Over and Over

Bonding

LAYLA'S POV

Maymun looked stunning as a bride, seated beside her husband, Ayman Abdulqadir.

Ayman, a Shuwa Arab from Maiduguri, and Maymun took many pictures together, with Ayman showering her with money.

Later that evening, a small walima was held in the garden.

During the event, Dada lost her phone and tasked me with finding it.

I was unsure where to start searching, as it seemed everyone had left their phones inside.

While looking around, I suddenly noticed someone resembling Hakeem sitting in a corner using a phone.

I quickly approached him and called, "Hakeem," as I stood beside him. He looked up, meeting my gaze.

"Could you please lend me your phone?" I asked. His stern look made me feel uneasy.

"My mother lost her phone, and I need to call it, but no one has their phone with them," i explained.

"Why don't you use yours?" he responded in his naturally distinctive accent.

"If I had one, I wouldn't be asking," I responded quickly.

To my surprise, he handed over his phone. "Make it quick," he said, glancing at his complex wristwatch.

I sat in the chair beside him and could feel his gaze on my hair.

I dialed the number, and to my surprise, it was already saved as "Petite."

I turned to look at him, but he was no longer there. I got up and continued searching for the phone, finally finding it after several calls.

As I approached him, i called out, "Excuse me, sir." He turned and dismissed the person he was speaking with.

"Why is my mom's number saved as 'Petite'?" I asked, handing him the phone.

"Your mom?" he replied, sounding slightly concerned.

"Yes, it's my mom's phone and number. You should change that name," I insisted firmly.

He paused for a moment before saying, "I honestly thought it was your number."

"And why on earth would you save my number as 'Petite'?" I asked, clearly irritated.

"Perhaps you should consult a mirror if you need an explanation," he said, sitting down.

I tossed my hair in his face as I walked away. I truly hated being called short.

The next day

By 4 PM, the bride was getting ready, and i decided to give my face a break from makeup, opting instead to become the photographer.

"Layla," called Ammi, "start getting ready. It will be dark soon."

That evening, we were attending a dinner party.

I went to my room and enjoyed a relaxing bubble bath.

My dress and jewelry were neatly arranged on the bed. As i inspected my dress, i noticed a tear.

I called my mother, who rushed to the room to find me in tears.

I showed her the damaged dress and pointed out a pair of scissors and a note beside it.

The note read, "Next time you try talking to Hakeem, your punishment will be worse than this."

Dada informed Ammi, who also came to the room.

"Hakeem is going to pick up his clothes from the tailor. You should go with him," she suggested.

Ammi called Hakeem and explained the situation to him. "Layla, meet him outside and bring everything you need because you might not return."

Following Ammi's instructions, I waited for Hakeem in the car park. He arrived in a sleek black car, signaling for me to join him.

I opened the door gracefully and settled into the luxurious vehicle.

We drove in silence for a while, the tension palpable. Summoning my courage, I broke the silence.

"May I ask why you were looking for Posh Road the other day?" I inquired confidently.

"It's a long story," he replied, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Some people scammed me out of 29 million. They claimed they were building an orphanage.

They came to my house, and I unknowingly gave them the money. Later, I discovered they were fraudsters. I take money seriously and had to retrieve every single penny."

"29 million?" I repeated in disbelief.

"It's no big deal. It's not a huge amount," he said nonchalantly.

I shook my head, pretending to agree.

"I'm Hakeem Muhammad El-Baz, the current president of El-Baz Empire. Nice to meet you, and thank you for your help the other day," he said with a flawless smile.

"My pleasure. I'm Layla Umar Sunusi," I replied, smiling slightly.

"Which class are you in now?" he asked, adopting a tone reminiscent of an uncle.

"I'm done with secondary school, and I'm 17 years old, for your information," I replied, feeling he was underestimating me.

"I'm much older than you," he said, trying to make a point.

"How old could you possibly be, Mr. Hakeem?" I asked.

With a smirk, he replied, "Believe it or not, I'm 23." I gasped in disbelief and said, "Sannu yaya Hakeem."

Soon, we arrived at the tailor's shop. I handed over the dress for repairs while Hakeem collected his clothes.

After some time, the dress was fixed, and I was directed to the changing room.

In a few minutes, I got ready, applying minimal makeup and tying my headscarf, which allowed my hair to fall down my back.

I took a moment to admire myself in the mirror before packing my bag and stepping out, only to find Hakeem waiting by the door. "I guess he was waiting for me," I  thought.

He looked exceptionally handsome.

"Let's go," he said, standing up as soon as he saw me.

"Hakeem," I called. He turned and waited for me to speak.

"Nayi kyau (Do I look beautiful)?" I asked, adjusting my dress. He sighed and replied, "Layla, Allah said we should lower our gaze for a reason, you know."

I swallowed hard, regretting my question, I'm so embarrassed.

He drove gently and calmly, and within a few minutes, we reached our destination.

As I was about to step out of the car, i misstepped and nearly sprained my ankle. Though i didn’t sprain it, it hurt a lot.

Hakeem helped me up, but I  couldn't walk properly. He supported me with his hand as we entered the hall.

"Wow," i exclaimed upon seeing the hall, despite my pain.

We stood together, my hand still in his grip, looking for our mothers.

"Layla," a familiar voice called from behind me.

Guess who it is.