipped a hot cup of tea, and left for the lecture hall.
He walked down the corridors with slow, deliberate steps. His entire soul harbored only one desperate yearning: to catch even a single glimpse of her. She was the sole reason he had been counting down the days.
Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a soft voice drifted through the air: "Good morning, sir."
The greeting pierced straight through his heart, sending a sharp, electrical tremor through his entire being. It was absolutely her. Her voice had long since carved a permanent home in his mind; if he heard it among a hundred women, he would instantly recognize it anywhere.
He didn't turn around, nor did he give any outward sign that he had noticed her presence. He simply answered with a cold, professional, "Morning," and kept walking forward.
As usual, she wasn't bothered by his distant demeanor. Her friend, Aisha, urged them along: "You guys should hurry up so we can get into the lecture hall. You all know how that man is—if he walks in before us, we are completely doomed today. At best, he'll just take the attendance and lock us out."
"Honestly, I need to use the restroom so badly I feel like I'm about to burst," Ummulkhairi groaned. "But if I go now, I might miss the class because I absolutely cannot risk arriving after him."
"Just go, I'll wait for you when you return," Aisha said.
"Let me come and accompany you," Fatima offered.
"No, Fatima," Ummulkhairi insisted. "You go ahead into the hall so we don't both miss the beginning. If you are in there, it’s as good as me being there."
"No, wallahi, I am coming with you. You have a habit of taking too long. Let's go."
Inside the lecture hall, the lecturer stood firmly at the podium. "Where is the class captain?" he asked, scanning the room.
"He hasn't arrived yet, sir," a student called out.
"Splendid," the lecturer replied dryly. "Can someone step forward and clean the board?" He held out the duster.
While a student stepped up to wipe the blackboard, the lecturer pretended to closely examine the lecture notes he had brought along. In reality, he wasn't looking at the papers at all; he was covertly scanning the rows of students staring back at him. His eyes searched every single face, but they failed to find her. She wasn't there. Had she really not come today?
No, he thought, adjusting his posture. Whose voice did I hear out there just a moment ago? Did his deep infatuation for her mean he was finally losing his mind? Was he starting to hallucinate her voice whenever another girl spoke?
A sudden thought struck him. He walked over to the doorway where a group of late students were hovering anxiously, knowing fully well he rarely allowed latecomers into his class.
He scrutinized the group. She wasn't among the latecomers standing at the door either. He stepped out just a fraction into the corridor. There she was, sitting down a short distance away with her friend, alongside a third girl he wasn't used to seeing with them. A male student was sitting right there with them too, and they were all locked in an intense discussion.
What on earth are they whispering about so passionately? he thought bitterly to himself. Only God knows.
"Well, look at you all," he said, his voice dripping with authority. "I suppose you think you are special or above the rules? You can't even stand up properly like the others?"
The students looked up, completely startled, their eyes wide with anxiety, yet they remained frozen, unable to find their footing.
"Since you're already out here," he continued, "you may come inside. But let this be the absolute last time you ever show up late to my class."
"Thank you, sir," they muttered.
"Thank yourselves," he snapped, turning on his heel and walking back into the lecture hall. The late students trailed quietly behind him.
After writing the day's lecture topic clearly on the board, he turned to face the packed hall. "As I clearly stated to you during the first semester, there was a possibility I would continue handling this course, or it might be reassigned. Well, it wasn't reassigned. You already know my rules, so I see no need to repeat them. Those who have forgotten should ask their classmates."
