Me & My Lion Book 1 Complete Hausa Novel

They were sitting in a spacious parlor, all gathered around chairs surrounding a dining table. There were about six people: an elder woman, probably not older than 57, her husband, and their four sons—all handsome, looking like Arab children, Masha Allah. They were eating quietly, without much movement.

The mother looked at them attentively, smiled warmly, and with love for her children, asked, “Fawan, tell me, what is all this silence? Are you behaving as if you’re at a funeral? Or is it love for your elder brother that makes you this way?”

Before Fawan could answer, Sena, who sat beside him, quickly said, “No need to worry, Mami. Otherwise, one must have gone through military training.”

Their father laughed and said, “Ah, Maheer, don’t cause mischief. Nothing bad will happen to you, Shattima, as long as you haven’t committed any offense.” He said this jokingly in his usual manner.

Then the youngest among them, Fa’iz, said, “By Allah, Daddy, one must behave properly, because even if nothing has been done to you, the gaze of someone like him can unsettle you.”

The eldest among them, who seemed to be in charge, looked at them with a soft smile and said, “Here’s the one asked, and here are those answering. Fawan, all eyes are on you, but each of you seems to be waiting to answer.”

All the parents laughed. Then Fawan said, “You won’t see, Noor. The matter involves the eldest brother—so be careful.”

They all laughed again, and before anyone else could speak, a strong fragrance announced someone’s presence. He greeted them, signaling his arrival. Immediately, everyone became more attentive, focusing on their food with renewed awareness.

The man approached where his household was seated. He was a tall, well-built man, perfect in form, with the kind of physique admired by men: fair-skinned, tall, and commanding presence. His beauty was striking—his eyes sharp and penetrating, capable of intimidating anyone, a long nose complementing a perfectly chiseled face. Even his teeth were flawless.

He was a true man, commanding respect. Anyone who entered his domain, whether friend or foe, understood the authority he carried. He never tolerated disrespect or gossip in his home or outside. A man of high standing, dignity, and discipline. Honestly, words could barely describe him; one had to witness him to appreciate his presence fully. His appearance alone revealed his character.

He was dressed in his professional attire—a green military uniform that fit perfectly on his strong frame, with a silver badge on the front pocket reading in bold letters: LIEUTENANT MUSAYYEER MAHABUB SHATTIMA. That confirmed his name: Musayyeer. Wow, even I, myself, felt awe at his presence.

He walked over to the dining table and leaned forward, kissing his mother on the forehead. At the same time, he pressed his lips briefly to his father’s in a soft, husky, warm greeting that penetrated the heart. Full of love and charm, his father replied, “Good morning, my son. I hope you’re well?”

“Alhamdulillah, Daddy,” he said, closing his piercing eyes while sensing how his mother held herself.

“Good morning, Yaa Shattima,” Fawan greeted him. Maheer said, “Good morning, Yaa Sayyeer,” while Fa’iz said, “Good morning, our elder brother,” holding his brother’s hand.

All of them responded warmly, their faces bright with affection for their elder brother. Noor then shook his hand and said, “Good morning, big bro.”

“Morning too, bro. How’s my baby?” Musayyeer asked.

“They’re fine, big bro. They’ll come later,” was the reply.

“Okay,” he said, and started drinking his coffee, which his mother had prepared for him. She didn’t hand him the coffee until Fa’iz had already placed it in front of him. After finishing his coffee, he stood, greeted his parents, and left the house, holding Fa’iz’s hand.