Sirri Book 1 Compelet Autar Alheri

Description

English Translation

"Tell me you love me," he heard her voice echo in his eardrums, as if she were speaking to him right at that moment. He placed both hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, but it only seemed to clear his vision and hearing even more. He forgot that the voice was coming from inside his mind, not his surroundings. In his mind's eye, he saw her face, as clear as the full moon, sitting in his car with a smile that used to be the cure for all his worries, her eyes filled with love for him.

"Tell me you love me," she said, adjusting her phone camera toward his face. He raised one hand to shield his face, smiling. "Stop it!" he said with a laugh. She giggled and shifted the camera angle to catch the parts of his face not covered by his hand. "Go on, say it then. Why are you shying away from a simple question? Do you love me?"

He uncovered his face, trying to frown, but he couldn't; he could never look angry when he was with her. He leaned his head against the car seat's headrest, looking into her camera, and said, "Do you need to ask?" She replied, "Of course. I want to hear you say it." He closed his eyes, opened them, and asked, "What is with the camera then?" She said, "As evidence. I want to record you saying it so that in the future, if you say you don't love me, I will have proof to take you to the lovers' court."

He laughed heartily, trying to push her camera away, but she moved it out of his reach. She said, "Confess! Say you love me." Seeing she had no intention of handing over the phone, he dropped his hand and said, "Come on! Why do I have to say it? Why won't you say it instead of me?" She raised an eyebrow and said, "Because I say so... and whatever I say I want, I get. Now I want you to say you love me," she finished with a playful pout.

He sighed, "You are impossible, Piya. What is there that I should tell you which you don't already know?" She said, "That you love me?" He replied, "You already know that. You just enjoy... enjoy... en—" She finished it for him, mimicking his voice: "You enjoy teasing me," and then she laughed. "You are right. I knew you wouldn't just say it. I only wanted to see that," she said, pointing at his face. He stroked his cheek as if searching for something and asked, "See what?" She said, "Your face is red, my dear. You are blushing," and burst into another laugh.

He sighed, "Piya! You are..." "Impossible," she finished, mimicking him again. He glared at her: "Stop that." She repeated, "Stop that." He tricked her, snatched the phone from her hand, and turned the camera to her face. She quickly covered her face with both hands, laughing. He zoomed in on the screen, admiring her beautiful fingers. "Who have I caught?" he teased. "Now, tell me you love me." She uncovered her face, glared at him, and twisted her mouth in mock annoyance at the same time. He smiled, "If you are really shy, just say it so I can hear. Say you love me," he whispered softly.

She began fumbling with the door handle. "Open the door for me. I'm going to the hostel." He said, "Not a chance. Today you must say it. And I'll record you and keep it. When we get married and have children, I'll show them how their mother was head over heels in love with me." She rolled her eyes. "Who even told you that?" He said, "I know... I just know. From the very day you first saw me, you just couldn't stay away from me. You saw the fair Fulani boy, lost your mind, and decided it had to be me or nothing." She laughed. "The day I first saw you, loving you was the last thing on my mind. I don't even think I knew what love was." He said, "Huh? That's why you left your seat and came to mine? Admit it, Piya, you were attracted to me." She rolled her eyes. "That's why I noticed that from that day on, everywhere I went, you followed me like a shadow." He said, "Exactly, and this is just the beginning. Wherever you go, I will follow you. Fine, I agree, I am the shadow. And in the future, I'll become the 'husband before she even speaks'."

She lowered her head, saying nothing, feeling the weight of his gaze on her. He lowered the phone, sighed, and said, "Please, Piya, I think it's about time you take me to Daddy. Haven't you played hard to get long enough?" She raised her head and their eyes met. "Then you have to cajole me and bribe me." He adjusted his seat, patted his pocket, and said, "Whatever you want, just say it. You know I can give the world to you if it were mine. I can go to the... to the..." "End of the earth," she finished for him. He said, "Yeah, right, I can go to the end of the earth for you if you want me to."