He shifted closer to the door, looking toward the group. "And you," he said, directing his gaze toward the male student. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself? A young man comfortably lounging and hiding amidst a group of women? Laziness is not an attribute of real men." The boy went quiet. "Anyway, what about the rest of you? Is it that you physically cannot stand up, or what?"
"No, sir. We honestly thought you wouldn't allow us to enter at all," Fatima explained quickly.
"Splendid. Fine then," he muttered, turning back to the board.
"Sorry, sir," a soft, familiar voice suddenly called out, striking the very core of his heart.
A subtle, hidden smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Her voice was the only melody his soul wanted to hear. He didn't turn around immediately. "Keep your apologies to yourself."
"Please, sir, we beg for your understanding and forgiveness," she pleaded again.
He turned slowly, his face deliberately set into a harsh, unforgiving mask. "You may take your seats. But let this be the very last time you come late to my lecture." With that, he walked back to the front of the hall.
As he began writing on the board, the girls hurried to find seats. As he turned back around, his eyes locked onto Ummulkhairi as she carefully lowered herself into a chair.
What his eyes witnessed stole the breath right out of his lungs.
She was visibly, significantly pregnant. In fact, she had to navigate her body with extreme care just to sit down properly.
Could this really be true? he asked himself, his mind reeling in absolute shock. Are my eyes playing a cruel trick on me?
I have to confirm this for myself right now.
"You, the girl who just sat down," he called out, pointing toward her row. "Move down to the very front row."
Ummi, the girl who had walked in alongside her, began to stand up.
"No, not you," he corrected quickly, his professional restraint slipping. "I mean Ummulkhairi."
The entire lecture hall instantly fell silent, every head turning to look at Ummulkhairi in astonishment. The students whispered among themselves, stunned that this famously aloof, arrogant lecturer actually knew her specific name.
Ummulkhairi sat frozen, completely paralyzed by the sudden mention of her name. It was one thing for a lecturer to recognize a student's face, but for him to call her out by her full name took her completely by surprise.
Seeing her friend frozen in shock, Fatima nudged her sharply. "Get up and move to the front before he loses his temper and throws you out completely!"
Ummulkhairi stood up with immense effort, making her way down the aisle toward the front row.
Innalillahi wa'inna ilaihir raji'un (To Allah we belong and to Him we shall return), the lecturer cried out silently within his own heart. It is true. She is genuinely pregnant.
The reality crushed him like a physical blow. The woman he had fallen desperately, unconditionally in love with—the woman he felt he could not survive without in this life—belonged to another man. She was someone else's wife.
She reached the front row and sat down exactly where he had indicated. He turned toward the blackboard immediately, his back to the class, quickly wiping away a bitter tear that had escaped his eye. He desperately swallowed his grief, terrified that the students would notice his distress.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, holding it up to his ear as if receiving an urgent, critical call. "Yes... text me the details. I'm on my way right now," he faked into the receiver before sliding it back into his pocket.
The class captain had finally slipped into the room and stood up. He was the male student who had been sitting outside with Ummulkhairi and her friends earlier.
The lecturer walked over to him, handing over a stack of documents. "Take this course outline. It contains everything required for the semester. Those who want it can make photocopies. I have an urgent matter to attend to that completely escaped my mind. Please accept my apologies."
Without waiting for a response from the stunned captain or the students, he gathered his belongings and stormed out of the lecture hall.

