Description For
TSUTSAR NAMA BOOK 2 COMPLETE
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We continued to confide in each other until everything in our hearts became clear, for Mansoor openly expressed that he loved me. You know how your friend here is—I didn’t hold back and scolded him until even others began to view me as the “coiled snake ready to strike.” Instead of getting offended, he just kept smiling at me. This was the first time I stopped going to the cafeteria, thinking Mansoor would leave me alone so I could have peace. But that wasn’t the case—he changed his approach, telling me that love could wait and that our studies were the priority now.
From resisting him, I eventually gave in. Before long, everyone knew about our relationship, as Mansoor was a popular figure in school. Despite our bond, it was clear that our focus was on academics, not love. It was rare for him to even talk about romantic matters; instead, he fostered a strong connection between us. Mansoor was instrumental in helping me and my friend Joy with our studies, which boosted my academic performance. His love also shielded me from troublesome students and even predatory lecturers. Initially, people dismissed our relationship as a scam, but over time, they came to see it as genuine because of the clean way we handled everything.
Time passed, years rolled by, and things changed. Mansoor graduated, but we stayed in touch through calls. He also visited home, though I refused to let anyone know about him except for my elder brother Musaddiq. Baby and a few others also knew, as I overheard that Baby had feelings for him for a long time. However, I didn’t know what transpired between them. She never directly discussed Mansoor with me, though she sometimes made snide remarks or indirect jabs. I always ignored her and pretended not to understand.
When I was in my final year, I learned a shocking truth: Musaddiq was the one paying my tuition, not a scholarship as I had believed. He had conspired with my teacher to keep this a secret. My younger brother Hafizzullah was also enrolled as a freshman at Umaru Musa Yar’adua University in Katsina, under the same pretense of a scholarship. The deception caused an uproar in the family, especially as our brother Nabil wasn’t able to go to school. On the day I found out, I wept in front of Musaddiq, who calmed me down and explained everything. He said he couldn’t bear to see us uneducated, so he chose this path to secure our future.
I protested and insisted that he must also return to school since he was earning enough from his mechanic work. He promised me that when the time came, he would go back to school, God willing.
By God’s grace, I graduated successfully, ahead of Abbas and Baby, who were my seniors but had been playing around with their studies. Neither of them seemed serious about finishing school; they were always repeating years. After graduation, Mansoor helped me secure a job at a renowned TV and radio station. This brought joy to Musaddiq but envy and resentment from my stepmother and others. My stepmother even tried to push me into marriage, suggesting a relative’s son who had long wanted to marry me. My father supported her initially, but I stood my ground, threatening to harm the man if forced into marriage. Eventually, my father dropped the idea but gave me until the end of the year to find a husband. I didn’t pay much attention to their threats, knowing I had Mansoor.
Within months, I gained recognition at work. With my first three salaries, I bought a plot of land for Musaddiq with Mansoor’s help. When I handed him the documents, he broke down in tears, and I cried along with him, assuring him that he was like a father to us and deserved our support. He finally agreed, moved to tears, and promised to start building.
Six months into my job, everything was going smoothly. I poured my heart and soul into my work, and God blessed me with acceptance and favor among people. I hosted a youth-focused program on the radio, which became so popular that it was later introduced on television as well. This increased our station’s audience significantly, and my efforts were recognized.
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Rushing to get ready for work, I was almost late. The delay was caused by my stepmother’s insistence that I prepare breakfast and clean the house before leaving. I had devised a timetable to manage the workload. I woke up at 4 a.m. daily, cooked breakfast, cleaned the house, and prepared myself for work, often with Musaddiq’s help. However, today, Musaddiq overslept, leaving me to manage alone. By the time I finished, I was running late. I dressed neatly in a black abaya, with a veil draped stylishly over my head. I always wore a nose mask, as showing my face felt improper.
Fully dressed and smelling faintly of perfume, I stepped out cautiously, avoiding any family members. Once outside, I sighed in relief, smiling at my escape. I first checked on Musaddiq, who was just stepping out of his room.
“Here comes the star journalist of her elder brother,” he teased with a smile.
I smiled back, covering my face shyly. Then, I playfully frowned and said, “I’m actually upset with you, Yaya. I forgot I’m supposed to be mad at you!”
Laughing, he replied, “Oh, my dear journalist sister, forgive me. I know I didn’t help this morning. I was so exhausted from work yesterday. I didn’t even wake up for dawn prayers on time.”
I burst into laughter at his childlike expression and glanced at my watch. “Yaya, I’m running late! Please, let’s go; you’ll drop me off on your bike. I have something important to tell you on the way.”
Without hesitation, he agreed, skipping his usual morning routine of greeting the family to ensure I wasn’t late. Happily, we left the house as though we had no worries in the world. On the way, I shared my idea of starting the construction of his house. He listened with a smile but didn’t say much. When we reached my workplace, he dropped me off, still smiling, and folded his arms, looking at me intently.
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