She smiled slightly, looking at her hand. Her mind seemed to drift away somewhere else, just like she always did whenever he talked to her about marriage. Absentmindedly, she said, "But earth doesn't have an end; it is spherical." He said, "I don't care. You get what I mean. I can do anything for you." She said nothing, turned her head to look outside, while he narrowed his eyes, studying her like someone deep in thought, and then said, "But how do you do it?" She turned back to look at him and asked, "Do what?" He said, "Finish my sentences. You always seem to know what is on my mind before I even say it." She flashed a beautiful smile, her eyes reflecting the abundance of love she held for him, and said, "Because I am your soulmate."

"I am your soulmate," he heard her voice echo in his brain. His head felt like it was splitting in two. He put a hand to his forehead, but the pain felt like it was right in the center of his brain—or rather, not just pain, but like fire being blown inside his head, its heat causing sweat to pour from his hair down to his face and the rest of his body.

It wasn't the headache that bothered him the most; it was the pain in his heart that was tormenting him. It felt hot and itchy, but since it was locked inside his chest, there was no way to scratch it. He placed his other hand over his heart, taking a deep breath to ease the agony, but it only seemed to make the itching worse. So this was the heartbreak people talked about? This agony was what social media users joked about and called "breakfast"? Indeed, anyone who joked about this had never experienced such a state. He had never felt this way; nothing like this had ever been done to him.

She was his life. For years, he had never envisioned his future without her. He had never even thought she could leave him because she led him on, showing him a love he never suspected had any deceit in it. He had finished preparations for their wedding. He had planned everything. In his mind, he had even pictured the children they would have and the love and care he would give them. The house they were to live in was completed long ago. He was only waiting for her, waiting for the green light from her, and then suddenly, after she traveled and returned, she came to his office with a big belly and said:

"I am married. I have been married for years. I am sorry."

And then she said, "It was all a misunderstanding. I never thought you loved me. You never said you loved me when I told you I was married."

"Damn it!" he shouted loudly, jumping to his feet like someone who had been injected. Then he leaned against the wall and sat back down. He didn't know how it happened, but he found himself smiling. "You've lost your mind, Muhammad," he told himself. "She drove you crazy. That's the end of you. Now you're even talking to yourself." Then he slapped his forehead with his palm: "Damn you," and smiled again. Maybe madness would be a blessing. At least if he went crazy, they would take him to a psychiatric hospital and give him sleeping injections for the rest of his life. Then he wouldn't have to think about her. Then he wouldn't have to miss her—miss her smile and laughter, miss the feeling of blood rushing through his body whenever he got close to her, miss the excitement whenever his phone rang and he saw her name: "Piya❤️".

He already missed her teasing. She enjoyed teasing him so much because he shared her grandfather's name. She used to say, "Malam Muhammadu Dan Fulani, look at you, a young handsome guy running away from home just to cling to a girl."

Could even that teasing have been a lie?

A sudden wave of hope rushed through his heart. Quickly, he started searching for his phone, knocking some papers off his desk. He grabbed it, dialed her number, and put it on speaker, reciting a prayer in his mind without even knowing what prayer it was. The phone rang, but it went unanswered until it stopped. He called her other line; it rang through and cut off without an answer. So he called the first number again.

"The number you are trying to call is not available at the moment..." He hung up. "Damn it!" He called again. Still the same response. A part of his heart began to tell him that she had blocked him. "She just blocked you, guy," he said aloud. "She blocked me," he repeated with a broken heart.

So it wasn't a game. It wasn't a dream. It was real. What she came and told him now was real. What he saw on her body now was real.

But how could that be? How evil could she be? How could she have been married throughout their entire relationship? How could he have failed to notice?

"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihir raji'un," he said aloud. He told her he hated her, but a few minutes later, there was nothing in the world he wanted to see more than her. There was nothing he wanted more than her. And there was nothing he hated more than her.

Is that even possible?