Part 2: Heartbreak and Facebook Confessions

The moment he cleared the university gates and drove a safe distance away, the tears he had tightly suppressed broke free. Once he was far enough from the campus, he pulled his car over to the shoulder of the road and parked. A violent, chest-heaving sob tore out of him. He wept bitterly and inconsolably, letting the full weight of his broken heart wash over him, until his mind finally began to calm his racing heart. He sat there in the quiet sanctuary of his car for a long time before wiping his tears away and driving off.
Back at the university hall, the moment the lecturer vanished, a flock of students rushed down to Ummulkhairi's desk, surrounding her with intense curiosity.
"Hey, how on earth does that proud, arrogant man know your exact name?" one asked.
Ummulkhairi shrugged, trying to mask her own confusion. "How should I know? Didn't you see how I completely froze the moment my name left his mouth?"
"Wallahi, I wish he was calling me instead!" Aisha joked.
"As for me, I know for a fact that my love for that man will be the death of me," Maryam chimed in, causing the entire group to burst into roaring laughter.
"Maryam, is there something bothering your brother?" Hajiya asked later that evening, looking up from her seating area.
"Honestly, Hajiya, I don't know," Maryam replied thoughtfully. "But I've noticed he seems deeply distressed and wrapped up in worry lately."
"Let me go up to his room and see him," Hajiya said, rising from her seat and making her way to his section of the house.
When she walked in, she found him sprawled out on a long couch, his face turned toward the ceiling, clutching a pillow tightly against his chest. Heavy tears were silently tracing paths down his cheeks.
"Subhanallahi! What am I witnessing?" Hajiya gasped, stepping closer. "What is tearing you apart like this? I am your mother. Tell me what is wrong, and I promise you I will do everything in my power to fix it."
Within his own mind, he thought bitterly, “I wish you could, Mum. But this problem is far beyond anything you can comprehend. I wish you could wipe my tears, but you can't. And the last thing I want is to burden your heart with my sorrow.”
He forced a weak smile. "It's nothing, Hajiya. I am completely fine."
Hajiya looked at him, her expression hardening into deep motherly offense. "So, it has come to this? You look at me now and think I am not worthy of your trust? If you cannot even share your pain with your own mother, then fine." She turned around sharply, preparing to walk out.
He jumped off the couch and grabbed her hand gently. "Wallahi, it's not like that at all, Hajiya. Please don't be upset. I was just lying here thinking about late Baba Alhaji, and the memory brought me to tears. I didn't want to make you sad by bringing it up, which is why I thought it best to just lock myself in my room."
Hajiya’s gaze softened. She leaned down, gently wiped the tears from his face with the edge of her veil, and left the room in silence, hiding her own tears from him.
He closed his eyes, whispering into the quiet room, "Please forgive me, Hajiya. I lied to you, and I used the sacred memory of Alhaji just to hide my own shame. Please forgive me."
"Ummu, please hurry up so you don't get left behind!" a male voice called out.
"Just go ahead without me," she replied, adjusting her clothes. "I can drop myself off. Look at you, rushing me. Don't you see the heavy state I am in?"
He laughed heartily. "I honestly don't understand why you always think this pregnancy is going to make you completely lazy. Come on, move quickly, you've given me enough talk for one morning."
"Oh, so now my voice is a burden to you? Fine, I've changed my mind, I am not entering your car!"
"Come on, my love, please," he coaxed, opening the door for her. "Let's go together." She pouted dramatically but stepped into the passenger seat anyway. He closed the door securely, walked around, and drove out of the compound.
"Honestly, Ummu, I have never seen a couple as perfectly matched for each other as you and your Yaya," Fatima said with a warm smile as they walked across campus. "You two are the absolute definition of soulmates."
Ummulkhairi simply chuckled. "Really? Because personally, I don't see this perfect match you keep talking about."
"That's exactly why he loves you more than life itself! You don't give him an easy time," Aisha teased. "Anyway, let's drop the subject."
"Fatima, please tell me," Ummu asked, changing the topic. "Are we supposed to be in Lecture Hall 3304 today?"
"I think so..." Fatima muttered.
"You think so? You aren't even serious! At least I have an excuse because I'm the one asking," Ummu laughed, and they walked into the classroom together.
No matter how hard Abbakar tried to erase Ummulkhairi from his mind, his efforts failed catastrophically. Every single passing day only seemed to fan the flames of his love for her.
Innalillahi wa'inna ilaihir raji'un, he groaned to himself in his office. What kind of trial is this? O Allah, please strip this longing from my heart and forgive me.
He picked up his phone and dialed Khairiyya. She was a close friend he had met on Facebook. Though he had never met the girl in person, he trusted her completely and often confided in her when the world grew too dark.
Her phone line was switched off. He quickly turned on his cellular data, hoping she might be active online. The moment his inbox refreshed, a sequence of messages from her flooded in.
