Over and Over

clipping

EL-BAAZ MANSOR,
KANO.
NIGERIA.

LAYLA'S POV

"Assalamu alaikum," I said softly as I slipped off my slippers and stepped onto the thick carpet.

"Ammi gani," I added, bending to pull my socks back up where they had rolled halfway down my ankles.

Ammi sat on the three-seater, her feet propped on a stool, wrapped in sky-blue fluffy socks. She didn't look up immediately.

"Sit," she said, in the tone that wasn't really a request.

I lowered myself onto the edge of the couch.

"His Highness's relatives will be coming next week," she said, squinting at her phone as she scrolled. "The annual family gathering."

"Okay," I replied, unsure why my chest suddenly felt tight.

"He hasn't told them about you and Van yet," she continued, finally lifting her eyes to mine. "So I think you should try to impress them before the matter is revealed. That way, it won't become an issue when they find out."

I nodded slowly, my mind already drifting in the opposite direction, thinking of all the ways I could disappoint them instead. If they didn't like me, maybe this marriage would collapse on its own.

"Layla."

Ammi's sharp voice snapped me back.

"What do you think?" she asked again.

I forced a smile that didn't reach my eyes and nodded. "Okay."

"Ma'am, your parcel is here," one of the helpers announced from the doorway.

"I'll be right there," I said, slipping my feet back into my slippers.

"Have you started packing?" Ammi asked as I stood.

"Yes," I replied, already moving toward the door.

The delivery man pointed to the line. I signed quickly, dropped the pen, and murmured a thank you before taking the parcel.

I went straight to my room without opening it.

Afrah was sprawled on the bed, phone in hand, completely absorbed.

"Are you done already?" I asked.

She sat up, adjusted the pillow on her lap, and rested her phone on it. When she stretched her legs, I rested my head on them without asking. I didn't even know what I wanted to say, only that I didn't want to be alone.

Afrah didn't know about Hakeem. About the marriage. About the mess my life had become. And I didn't have the strength to explain it yet.

"When are you leaving?" she asked after a while.

"Upper week, I think," I said, shifting slightly.

The words felt heavier than they should have.

NARRATOR'S POV

"Why my father?" Imam scoffed. "I'm old enough to handle a contract myself."

Hakeem didn't look up. His attention remained fixed on the tickets spread neatly across his desk, fresh, crisp, untouched. He had lost count of how many times he had bought them. It didn't matter. He would keep buying them until Layla stopped burning them, until she stopped resisting, until she finally accepted that they were hers.

Imam frowned. "Hello?" he snapped, waving his fingers close to Hakeem's face. "Are you listening to me?"

Hakeem's eyes lifted slowly, irritation flickering for just a second before vanishing.