Her 🧕🏻

I tried to put my thumb on the ignition, but I couldn't because of how much my hand was shaking. I grabbed that hand with my other hand to give it support, but both kept trembling together. So I pulled them both against my chest, taking three long, deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth to calm my nerves down enough to drive home. I knew that driving in the state I was in would spell serious trouble. But part of me didn't care about trouble; a percentage of that part even hoped for an accident. Yet I knew that if an accident happened due to my own recklessness or suicidal thoughts, I would meet my Lord, because He gave me life and He alone has the power to take it back.

I attempted to start the car again. It started, I put it in drive, and took the road out of the school. In my mind, I assured myself that this would be the last time I ever saw the school, just as today was the last time I saw Muhammad. Absentmindedly, I drove slowly like someone entering a trance, not caring about the cars honking behind me. When most of them grew tired of honking, they maneuvered around me and sped past, throwing ugly glances at my way—glances that didn't bother me in the least. At that moment, I was beyond caring.

Along the way, I saw the restaurant where I had taken Muhammad for his last birthday—the day that separated us forever. I remembered what he had told me then:

"By next year, Piya, in sha Allah, you'll be settled in my home." I smiled, believing it: "In sha Allah." He opened his eyes: "Really? Do you really mean you're done playing hard to get?" I closed and opened my eyes, tilting my head as I looked at him: "My thread feels like it's about to snap anyway. Besides, I see you can't live without me." He said, "Exactly. I can't live without you."

I pulled my eyes away from the restaurant, trying to push the memory of that day out of my mind. If I kept thinking about it, I wouldn't make it home alive; maybe someone else would have to drive my corpse back.

When I reached the gate, even before I honked, the security guard opened it. I know he greeted me, but I didn't hear what he said; I just nodded and drove inside. The only prayer in my mind was that I wouldn't run into anyone until I reached my room. I didn't want to see anyone right then; I didn't want anyone to see me in the state I was in because I didn't want questions.

However, my prayer wasn't answered. As I parked, I saw Yaya Mustapha parking close to me too. I closed my eyes: "Ya Salam, not him, not now, please God." But that prayer wasn't answered either, because as soon as he stepped out of his car, he walked straight to my window. I watched him through the tinted glass as he stopped, adjusted his cap and shirt collar, and knocked on the glass. I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the car seat. "Ya Rabbi," I whispered softly, "Ya Rabbi, give me strength." Then I switched off the car, opened the door, and got out quickly.

"Fiyya," he said, trying to catch my eye. "Where did you go? Daddy has everyone in this house worried sick looking for you." Then he fell silent, studying my face closely. "Are you okay? Are you crying?"

His question made me wipe my face and look at my hand. I hadn't even realized I was crying until that moment, only to understand that I had been weeping all the way from school to home. I didn't say anything to him; I walked around him and kept going, feeling his eyes on me until I went inside.

"God, please... Allah, please... Allah, let it not be him. I cannot take it if it is."

I paused for a moment by the door, scanning the parlor and figuring out which route to take so I wouldn't run into anyone—even though there weren't many people around since we had just arrived home yesterday and were leaving again tomorrow, and there weren't many domestic staff since we didn't live here permanently.

I didn't see anyone, so I started walking slowly, making sure not to make a sound until I was close to the stairs. That was when I heard Esther's voice: "Madam? Are you okay?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to wipe the tears from my face, but as I wiped them, new ones took their place. Because of this, I didn't turn to look at her. I said in a voice that didn't sound like mine, "I am fine. Don't let anyone enter my room." With that, I continued climbing the stairs while hearing her babble something I didn't understand.

Once inside my room, I pushed the door shut, threw the lock, and leaned against the door. Slowly, I slid down to the floor and buried my forehead against my knees. That was all I had wanted since earlier—the seclusion to cry my heart out without anyone speaking to me.