As usual, she had started with a warm Islamic greeting. The next message read: "Yayana (My Brother), how are you doing? It's been days since I last heard from you. I tried calling your number earlier, but it was switched off."
A genuine smile finally broke through his dark mood. He typed back: "I am perfectly fine, my sweet sister. I ran into a bit of a personal crisis recently, but Alhamdulillah, everything is returning to normal now."
Within seconds, her reply popped up: "Oh, I am so sorry to hear that. May Allah ease all your burdens. Amin, Yayana."
"So, when are we finally going to meet in person?" Abbakar typed back.
She sent back a thinking face emoji.
"That is always your response," Abbakar countered. "Whenever I bring up the idea of us meeting up, you always find a clever way to dodge the question."
She sent a laughing emoji. "Let's just give time some time, Yayana! Let's chat later this evening; our lecturer just walked into the classroom now. Bye!"
"Alright, take care," he replied.
It had been two full weeks since Abbakar last stepped foot on the university campus. Ever since the day he discovered Ummulkhairi was pregnant, a deep aversion to the school had taken root in his soul. At one point, he seriously considered resigning from his lecturing job altogether. However, remembering the immense struggle and prestige tied to how he secured the position, he forced himself to reconsider. He couldn't allow his personal heartbreak to sabotage his students' education.
Today, he dressed meticulously, finalized his lecture notes, visited his mother’s section to bid her goodbye, and drove to B.U.K.
As he steered through the traffic, he prayed silently: “O Allah, please let her be absent today. If she isn't sitting in front of me, if I don't have to look at her face, I will find the strength to deliver this lecture perfectly.”
Yet, the very moment his foot stepped across the threshold of the lecture hall, his eyes immediately locked onto her. She was sitting down, laughing joyfully with her friend Fatima, looking absolutely radiant and beautiful.
Innalillahi wa'inna ilaihir raji'un, he whispered under his breath, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. His legs felt completely hollow, as if they would buckle beneath his weight right then and there. For a split second, he seriously contemplated turning around and abandoning the class entirely.
No, Abbakar, be strong, a small, rational voice within his conscience commanded. He gathered his composure, suppressed the tremor in his chest, and walked up to the podium.
"Good morning, class," he announced, his voice steady.
"Good morning, sir," the hall echoed back.
"I must apologize for my absence over the past two weeks. I was down with an illness. I hope you all thoroughly read through the course manual I provided?"
"Yes, sir!" the class shouted in unison.
"Splendid. At least you didn't let my absence make you lazy," he remarked, eliciting a wave of light laughter from the students.
He was merely putting on a brave face; internally, he felt like his legs could no longer support him. I have to find a tactical solution to this, he thought desperately.
"As I just mentioned, I am still recovering from my recent illness, and I won't be able to stand on my feet for the full two hours today. Therefore, I will be conducting the rest of this lecture from the back of the hall, using the microphone so everyone can hear me clearly."
The class captain stood up immediately. "Sir, let me quickly go and fetch a comfortable chair for you."
"No, don't bother," Abbakar dismissed. "There's an empty seat right over there at the back."
"But sir," Aisha spoke up from the middle row, "we always understand the lectures much better when we can actually see your face at the front."
"Oh, really?" Abbakar challenged, aiming his professional wit at her. "But if I spend the next two hours standing in front of you, I might collapse right before this lazy captain of yours. I honestly don't know what qualities you all saw in him when you voted him in."
"But sir, he is actually a very hard worker!" another student defended, laughing.
"Oh, I see," Abbakar countered dryly. "Is that why he can't even stand up for thirty minutes and prefers lounging comfortably in the midst of women? Let me head to the back before you start calling me a lazy teacher." The entire hall burst into roaring laughter at his playful banter.
Once the lecture concluded, Abbakar gathered his things and exited the hall, feeling a profound sense of relief wash over his troubled mind.
The moment he cleared the doorway, a few mischievous male students at the back stood up and targeted the class captain. "Well, you heard the lecturer! Since you love sitting with the ladies so much, captain, we are going to contribute money to buy you a traditional wrapper and a hijab so you can fit right in!"
Another student, Babawo, jumped in laughing: "Make sure you buy an extra set for the lecturer too, so they can match!"
Right at that exact second, Abbakar stepped back into the classroom to grab a folder of documents he had accidentally left on the desk. The entire room froze in sheer terror.
Abbakar looked at the troublemakers, completely unbothered, and delivered a devastatingly calm comeback: "Oh, is that so? Make sure you choose a very high-quality fabric then." With a subtle smirk, he picked up his papers and walked out. The lecture hall erupted into a massive wave of laughter at the absolute embarrassment of the two pranksters.

