Over and Over

Twisters

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ABUJA,
NIGERIA.

LAYLA'S POV

We walked down the quiet street, my sandals clicking lightly against the pavement.

Beside me, Fatima chatted animatedly about the latest gossip, but my attention was elsewhere.

My gaze was fixed ahead, it narrowed as i caught sight of a familiar figure leaning casually against a sleek black car. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking him.

Imam Bilya Sanda.

The name alone sent whispers through the halls of our institute.

The son of the institute's founder, who was a former Taekwondo instructor, and a self-proclaimed heartbreaker.

Imam's reputation preceded him.

He wasn't particularly tall, but his confident demeanor and warm, golden complexion made him stand out.

And that smile of his—effortlessly charming yet infuriatingly smug—had left many girls swooning.

Layla's steps slowed as memories of their brief encounters flooded back.

He had left for Florida over a year ago to further his studies, and his absence had been a relief for her—and a disappointment for the countless admirers he left behind.

Yet, here he was, back in town, leaning against his car as though he owned the world.

With a mischievous grin, i darted ahead, stepping directly into his line of sight. "Hi, Imam," i greeted, my voice light yet teasing.

"Whoa, shawty!" he exclaimed, clutching his chest theatrically.

"You scared me." His eyes lit up with recognition as he straightened. "Are you lost, or is there a reason you're roaming around here?"

I smirked. "I'm on my way to the salon," i replied, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Which one?" he asked, his tone shifting to curiosity.

"Divas."

Imam's grin widened. "Well, that's convenient. I'm headed there too. Hop in; I'll give you a ride." He stepped forward, opening the car door for me.

Fatima, who had been silent until now, shot me a warning glance.

But me, ever the bold one, shrugged and slid into the passenger seat. "Thanks," i said, settling in.

"Why exactly are you going to the salon?" I asked, side-eyeing him as he started the car.

Imam smirked, his hands gripping the steering wheel. "Why do you think?"

"To meet your girlfriend?" I teased, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled, a low sound that somehow managed to be both irritating and endearing. "Well, who knows?"

Typical Imam. Always vague, always cocky. But I wasn't about to let him get under my skin.

The car sped up, and I grabbed the edge of my seat. Imam had always been reckless, but this was something else. "Imam, slow down! Are you trying to kill us?"

He glanced at me, amused. "Relax, Layla. I've got this."

"This isn't Florida," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "You can't impress me with your bad driving."

A silence fell between us, broken only by the hum of the engine. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

The question caught me off guard. "Me? No," I said quickly, fidgeting with my wristwatch. "I'm too young for that."