Over and Over

Dandelions

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EL-BAAZ MANSOR,
KANO,
NIGERIA.

LAYLA'S POV

The long journey had left me feeling unsettled and weary.

The soft, inviting comfort of the guest room offered a welcome respite.

With a sigh, i decided to take a shower, hoping the water would wash away the travel fatigue.

Wrapped in a plush robe afterward, i sank onto the bed, my thoughts drifting as i contemplated what to wear. The knock on the door jolted me out of my reverie.

"Come in," i called, rising instinctively.

A maid entered, head slightly bowed, her uniform crisp and professional.

"Good evening, ma'am. Malika—Ammi—said to inform you that the clothes you're meant to wear are in the closet."

I nodded my thanks, and the maid quietly exited.

Curiosity sparked, i walked to the closet and pulled the door open. My breath hitched as i took in the sight of the dress.

A stunning red-wine gown shimmered before me, its silver lining catching the light.

"Wow," i whispered, running my fingers over the intricate detailing.

The dress was elegant, almost regal. Within minutes, i was ready.

I didn't bother with makeup; the dress alone made me feel radiant.

But as i tried to fasten the zipper at the back, i encountered an obstacle.

Frowning, i struggled for a moment before giving up. "Great," i muttered.

Throwing a shawl around myself , i stepped out into the corridor, hoping to find help.

"Excuse me?" I called softly as i wandered.

The house, vast and unfamiliar, seemed eerily quiet. My voice echoed back at me, unanswered. "How do people manage here?" I wondered aloud, frustrated.

Distracted, i walked with my head lowered, only to collide with what felt like a wall.

I stumbled back, startled, and looked up to see a man standing before me.

Recognition struck like a bolt of lightning.

"Innalillahi," i gasped, my eyes widening. "Are you a jinn?" I blurted, taking a step back. "First you were in Abuja, and now here? Are you stalking me?"

It was him—the stranger from Abuja, the one who had sought directions from me with maddening calmness.

And now, here he was again, wearing that same infuriating composure.

He raised a brow but didn't respond to my accusations.

Instead, with a firm yet gentle grip, he turned me around, catching me completely off guard.

Before i could protest, he zipped my dress in one fluid motion.

His touch was brief, almost impersonal, yet it left me momentarily stunned.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, his voice steady and unbothered. "But I should be the one asking questions. What exactly are you doing here?"

I blinked, thrown by his audacity. "Excuse me?" I  managed, my tone defensive.

He sighed, as though dealing with an exasperating child. "This is my property. May I ask why you're here?"

My jaw dropped.