Part 3: The Confession of Mahfuz

Four weeks passed, and Abbakar deliberately structured his schedule so he wouldn't see Ummulkhairi in his class. Originally, he had convinced himself that if he stopped seeing her, the fire of love burning in his heart would naturally burn out. Instead, her prolonged absence only intensified his agony. He found himself constantly consumed by dark thoughts, wondering why she had suddenly stopped attending lectures entirely.
What if she passed away? a dark thought whispered. No, she can't die. If she dies, I am dying right along with her. But she belongs to someone else, his conscience reminded him. O Lord, please deliver me from this torment.
He finally realized that even when she was just sitting silently in his class, her mere presence brought a strange, healing comfort to his soul. To make matters worse, Khairiyya, his Facebook confidante, had been offline for two consecutive weeks, and her phone line remained completely unreachable. The entire world felt incredibly tight and suffocating around him. He desperately needed someone to talk to, someone he could pour his heart out to without judgment.
"Hello? Where on earth are you?" a voice boomed over the phone. It was his close friend, Mahfuz. "I'm right here at your house, and Hajiya told me you just went out."
"No, I haven't left the compound," Abbakar replied. "I'm sitting out here in the garden."
"Alright, I see you."
Mahfuz walked into the garden, marched straight up to Abbakar, and playfully snatched away the textbook he was reviewing for the next day's lecture.
Abbakar hissed in annoyance. "Mtsss. Seriously, Mahfuz, when are you ever going to grow up? You couldn't even offer a proper Islamic greeting?"
"Fine, Al-Ustaz (The Scholar)! Assalamu Alaikum!" Mahfuz laughed, taking a seat beside him. "To be honest, I didn't expect to see you looking like this."
Abbakar frowned slightly. "What do you mean by that? Am I no longer worthy of your visits?"
"No, it's not that at all. I was just thinking about how our last meeting ended," Mahfuz said. "Anyway, forget about that, it's in the past. But seriously, Abbakar, look at yourself. Tell me the truth—what is wrong with you? You have lost a massive amount of weight, and your skin looks completely dull."
Abbakar tried to deflect with a casual chuckle. "What else could it be but work, Mahfuz? You know how long the university strike lasted. I was stuck at home doing nothing, and now that we've resumed, it's a non-stop cycle of lectures, grading, and dealing with student noise. It’s only natural that I’d lean down a bit before my body adjusts to the stress."
"No, Abbakar, don't play games with me," Mahfuz said, his eyes filled with genuine concern. "Look at how you are literally turning into a skeleton. This isn't just ordinary weight loss from hard work."
Abbakar laughed out loud. "You're a real piece of work, Mahfuz! So now I am a literal skeleton? Look, I am perfectly fine, nothing is wrong."
"Alright, if you say so. By the way, what was the urgent call about earlier? You sounded so serious on the phone."
"Look at you, always complaining! Calm down, I didn't mean anything bad. I just wanted to follow up on our discussion from the other day."
"Wallahi, you are too much trouble. Let's just drop it, that's in the past," Mahfuz dismissed. "But seriously, you really aren't going to tell me what's eating you alive?"
"Oh my goodness, Mahfuz! You know me better than anyone else in this world. If there was a serious problem, you would be the very first person to hear about it, even before Hajiya. I wouldn't hide anything from you."
Mahfuz let out a heavy sigh, his expression shifting into one of deep vulnerability. "Well, as for me, a very massive problem has just entered my life."
"Subhanallahi! A problem? What happened?" Abbakar asked, instantly alert.
"I have fallen desperately, completely in love," Mahfuz confessed in a soft, pained voice.
Abbakar burst into a wide, mocking laugh. "Oh, please! Don't embarrass the male gender, my friend! Since when did falling in love become a massive life crisis?"
"Mtsss," Mahfuz hissed, rolling his eyes. "You can mock me all you want, but the real crisis is the specific identity of the girl I love."
"Oh? And who is this mysterious lady who has captured your heart?"
"It's none other than Ummulkhairi," Mahfuz revealed softly. "My cousin."
"WHAT?!" Abbakar yelled, his eyes widening in absolute horror and sheer panic.

