TRIPLETS BOOK 3 Complete Hausa Novel Document by TRIPLETS BOOK 3

At 4 PM in the evening, the neighborhood was quiet, with no sign of movement. A beautiful young girl, chocolate-skinned and tall, had a lovely face. She had a well-proportioned body, a long, well-shaped nose, full lips, and large, striking eyes with a fish-like design—white like milk, with long eyelashes resembling extensions. Her small, black eyelashes perfectly complemented her face. Her lips were naturally pink, shaped like a heart, and she had a subtle black mole resting near the curve of her cheek. Her sleek, straight black hair cascaded down her forehead like that of an Arab woman. Her fingers were adorned with white nail polish, as pure as milk. She wore a pink blouse gown with exquisite embroidery and a small black hijab on her head. She couldn’t have been more than 13 years old. At first glance, you’d think she came from a home of comfort and luxury, but her face bore traces of dried tears, a sign of halted sobs. She held matches in her hand, and her beautiful legs were clad in stylish black flat shoes. Her hijab was truly stunning—if I were to describe her beauty in detail, we’d be here all day and night without finishing.  

She stepped off the road she was walking on and cut through an alley, continuing forward with slow, weary steps. Just as she was about to enter another alley, a young man called out, "Hey, pretty girl!" She turned to look at him—he was sitting in his car with the door open, his feet sticking out. She hesitated, almost ignoring him, but then remembered the harsh words she had been told: *"Never trust a man you don’t know, for you never know what he might do next."* The memory made her frown.  

A moment later, she stopped and, in a sharp voice, said, "What do you want?" Her tone was cold, almost dismissive. The man quickly stepped out of the car, looking left and right—the alley was empty and silent. He swiftly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against her face. Instantly, her body went limp in his warm embrace. He lifted her, shoved her into the backseat, got into the front, and sped off, leaving the alley behind. He drove recklessly, as if trying to take flight. Three children were in the backseat with her—four in total, all unconscious, all girls.  

The Nigerian clock struck 4:30 PM.  

The house was modest, with a small entrance. You wouldn’t call it a poor man’s home, but neither was it a wealthy one—it fell somewhere in between. Still, the entire neighborhood admired its neat and well-structured design. The house had two rooms, a small kitchen in the middle on the left side, and a toilet on the right. There was also a small, slightly spacious courtyard in the center.  

A beautiful woman sat in the middle of the courtyard on a mat. At a glance, you could see her relaxed posture as she stretched her legs, sorting rice grain by grain. She wore a delicate black lace outfit with red stripes, her hands and neck adorned with expensive, exquisite gold jewelry. Her face was stunning—first-class beauty. In a cold voice, she raised her head and called, "Jehan!! Jehan!!" From inside the room, a sharp voice responded, "Yes, Mum!" "Come here!"