Just then, my phone rang with the special ringtone I had assigned to Gidado—a tune that always filled my heart with joy whenever I heard it because of the thrill of hearing his voice. I picked up the phone and stared at his name blinking on the screen: "Pyar❤️".

A fresh wave of grief hit me. "Oh God, Muhammad," I said aloud. "Oh Allah, look upon your servant and grant him relief." I remembered the harsh things he had hurled at me earlier in his office, yet just a few minutes later, he was calling me again. It won't be easy for him. It won't be easy for me.

As the call ended, I searched for the block button and pressed it for his number—something I never thought I could do in my life. But I knew his stubbornness when it came to me; he wouldn't stop calling, which meant I might answer, and if I answered, everything would be ruined.

Yet, as soon as I pulled my hand away, his call came through my other line. I let it ring out too, and then blocked him there as well.

All I could picture in my mind was Gidado's face the way I left him in his office earlier. I had never in my life seen someone look as broken as he did. And why wouldn't he? I had betrayed him beyond measure, hurt him beyond repair, and made sure he would never forgive me.

Yet, in my view, this was the right thing; this was what would be best for him in the end. He would heal with time, because I had never heard of anyone failing to recover from heartbreak. He would find someone, marry, and have children just as he dreamed, and life would go on while I faced my demons alone.

I stroked my belly, which was the source of everything. In my heart, I wished I could tell Gidado the truth, wished he could know the real truth about the pregnancy. Maybe it would reduce his suffering for a little while, but it would torment him for the rest of his life. And I was looking for the simplest way out for him.

I heard a knock at the door. I didn't speak because I knew my voice wouldn't come out. Another knock followed immediately, accompanied by Safina's voice: "Fiyya, I know you're in there. Daddy has been looking for you since." I shook my head, whispering to myself, "Daddy, my Daddy." Then I quickly stood up and unlocked the door. The sudden movement and my weakened state made me dizzy, and Safina, who was standing by the door, quickly caught me. "Fiyya? Are you alright? What happened again?"

I didn't say anything. I pushed her hand off my body and hurried toward Daddy's wing. Safina followed me, talking continuously. "I am talking to you, Safiyya. At least stop and listen to what I'm saying. What is bothering you? I know you're going through something and I sympathize with you, but that doesn't give you the right to be rude to us. Earlier, I even heard Yaya Mustapha telling Mommy that he spoke to you and you ignored him. Least of all..."

She kept talking while I stared at the framed photos decorating Daddy's staircase—pictures highlighting segments of his companies, his businesses.

By the time we reached the door to Daddy's wing, I turned around sharply and looked at her. "What exactly do you want, Safina?" She stopped, staring at me in surprise, and then said, "I tried to help you. We, your family, are always trying to help you because we love you. At least a 'thank you' would be..."

"Thank you," I told her, then opened the door, stepped inside, and pulled it shut behind me.

As I entered the parlor, my eyes locked onto his. Only God knew how long he had been sitting there staring at the door, waiting for me to walk in. His face showed deep distress; he looked from me down to my stomach. That look alone was enough to make a broken heart shatter into pieces.

Mommy was sitting next to him, her face equally filled with worry.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I said, lowering my head to stare at my toes.

"You're sorry?" he repeated in a voice that betrayed his frail health.

The dizziness that hadn't completely left me struck me again. I saw him make a sudden move to get up toward me, but Mommy quickly held him back, seated him, and hurried over to me instead. She pulled me into a hug and began scolding me: "You see? You'll bring trouble upon yourself and trouble upon your father too. Safina, what do you want to become, Sa'adatu?"

Then she paused, examining my face. "What happened to you, Safiyya? What are you crying about like this?"

I saw Daddy try to stand up again. I quickly pulled away from Mommy and hurried over to kneel in front of him. He sat back down, staring at my face, which I knew—even without looking in a mirror—was swollen from the heavy tears.

He let out a sigh. "What am I going to do with you, Safiyya?" I kept my head down. "Me zan yi miki ne wai?" he asked no one in particular.

