Over and Over

Ionic

KANO,
NIGERIA.

LAYLA'S POV

The dining table felt unusually quiet that morning.

With Rayhana and Saleem both out, it was just Ammi, Hibban, and me.

The clink of cups and the occasional scrape of a spoon against a plate were the only sounds that broke the silence.

Then, the door creaked open.

"Sabah al-khair, Ammi," Hakeem's deep voice greeted as he entered the room.

He moved with his usual effortless grace, pulling out a chair beside Ammi and sitting down.

"Sabah al-khair, Van," Ammi replied warmly, using the endearing nickname she had for him.

She placed her hand gently on his arm. "How was your night?"

Instead of responding to her, Hakeem's piercing gaze locked onto me.

The air shifted—his stare was as sharp as a blade.

"Why did you send her?" he asked coldly, his voice cutting through the air like frost.

Ammi froze, withdrawing her hand as confusion flashed across her face. "What happened, Van?"

"I don't want to see her again," he said through gritted teeth.

I sat still, forcing my expression into neutrality, even as his words formed a knot in my chest.

He didn't wait for a response, standing abruptly and leaving the breakfast untouched.

Ammi sighed, her fingers finding my shoulder. "Don't feel bad, Layla," she said softly, her words a fragile attempt at comfort.

But her tone only deepened the ache in my heart.

Later that day, I accompanied Hibban to his school's funfair.

The lively sounds of laughter and music filled the air, and Hibban's boundless energy left me chasing after him through crowds of parents and children.

After what felt like hours, Hibban decided he wanted to try the VR room.

Grateful for a moment to rest, I sat by the entrance, scrolling through my phone.

Suddenly, the distant wail of sirens filled the fairground.

Heads turned as a convoy of luxurious cars arrived, their sleek exteriors gleaming under the midday sun.

People gathered, murmuring with excitement about the VIP guests.

I remained seated, uninterested. That was until a young man appeared beside me.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked.

Without looking up, I shrugged. "Go ahead."

"Are you here alone?" he pressed, his voice light and casual.

I nodded, keeping my eyes on my phone. But he didn't take the hint.

He continued talking—about the fair, the weather, anything that came to his mind. His attempts at humor were persistent, and though I barely responded, he didn't stop.

Then, his demeanor shifted.

He leaned closer, his hand brushing against mine, his touch unwelcome. I pulled away, my heart beating faster.

But he didn't relent. His persistence turned aggressive, and before I knew it, he had grabbed my wrist. "Come on, don't be shy," he said, his voice low and menacing.