Part 4: The Bitter Truth Revealed

"Are you talking about the same Khairiyya whose stories you used to tell me?" Abbakar demanded, his voice trembling. "The very one who caused our massive argument a while back? You must be joking!"
"Wallahi, I am not joking," Mahfuz replied with absolute sincerity. "I mean every single word."
"But you are completely rushing into an absolute disaster! How on earth do you think she will ever love you back?"
"I know," Mahfuz said quietly, his eyes downcast. "I know there is a very high chance she might completely despise me. But it's not my fault, Abbakar. Every single time I try to erase her from my mind, my feelings only grow stronger. It feels as if a fire of love is being constantly refueled inside my heart."
Abbakar offered a tight, deeply pained smile—a smile full of immense, hidden empathy for his friend's plight. “I pity you, my friend,” he thought bitterly. “But you have no idea how much your own guilt is going to haunt you.” Aloud, he said, "Well, if that's the truth, then I guess that's your cross to bear. Thank you for sharing."
"So now that you know, you think it's a laughing matter? If you know where she is right now, just tell me so I can go to her, confess my feelings, and convince her to marry me."
"Hahaha! Wow, my friend, you have truly fallen hard," Abbakar managed to joke, trying to mask his internal panic. "Wallahi, whenever you laugh like that, it irritates me down to my bones. If you aren't going to help me win her over, just tell me clearly!"
Before Abbakar could respond, his phone began to ring. Mahfuz peeked over his shoulder playfully. "Look at you, king of secrets! Let's see who it is." They shared a brief, tense laugh.
Abbakar answered the call, exchanging warm greetings before saying, "I am perfectly fine, my sweet sister. How is the family? How are you doing?" They chatted casually for a few moments before hanging up.
"See? I knew it! You are deep in love, but you're too proud to admit it to your best friend," Mahfuz teased. "You don't trust me enough to share your secrets. Wallahi, you have a real issue."
Abbakar ignored the comment, pulled out his phone again, and redialed Khairiyya's number. This time, it didn't ring long before she picked up.
"Hello, my sweet sister," Abbakar said.
"Yes, Yayana," her voice responded through the speaker. "Is everything okay? We literally just finished speaking a moment ago and you're calling back already?"
"Yes, remember that close friend of mine I always tell you about? The one who claims we are secretly dating? Well, he's sitting right here beside me and wants to speak with you."
Khairiyya laughed on the other end. "Did you forget to tell him that you are actually the one who will be officiating my upcoming wedding? Hand the phone over let me clear things up with him myself."
Mahfuz took the phone, exchanging polite pleasantries with her. Before he could say much, Khairiyya spoke up through the speaker: "My brother's friend, did he fail to inform you that I am already a happily married woman?"
Mahfuz laughed. "How could he hide such a vital detail from me? Anyway, congratulations."
Before he could continue the conversation, a deep, commanding male voice cut into the background of the call, answering a query from Khairiyya. The husband then picked up the phone briefly, exchanging warm, respectful greetings with Mahfuz. "I always hear your name from my wife, Khairi," the husband said warmly. "It's a pleasure to finally speak with you."
"The pleasure is entirely mine," Mahfuz replied politely before concluding the call and handing the phone back to Abbakar, without letting Khairiyya speak again.
"I hope you are now fully convinced?" Abbakar laughed heartily.
"Yes, I see it now. But wallahi, it proves you really don't trust me," Mahfuz grumbled. "You literally went as far as making a whole phone call just to prove a point."
"Wallahi, it's not about a lack of trust," Abbakar defended, rising from his seat. "For me, you don't ever have to prove whether what you say is a truth or a lie; if you say it, I will naturally believe it."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to force you into making that call anyway," Mahfuz muttered, standing up as well and heading back into the main house.
Left alone once more, the full weight of his misery crushed down on Abbakar. He felt utterly stranded, trapped in a reality where he couldn't share his true torment with anyone. To make matters worse, even the small solace of seeing Ummulkhairi's face at the university had been completely taken away from him.
He sat in the garden as the evening grew dark, his mind racing until a sudden, strategic idea struck him. A cold smile appeared on his face. “I know exactly what to do,” he thought.
He flipped through his phone contacts, but failed to find the specific number he was looking for. Remembering he had noted it down in a physical register, he went inside, retrieved the notebook, and dialed the number. It rang once before it was answered.
