Over and Over

Vapour

KANO,
NIGERIA.

LAYLA'S POV

The first thing I registered was the suffocating silence, the kind that wraps around you like a heavy fog.

The quiet was shattered by my own startled scream as I jolted awake, heart hammering wildly.

My gaze darted to the figure beside me in bed. Relief washed over me like a wave as recognition dawned—it was Rayhana.

She looked up from her phone, an amused smirk playing on her lips. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice light but tinged with concern.

"Better, I think," I replied, rubbing my temples. "But what even happened yesterday?"

Rayhana's laugh was soft, but it carried a mischievous edge. "Oh, nothing major.

Hakeem just thought it'd be a great idea to give you double the dose of cough syrup. You were out cold."

My eyes widened in disbelief. "What was he thinking?!"

Her grin widened. "Clearly, not much. You know how he is with medications."

The morning passed in a haze of disbelief and mild irritation. By the time we reached the dining room for breakfast, Hakeem was already there, looking up from his plate with genuine concern.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked, his voice unusually soft.

"Better," I replied curtly, sliding into the seat Abdallah had pulled out for me.

He greeted me with his usual warmth, though his attention quickly shifted to the schedule ahead.

"Morning lectures today," he said. "We should leave soon."

The campus was alive with its typical chaos, students darting from building to building.

Abdallah dropped me off near the faculty building, his focus already on his fourth-year Electrical Engineering studies.

I navigated the bustling halls alone, hoping for an uneventful morning. But fate, as always, had other plans.

A group of girls loitered near the entrance, their eyes narrowing as they spotted me.

Their ringleader, an elegant but sharp-faced girl, approached with a predatory confidence.

Before I could step aside, she shoved me hard toward the door.

My hand instinctively shot out to break the fall, the impact leaving a stinging pain that radiated through my palm.

By lunchtime, Zubaida, my ever-reliable friend, helped me bandage the injury.

I brushed off her concern, though the pain lingered as a reminder of the encounter.

Later that day, as the sun began its descent, Mallam Hamisu, one of our family's trusted aides, arrived to escort me home.

His presence at that hour was unusual, and curiosity itched at the back of my mind.

When I arrived, the house was a flurry of activity. The kitchen staff buzzed like a hive, the dining hall already undergoing a transformation.

Asiya, the kitchen head, explained that we were hosting Maymun, her husband, and their family for a grand dinner.

Ammi—seemed intent on every detail being perfect.

When Ammi handed me an intricately embroidered gown, her smile was a mixture of pride and anticipation.

The gown shimmered under the soft lighting, and I couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement as I prepared for the evening.