I didn't answer because he wasn't asking me. Or even if he was asking me, I had no answer to give him. Mommy came back and sat next to him. Then I saw him turn to look toward his side, and I turned too to see what he was looking at.

It was a picture of her. She looked very beautiful, smiling as if she were about to answer to the name Safiyya. Suddenly, I felt resentment toward her because she was the root of everything. Daddy might not know it yet, but I knew it in my bones and soul that she was the cause of it all. Yet I had no evidence to show him. I had no way to defend myself.

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Story Summary

The narrative shifts between two heartbreaking perspectives of intense emotional betrayal:

• Gidado's Perspective: Flashbacks reveal his deeply affectionate and playful relationship with Piya, a woman he planned to marry, build a house for, and start a family with. His world shatters completely when Piya abruptly returns from a trip and visits his office bearing a visible pregnancy, casually dropping the devastating truth that she has been secretly married to another man all along and coldly dismissing their entire history as a misunderstanding. Gidado is left shattered, tormented by severe psychological and emotional agony, oscillating between intense love and blinding hate for her, unable to accept that the woman he cherished could inflict such cruelty.
• Piya's (Safiyya's) Perspective: Piya flees the scene in a state of shock and emotional wreckage, driving dangerously home while reliving the haunting memories of her doomed romance. Upon arriving at her family estate, she attempts to isolate herself to process her overwhelming guilt and grief. However, she is confronted by her family members (her sister Safina and brother Yaya Mustapha) who demand explanations for her bizarre, detached behavior. The chapter culminates with Piya facing her ailing father and mother in their parlor, paralyzed by guilt, knowing that she has destroyed Gidado's life while carrying a secret she cannot safely reveal.

Story Description

A poignant and emotionally intense contemporary drama exploring the devastating consequences of deceit, forbidden love, and heartbreak. Set against the backdrop of Nigerian academic life and high-society family expectations, the story delves into the psychological trauma of a shattered illusion—where deep romance turns into sudden betrayal, leaving two broken souls to navigate the agonizing aftermath of unrequited truths and family pressure.

Analytics & Literary Breakdown

1. Thematic Analysis

• The Illusion vs. Reality of Love: The narrative heavily contrasts the playful, euphoric phase of courtship (the camera banter, teasing about marriage, and affectionate nicknames) with the brutal, jarring reality of betrayal.
• Psychological Manifestation of Grief: Physical pain is used metaphorically to mirror emotional trauma. Gidado experiences physical symptoms (a splitting headache, a burning chest, sweating) to illustrate the literal crippling nature of a severe "heartbreak" (traditionally joked about as breakfast on social media).
• Guilt and Self-Preservation: Piya's perspective showcases internal conflict. Rather than being portrayed as a purely malicious villain, she is depicted as deeply conflicted, paralyzed by her choices, and overwhelmed by the collateral damage she has caused both Gidado and her own family.

2. Character Dynamics

• Gidado: Highly devoted, emotionally vulnerable, and deeply trusting. His descent from playful confidence to psychological breakdown highlights the fragility of men's mental health in the face of sudden, deceptive heartbreak.
• Piya (Safiyya): Complex and emotionally guarded. While her actions are profoundly selfish and destructive toward Gidado, her internal monologue reveals severe regret, self-loathing, and a sense of entrapment by circumstances beyond her control.

3. Narrative Technique & Structure

• Dual Perspective Switching: The transition from Gidado's nostalgic yet agonizing memory to Piya's frantic escape allows the reader to empathize with both sides of a tragic dynamic.
• Motifs:
  • The Camera/Recording: Used initially as a tool of playful documentation and affection, later morphing into a symbol of unfulfilled promises and permanent evidence of love lost.
  • Physical Clues (The Pregnancy/The Portrait): The appearance of the pregnancy in Gidado's office and the portrait of the mysterious woman in Daddy's parlor act as catalysts for conflict, driving the mystery of who Piya really is and the web of secrets binding her family.