"Assalamu Alaikum," a voice greeted from the other end.
"Wa Alaikumus Salam. Am I speaking with Class Captain Mas'ud?"
"Yes, speaking. How can I help you, sir?"
"Please inform all members of your class that I will be conducting a mandatory Continuous Assessment (C.A.) test this coming Monday. This is Lecturer Abbakar Muhammad Abbakar."
"Oh, I understand perfectly, sir. I will pass the information across to everyone immediately." The line went dead.
Abbakar sat back. Only he knew the real, hidden motive behind this sudden decision; he hadn't originally planned to conduct any tests for the class anytime soon.
"Wallahi, Aisha, I am completely at a loss as to what to do," Fatima cried out anxiously on Sunday evening. "You know that strict man is holding his test tomorrow on Monday, and Ummu is terribly ill at home. If I attempt to write the test on her behalf, he will instantly figure it out because he knows her full name by heart."
"That is very true," Aisha agreed grimly.
Mas'ud, the class captain, stepped into their conversation. "Look, the best solution is for us to go directly to his office first thing tomorrow morning and explain her situation to him. If we are lucky and he shows understanding, he might schedule a makeup test for her once she recovers."
"Wallahi, I am absolutely terrified of that man," Fatima admitted, her voice shaking.
"You just have to find the courage," Mas'ud urged. "Let's go together. It's the only option we have."
The next morning, fortune favored them. After knocking gently on his office door, Abbakar's voice commanded them to enter. They walked in, offering respectful greetings.
After returning their greetings, Abbakar kept his eyes fixed on his desk papers. Mas'ud cleared his throat. "Um, sir, we came to see you regarding the mandatory C.A. test you scheduled for today."
"Yes? Is there a problem?" Abbakar asked coldly, still pretending to study his documents.
"No, sir. It's just that one of our classmates is severely ill and currently hospitalized. We came to officially inform you so that perhaps, once she is discharged, she can be granted a makeup test."
"And who exactly is this student?" Abbakar asked, his tone detached.
"Her name is Ummulkhairi Muhammad Dalhat, sir."
Abbakar’s heart skipped a violent beat. He froze for a microsecond before forcing his voice to remain flat. "And what exactly is the nature of her illness?"
"She had to undergo an emergency Caesarean Section (C.S.) due to a sudden, highly complicated childbirth, sir," Mas'ud explained.
Abbakar's head snapped up in absolute, unmasked shock. "WHAT?! A C.S.?!" he burst out, his professional composure completely disintegrating. He looked at them with a wide, panicked expression he couldn't control.
"Yes, sir," Mas'ud replied, startled by the lecturer's extreme reaction.
Abbakar quickly caught himself, swallowing hard as he forced his features back into a stern mask. "Right... okay. May Allah grant her a swift recovery and preserve the child."
"Amin, sir," they replied in unison.
Abbakar slid a piece of paper across the desk. "Write down her full name and university registration number right here."
"Okay, sir, done," Mas'ud said, writing out the details and sliding the paper back.
"Very well. Once she has fully recovered and is discharged, she must come directly to my office and bring along official medical documentation from the hospital proving her admission. Understood?"
"Yes, sir! Thank you so much, sir!" They expressed their immense gratitude and hurried out of his office.
The moment the door closed behind them, Abbakar’s world completely shattered. A profound, overwhelming wave of heartbreak and deep pity washed over his entire soul. “She went through an entire major surgery,” he realized, his chest tightening with excruciating pain.
But right then, the rational, brutal side of his conscience roared back: “Why are you breaking down over her?! She is another man's legal wife! You are losing your mind over someone else's woman!”
Subhanallahi, he gasped aloud, scrambling out of his chair. He rushed straight into his private office restroom, desperate to wash the grief from his face.
He performed a thorough ablution, stepped back into his office, and immediately stood up to perform voluntary prayers, desperately seeking a divine sanctuary to calm the violent storm tearing his heart to pieces.
He remained on his knees in prayer until the noon (Zuhr) prayer call echoed across the campus. After concluding his prayers, packed with desperate pleas for Ummulkhairi's health and the life of her newborn child, he packed his briefcase and abandoned his office.
A deep, hollow hunger gnawed at his stomach. He decided to head directly back home, even though over the past few weeks, he had completely loathed being around people.
When he arrived at the house, his younger sister, Maryam, met him at the entrance with a warm smile...

