Over and Over

Pendulum

ABUJA,
NIGERIA.

LAYLA'S POV

I woke up slowly, not because I wanted to, but because my body refused to move any faster. Sleep still clung to me, heavy and stubborn, the kind that leaves your limbs dull and your thoughts delayed.

I reached out beside me without opening my eyes, already expecting the familiar warmth.
My hand met cold sheets.

That was enough to pull me fully awake.
I turned my head, scanned the bed, then sat up, the quiet of the room suddenly too loud. For a moment, something tight wrapped itself around my chest before logic caught up with fear. Maymun must have taken the baby. She often did, especially in the mornings.

Still, I stayed seated for a while longer, letting my heartbeat settle, annoyed at myself for panicking so easily lately. When I swung my legs off the bed, something on my wrist caught the light.

I stopped. Slowly, I lifted my arm and stared at it.
A bracelet. Red stones, dark and rich, the kind that didn't belong to accident or impulse. I knew my jewelry. I knew what I owned. This wasn't mine.

I turned my wrist over and over, as if the answer would reveal itself if I looked hard enough. Nothing came to mind. No memory. No late-night gift. No explanation.

"How did you get there?" I whispered.

In the bathroom, I tried to remove it. Carefully at first, then with growing frustration. The clasp refused to open, no matter how I angled it. It felt deliberate, almost mocking.

I gave up eventually, resting my hands on the sink, staring at my reflection. There was something about the bracelet that unsettled me, though I couldn't explain why. It wasn't fear. It was discomfort. Like something had crossed into my space without asking.

Outside, I found Maymun in the garden with her husband. They stood close, laughing quietly, wrapped in their own world. I slowed my steps without meaning to, watching them longer than I should have.

Inside, Rayhana sat watching television. "Where's Seema?" I asked.
She answered casually, too casually. "Kano. With Hakeem."

The name landed heavier than it should have.
I nodded, pretending it meant nothing, though my thoughts had already begun spiraling in directions I didn't like.

Later, back in my room, I reached for a book.
Not because I was particularly interested in reading, but because I needed something, anything, to quiet the restlessness that had settled in my chest.

Reading used to come easily to me. Lately, it felt like a luxury I couldn't afford. Even as I opened the pages, my mind kept drifting, sentences dissolving before they could mean anything.

Sleep came unevenly. The next morning, my phone vibrated far too early, the sound sharp against the fragile stillness of the room. I stared at the screen for a moment before answering, already bracing myself.

Hamida's voice was quick, almost rehearsed.
"There's an important test today. Noon. Don't be late."

The words landed slowly, one after the other, before panic finally caught up. My heart began to race, thoughts tumbling over themselves as I tried to remember what test she meant, what I might have missed.

I didn't argue. I didn't question her. I simply moved. I told Maymun, pulled on my abaya with hands that felt clumsy and rushed, and went to look for Baba. He was home, thank Allah, and when I explained, he didn't hesitate. No suspicion, no annoyance, just action. A ticket to Kano was arranged within minutes.