2. Character & Setting Guide

Characters

• Abbakar Muhammad Abbakar: The central protagonist. A young, brilliant, yet notoriously strict and aloof university lecturer at Bayero University, Kano. He is secretly harboring a deep, consuming, and forbidden infatuation for one of his students, which is systematically destroying his mental and physical health.
• Ummulkhairi Muhammad Dalhat (Ummu): A beautiful, quiet, and exceptionally focused undergraduate student. Unbeknownst to Abbakar initially, she is a married woman who balances her academic pursuits with her domestic life and a high-risk pregnancy.
• Mahfuz: Abbakar’s fiercely loyal, highly observant, and expressive best friend. He inadvertently shatters Abbakar's world by confessing that he has fallen deeply in love with his own cousin—who happens to be Ummulkhairi.
• Hajiya: Abbakar's deeply intuitive, protective, and loving mother. She maintains a rigorous spiritual routine and is constantly worried about her son's sudden physical deterioration and emotional withdrawal.
• Khairiyya: Abbakar's virtual confidante on Facebook. She acts as his emotional safe space, unaware that her upcoming marriage and life milestones mirror the structural domestic shifts happening around him.
• Mas'ud: The diligent and highly responsible class captain of Abbakar's course. He looks out for his classmates and bravely confronts the lecturer's strict rules to advocate for those in need.
• Fatima & Aisha: Ummulkhairi's fiercely protective and close-knit campus friends who assist her in navigating her high-risk academic commitments during her pregnancy.

• Maryam: Abbakar's cheerful and observant younger sister who handles the household chores and notices the deep sorrow brewing within her brother.

  Settings

• Bayero University, Kano (B.U.K.): The central arena of the narrative. A massive, historic institution in Northern Nigeria. Its rigid lecture halls, bustling corridors, and private lecturer offices serve as the backdrop for the intense psychological warfare, hidden glances, and professional boundaries defining the characters.

• Abbakar’s Family Residence (Kano): A sprawling, traditional yet upscale northern Nigerian compound divided into distinct sections (sashina). It represents security, maternal love, and standard cultural obligations, serving as a direct contrast to Abbakar's chaotic inner emotional landscape.

  3. Cultural & Literary Analytics

  Cultural Nuances & Islamic Terminology

1. Wutiri (Witr) & Asubar Fari: The text grounds its daily timeline deeply in Islamic spiritual practice. The narrative anchors its mornings in Asubar fari (the early break of dawn) and characters performing Witr (the concluding voluntary night prayers), showcasing a typical northern Nigerian Muslim household where milestones are marked by prayer.
2. Innalillahi wa'inna ilaihir raji'un: Translating to "To Allah we belong and to Him we shall return," this Islamic phrase is traditionally uttered during moments of tragedy or receiving news of death. The author brilliantly uses it as an internal emotional exclamation for Abbakar when he experiences the psychological trauma of discovering his love interest is pregnant and married, framing it as a literal death of his aspirations.

3. C.S. (Caesarean Section) Taboo & Academic Stress: The plot touches on the intense intersection of maternal health and higher education in Nigeria. Ummulkhairi's desperation to complete her mandatory Continuous Assessment (C.A.) test despite a life-threatening medical emergency highlights the systemic academic pressures placed on female students balancing family life and university education.

   Literary Themes & Structural Analysis

• The Silent Torment of Forbidden Love: The primary thematic driver of the text is the agony of unrequited, unvoiced, and structurally impossible love. Abbakar is trapped by his professional role as an authoritative lecturer and his moral boundaries as a Muslim man upon discovering that the object of his affection is a married woman.
• Dramatic Irony & The Web of Connections: The text employs powerful dramatic irony through the character of Mahfuz. When Mahfuz confesses his love for his cousin "Ummulkhairi," it creates an intense, claustrophobic conflict within Abbakar, as his best friend has unknowingly targeted the exact source of his heartbreak, turning the love triangle into an emotional minefield.
• The Mask of Professionalism: Abbakar constantly uses his reputation as a "strict, arrogant lecturer" to hide his deep emotional vulnerability. His harsh interactions with latecomers and his snappy remarks to the class captain are shown to be protective mechanisms designed to keep anyone from seeing the tears he has to wipe away behind closed doors.